One little question, four little words, and he couldn't do it. He simply couldn't do it. Every time he opened his mouth to ask, nothing came out. Nothing, or something completely absurd.
Noah Kingston frowned at himself as he climbed the stairs to the fourth floor apartment he shared with his girlfriend's twin brother. He had had a wonderful opportunity—the second that week—to ask Verity Fowler if she would honor him by becoming his wife, and he didn't take it. They had gone ice skating in Central Park, and afterwards she made hot cocoa in the lodging house kitchen, which they drank smiling at each other across the kitchen table. It reminded him of another night, a different kitchen, when they did much the same thing, and when he realized just how completely in love he was. He knew she would have remembered, and appreciated.
"So, did you ask her tonight?" Andrew, sprawled on their small sofa, lifted his head to look at his apartment mate.
Noah sighed and busied himself with hanging up his overcoat.
"You're gonna have to someday," Andrew said, swinging long legs to the floor.
"I know." He sank down in the space Andrew cleared. "I just can't get the words out."
"Alright. Repeat after me."
Noah smiled slightly and shook his head; he could see where that was leading. "I know what they are."
"Don't tell me that. Tell her. Or," Andrew grinned lazily, "I'll do it for you."
"No!" That was the last thing he wanted. Who knew how he'd do it? At the top of his lungs, in a crowded place. No.
"Don't do it by Christmas, I will."
Christmas. That was about a week away. Plenty of time. Noah nodded. "Okay."
Two days passed and he wished he hadn't agreed to those terms. He still couldn't think of a way to propose that didn't seem forced. Asking the Fowlers for her hand hadn't been as hard as this. Noah had made up his mind to discuss it with them during the train ride to Rainbow, New Jersey, at Thanksgiving. While Verity was busy helping her mother in the kitchen, and Andrew was off with cousins, he secured the permission he sought from Mr. Fowler, unnoticed. That had been rather easy, straightforward. This, this was difficult.
Noah asked Andrew for help over breakfast. Having him help now was much preferable to letting him handle it on his own later.
"You've got a ring?"
He nodded. The box from the jeweler's had resided the last few weeks in the corner of one of his bureau drawers.
"Let's see, then," Andrew said, spooning sugar into his coffee, "you could always... No."
After eating in silence for several minutes, he grinned, hazel eyes sparkling with a devilish light. "It's simple. She's coming over for dinner Christmas Eve, right? Well, you take her on a walk, to the park or somewhere, and ask her." Andrew tipped his chair back, fingers laced behind his head, and added, "And, if ya don't, I can when you get back."
That settled it for him. While it wasn't exactly what he had in mind—maybe dinner at Delmonico's or the current Shakespeare production at Brooklyn's Rose Theatre—Andrew's idea was much better than letting Andrew do it himself. Now that he had a plan, all Noah had to do was rehearse what to say.
...more to come...
