The Girlfriend Zone Bonus
Leighton
“Gotcha!”
I scoop up Boppity, the little Houdini Chihuahua, from her hiding spot behind the pillows. “You can’t trick me again,” I tease, but she isn’t even pretending to be sorry. She gives me a quick lick on the cheek—her way of saying, I’m not really sorry I tricked you, but I’ll steal a kiss anyway.
Carrying her out of the guest room, I carefully shut the door. Even though we had it fixed, she still manages to slip in there sometimes to burrow between the pillows. It’s her favorite trick whenever we dog-sit for Miles’s mom. Like this summer, when we kept her four little terrors while she and Harvey traveled across Spain and Portugal.
Now they’re back, and we’re returning the pack. Once all the harnesses and leashes are on and Miles has done a headcount, he smirks as he buckles the last harness. “And five and six soon?”
“Very soon,” I say, though technically it’ll be one and two again because later today, we’re picking up a pair of bonded senior pups who need a foster home until they can find their forever families. One’s a tiny Pomeranian named Scamp, and the other’s a giant Great Pyrenees named Bea. I’ve already scouted a few spots near the Golden Gate Bridge for their glamour shots.
But first we return the quartet of tiny terrors to Miles’s mom’s home where she ushers me in and asks for every little detail about her “children.” I tell her all about their antics, burrowing under blankets, dancing on their back legs for dinner, and posing for endless pictures like the hams they are.
“The only thing that got me through my vacation, I swear, were your photos,” she says.
“Thanks, darling. So glad to hear,” Harvey calls out dryly from the kitchen.
“Fine. You were a decent traveling companion,” she says.
We say goodbye and take off. We’ve got a couple hours before we have to pick up Scamp and Bea, and Miles tells me his geocache club mentioned a new cache that sounds fun.
“Let’s go,” I say.
I’ve grown a little hooked on geocaching too. It’s our thing—exploring together. We’ve tracked down caches in Wine Country, paired with a glass of Chardonnay that Miles insisted wasn’t as good as his vile scotch. We’ve hunted caches along the beach, in the Ferry Building downtown, and even in Los Angeles and New York while traveling for work.
Today’s cache takes us up the rolling hills of the Marin Headlands. The trail near the summit promises breathtaking views of the Pacific Ocean and the Golden Gate Bridge. As we hike, we solve the cache clues, laughing over how cryptic some of them are.
“‘Where the sea meets the stars,’” I read aloud, scanning the horizon. “What do you think?”
Miles points toward a cluster of wildflowers near a bench up ahead. “Maybe there?”
When we finally reach the top, I’m a little winded but brimming with good adrenaline.
“You want to take a picture?” Miles asks.
“Why don’t you get in here with me?” I ask, pulling him close for a selfie. The ocean stretches behind us, glimmering in the afternoon light as I snap the pic.
He grins as I lower my phone, and says, “I think I see the cache over there.”
We close the final distance to the bench, and the second he reaches it, he crouches down, saying, “Found it.”
I peer under the bench, but my brow furrows. Instead of a geocache, it’s an ornate silver lockbox, adorned with wildflowers and a letter L.
Mine.
As I take it out, it hits me—this wasn’t on the bureau this morning where I usually keep it. My breath catches, and the world narrows to just us, the bench, and the little silver box in his hand.
“What is it—” I start, but before I can finish doing here, Miles shifts to one knee. His eyes are full of his signature warmth and steadiness.
“The day I met you, I knew. I just knew. Maybe it sounds like insta-love, but I had a gut feeling that you’d be my wife. And as I got to know you, as I experienced your heart, I realized I’d been right all along. You’re the one,” he says, then opens the box. “Will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
Joy streaks through me as tears fill my eyes. I fall to my knees, throwing my arms around him, my yes spilling out before I even look at the ring.
When we finally pull back from each other, he hands me the box. “Open it.”
With trembling fingers, I flip it open. The ring inside is perfect—vintage, intricate, and impossibly beautiful. It matches my locket, and the diamond sparkles as brilliantly as the love I feel for this man.
“I have an opinion on this,” I say with a smile that’s full of tears and laughter.
“Tell me,” he says, desperate and happy.
“I’ll never take it off.”
As he kisses me, the world falls away, leaving just us and the next chapter in our forever.
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