Two and a half weeks ago, CHB threw a cooler into the back of his truck, zipped up his red jacket, and drove us through Provo Canyon.
The sun was setting, low and lazy, when we found a grassy spot near the river. We rolled out a blanket and set down the blue and white cooler. The two small tubs of Hagan Daaz ice cream were cold, nestled among the dripping ice cubes.
We listened to the clicking crickets, CHB dipping into my tub of coffee and me dipping into his tub of chocolate peanut butter. It was a sweet and perfect exchange.
As I lifted the lid of the cooler to put the ice cream away, I saw a book bathing in the pool of melted ice.
I pulled the book out and carefully removed the plastic wrapping. I immediately recognized it as one of the hardcover books--the beautiful Penguin Classics--that CHB has been gifting me throughout our courtship. Every month or so he offers up a new book for no good reason at all (which is really the best reason to give a gift).
Our initials were engraved on the cover.
"Our initials!" I said.
"Look inside," he said.
I opened the book; CHB had carved a proposal through the thick pages of text.
Tied to a red ribbon book mark and resting within the deep groove of the exclamation point's point (!) was my great-grandmother's ring.
In one fluid and fearless movement, I passed the ring to him, he got down on one knee and asked me to be his wife.
Of course, yes. It was the easiest "yes." The best and sweetest on my tongue "yes."
Then, we rested on our backs and watched the bats swoop through the milky blue sky and felt chilled by the night air.
And then, my whole body was full of light.