Marry Me
A ROMANTIC SHORT STORY BY H.JOHNSON-MACK
Why was Ellie finding it so difficult to pop the question?
Have you ever felt like some invisible power was working against you?”
Ellie’s best friend, Joanna, paused in carefully painting on a layer of bright blue nail varnish to blink at her.
“That sounds serious. What do you mean?”
Sighing, Ellie flopped down beside her on the settee.
“My whole ‘Who Needs Leap Year?” proposal plans. So far, they’ve all gone wrong.”
“Are you talking about the letter-boxing thing?” Joanna raised her brows. “You know what I thought of that idea, especially in February.”
Ellie watched as she drew the tiny brush across one fingernail.
She thought of how her foot had sunk into mud so thick she’d almost lost her wellie.
That was at the end of a miserable journey of missteps on a cold, wet winter’s day.
Even if Ellie had managed to lay decent clues for Alastair to find, the weather would have smothered any loving feelings they had!
It had seemed like such a good idea in her quest to propose to her reserved, cautious boyfriend in the most romantic month of the year.
The art of letter-boxing had begun in Victorian times.
A famous moorland guide had created a trail of hidden notes for fellow hikers to seek out over the romantically windswept Dartmoor landscape.
Ellie had read about it whilst looking up destinations for a cosy weekend away.
It had sounded like a brilliantly original way to ask Alastair to marry her, especially as she was bucking the age-old trend of women only proposing to men on February 29.
Ellie consequently threw herself into the game, laying a few clues on a favourite walk of theirs through ancient forest and groves.
The walk led to a box in which she’d left a bar of Alastair’s favourite chocolate with a card saying, Will you marry me?
But it hadn’t gone as planned.
Instead of Alastair wandering through a beautiful winter wonderland with Ellie, as he located her clues then found the box, the day was cold and horribly damp with not a trace of silken snow.
Also, Alastair seemed surprisingly slow at deciphering Ellie’s poetic messages.
One clue was completely lost to the winds, so she had to improvise.
Then, after falling on her backside and nearly losing her wellie in a ditch, she abandoned the plan and begged him to take her to a warm café.
“OK, I should have listened to you,” Ellie conceded now, shaking the miserable images from her head.
But I thought I was being so romantic.
“I much preferred the posh hotel idea,” Joanna mused, indicating with her fingers that it was Ellie’s turn to be painted. “What happened to that?”
Ellie extended her hand toward Joanna, grimacing as she remembered.
“I happened to bump into Alastair’s mum in town,” Ellie began, “and she told me all about booking this lovely hotel for a romantic fortieth anniversary meal.
“It had a private gallery overlooking the river, complete with champagne and candlelight!
“It was so similar to my own plan that I had to abandon it and cancel the reservations.”
“Wow!” Joanna exclaimed. “Talk about great minds . . .”
Ellie shifted as Joanna took her other hand.
“So I went back to the drawing board, with time running out.”
“Well, you would pick the shortest month of the year.” Her friend laughed.
“Hey, blame Saint Valentine for that!” Ellie exclaimed. “Anyway, I was convinced my next idea was the best.
“I planned a skywalk round Alastair’s favourite football stadium, where I could propose amongst the clouds.
“But guess what? Thanks to the storm driving across Britain last weekend, the skywalk was cancelled.”
Tutting, Joanna firmly replaced the cap on the nail varnish.
“You really have had bad luck. What happens now?”
“Nothing,” Ellie said bleakly. “I give up on February proposals.
“Perhaps the cosmos is telling me it’s not a good idea.”
“Or maybe that you’re trying too hard.” Joanna patted Ellie’s hand as she rose. “Never mind.
“Let’s forget about romance for a while, open a bottle of dry white wine and wallow in a TV series.”
Ellie yawned her way through Saturday morning after binge-watching TV at Joanna’s until the early hours.
She made an extra effort to be alert for her lunch date with Alastair.
He met her at the doors of their favourite restaurant with a grimace.
“It’s packed in there,” he said. “We’ll have quite a wait, and I’m starving. How about we get a hot potato and go sit in the park?”
“But it’s cold,” Ellie protested.
“I’ve brought instant warmth.”
With a flourish, he produced her woollen bobble hat from his pocket.
Laughing, Ellie capitulated, pulling the hat on to her head and putting her arm through his.
The potato van on the street corner smelled delicious.
Selecting classic toppings with plenty of cheese, they took their steaming containers into the adjacent park and an empty bench by the duck pond.
“So,” Alastair began, when they’d devoured lunch. “Tell me.
“What’s been bothering you these last couple of weeks?”
Ellie blinked, almost dropping her fork.
She’d forgotten how well he could read her mind!
Sighing, she confessed to the whole sorry campaign.
Alastair laughed softly when she’d finished, then reached into his jacket pocket.
“Seems we’re on the same wavelength,” he told her, “but you almost beat me to it.
“Though my proposal would have been much simpler – none of your grandiose plans.”
Ellie gaped at the little velvet jewellery box lying on his palm.
He grinned and flicked it open to reveal a delicate diamond solitaire ring.
“Great minds, eh? Go on, then. Ask me.”
Wow, Ellie thought ecstatically. Who needs a leap year, indeed?
Or anything else, really, other than love.
She scooted closer, closing her hand over his and the magic box.
Will you marry me? she asked.
“Yes,” Alastair murmured. “I will.
Enjoy short stories every week within the pages of ‘The People’s Friend’
