Trapped

Hands intertwined, I turned to Nate and asked, “So…where exactly are we going tonight?” to which my response was merely a knowing grin, but no vocal answer. I sighed, but squeezed his hand.

It was two years to the day since that incident on our camping trip, where each of us was almost certain that we were going to lose the other. Since that day, our romantic relationship only increased and encompassed a large portion of our lives. I always found it hard to think of not having Nate as my boyfriend. It had just become so natural, almost as though we were meant to be.

I liked to think that we were meant to be.

Our hands started swinging back and forth between us, and I snorted a little at his childish action. For a nineteen year old, he still had his lapses into the fifteen year old boy who had been excited about peeing a smiley face. Of course, he hadn’t done that again, but he was still slightly childish.

“Seriously,” I decided to ask again, stopping and forcing him to halt because of our interlocked fingers. And then I asked, “Where are we going?”

“What would you say…” he grinned roguishly, and, as he said the next sentence, winked and put a finger to his lips, “…if I said it was a secret?”

I sighed, hiding my grin, and faked a huff, “Fine.”

He chuckled, seeing right through me, and leaned down to kiss my forehead, saying as he did so, “Good! Let’s keep moving, then!”

We walked for a good five minutes more, before he pulled me into a nearby store. The display windows were proudly showing off the latest evening gowns and party dresses, so I asked dubiously, “And why the hell are we in here?”

“We’re going out to eat somewhere,” he said, revealing the next part of our night with absolute ease, and I lowered my brows to almost-glare at him.

“How does that explain the fancy-pants store?”

“They’re dresses, not pants,” Nate teased, “and it’s a nice restaurant, so I want to also get you a new dress. You haven’t bought a new dress since senior prom, a little over a year ago, so I thought maybe you’d like that.”

I rolled my eyes, but followed him as he looked around.

“Well?” he prompted a few moments later, “Find one you like, so we can go next door and get the suit I reserved…”

I laughed at that, and said, “You’ve had this planned for quite a while, haven’t you?”

“Indeed,” he nodded solemnly, but his grin showed through. I rolled my eyes yet again, but obeyed and perused the dresses.

In the end, I purposely picked one of their simpler, cheaper ones (which Nate recognized immediately, but when I insisted I liked it - which I did! Really! - he pulled out a card and paid for it) and then he had me go change into it, and the matching heels, putting my clothes into the bag meant for the dress. Then we went next door and he retrieved his suit and changed into it. We made the five minute walk back to his car, stowed the bags in it, and then he steered me across the street.

“You’re kidding me!” I hissed, not sure that I was really seeing what I thought I was.

“Nope,” he grinned. We walked right into the best restaurant in town - the newly renovated Whitney’s, which was now Whitney’s Fine Cuisine. Lame name, but I’d heard wonders about the food and the service, even if most of us in our group stuck primarily to the new Whitney’s Café, across town.

“Can I help you, Sir?” asked the pompous looking little man at the podium near the entrance.

“Yes. Thompson, table for two?”

“Let me see…ah, yes, that one…reserved a month ago?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Very well. James!”

One of the waiters came over and grinned politely, “Yes?”

“James will take you to your table, Mr. Thompson,” the man, whose nametag read Harrison, nodded to Nate and I. “Table 27, James.”

“Very well. Right this way, Mr. Thompson and…?”

“Ellen,” I told him at his prompting. “Ellen Peterson.”

“And Miss Peterson,” James nodded, and began leading the way to whatever table we had reserved.

It turned out to be a table near the windows on the second floor, with a nice view of the area.

“How much did you have to pay for this?” I hissed to Nathan, frowning at the thought of how much he must have blown on just one night.

“It’s a secret,” he said again, smiling gently at me. No matter how much he annoyed me at times like these, I just couldn’t get over the part of me that loved it when it was ‘a secret’. I mean, that’s how our entire romantic relationship began, and there was a nostalgic part of me that just couldn’t let it go just yet.

I let it go, and we sat down to our table.

“Save room for dessert,” he warned me as we gazed over the menu. “There’s something I want you to try - I had it when my family went to the Whitney’s Fine Cuisine on our family vacation to Florida last summer.”

“Sure,” I agreed, glancing over the menu. “Do you have anything particular in mind for the meal, then…?”

“We could try the Lady and the Tramp thing with spaghetti,” he snorted. “There’s a spaghetti platter for two.”

I joined in his soft laughter, keeping it down so as not to disturb the other diners.

“Spaghetti sounds nice and normal, though,” I finally said, “Nothing like…erm…yeah, I won’t even try to pronounce that one…”

“So…is that a yes to the spaghetti platter for two?” Nate raised his eyebrows in a silly way, and I couldn’t help but let out a hair-raisingly girlish (but soft) giggle.

“Yeah,” I answered, covering my mouth with embarrassment at the laugh that had escaped.

“All right!” he cheered silently, and I couldn’t help but to chuckle.

So we ordered, and had wine glasses of sparkling grape juice, and ate the delicious spaghetti that James delivered to us twenty minutes later on a platter.

We actually did inadvertently end up doing the spaghetti scene from Lady and the Tramp - and we did the cheesy thing in finishing with the kiss at the end, laughing softly after it. We were kind of in our own little world, despite the hundreds of people in the building with us.

When it came time for dessert, Nate motioned James closer and whispered something in his ear. James chuckled and told us, “I’ll have that for you right away.”

“What did you tell him?” I asked inquisitively.

“I asked for our desserts,” he blinked innocently.

“Well, duh, but what did you ask for?” I accompanied this sentence with another well-placed eye roll. He just put his finger to his lips and diverted his gaze, looking for James to return with whatever dessert he had asked for. We had been waiting for a couple minutes when I finally asked again, “So what did you order? Cake? Ice cream? Pie?”

“You’ll see,” Nate said, grinning slightly at me, “’cause here it comes.”

I followed his gaze to the now approaching James, with two small plates of some delicious looking chocolate treat topped with whipped cream and a cherry.

“That looks good,” I admitted as James came nearer. I diverted my attention from him to Nate, “does it taste as good as it looks?”

“I’ll let you be the judge, shall I?” he asked as two plates were put in front of us. Looking at Nate, I saw his plate first. It did look good.

Smiling, I looked up at James and said, “Thank you!”

“You’re very welcome,” he said, grinning knowingly. “I think you’ll enjoy it very much!”

He left us, and I turned to Nate, who looked up at me quickly with a smile. I looked down to try to see what had him slightly distracted, and I felt blood rush to my face.

It could have been a horrific wardrobe malfunction. I could’ve spilt spaghetti all down my front and ruined my brand new dress. A rip could have appeared somewhere on the bust. I could have accidentally slopped the grape juice over me and not noticed - though I would have been utterly blind if I’d missed something like that! - or anything else along those lines could have been what Nate was staring at. But I had a feeling he’d been staring at my cake.

I slowly turned the plate to read the delicately drizzled chocolate sauce to make sure I understood perfectly the scene before my eyes.

Sitting delicately atop the cherry, as though the fruit had been crowned, was a slim golden band with a small heart-shaped diamond. Not looking at Nate, I picked it up and gently turned it in my fingers, reading the chocolate words again.

Will You Marry Me?

Of course, he’d ask like this! Of course. He wouldn’t be Nathan Thompson if he had asked the question flat out and with no flair whatsoever - he was prone to making our relationship have a little flair, once it was finally in the air that we’d both liked each other and kept it quiet. Especially on my eighteenth birthday when he’d snuck into the school’s office during the secretary’s lunch break and announced, over the intercom, “Hey, everyone! This is Nate Thompson, grade 12, and I’d just like to let you know that today is my girlfriend’s birthday, so when you see her - Ellen Peterson - be sure to tell her Happy Birthday, okay? And Ells, please don’t kill me for this!”

He obviously wasn’t murdered for that, but I was so embarrassed I almost fell out of my chair.

My reminiscence ended, however, when a hand dropped onto the two of mine, which were still turning the ring over, and I looked to find Nate’s beautiful blue eyes looking into my own.

“Ellen…?” he asked softly, and I realized (causing my face to turn red) that he was down on one knee. “I…will you marry me, Ellen?”

I stared at him for a few minutes longer, then let the grin I’d been hiding slowly spread across my cheeks.

“Yes, Nate. I will,” I told him.

Curse the woman’s reaction to being asked that question. Tears should only come when you’re sad!

Nevertheless, they were rolling down my cheeks, and I leaned down to wrap my arms around his neck. I didn’t care that people were watching (there was applause, and someone laughed a ‘Congratulations!’), not anymore.

I was with Nate, and I thought that it was all I would ever want.

I realized then that this - the guarantee of a lifetime together - was all I could ever need.

THE END