The wrong proposal, p.1
The Wrong Proposal, page 1
THE WRONG PROPOSAL
LEESA BOW
Copyright © 2023 by Leesa Bow
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to real events, real people, and real places are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, organizations, or places is entirely coincidental.
This book is intended for the purchaser of this e-book ONLY. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. All songs, song titles, and lyrics contained in this book are the property of the respective songwriters and copyright holders.
ISBN: 978-0-6456871-3-2
Editing and Proofing by Swish Design & Editing
Proofing by Virginia Tesi Carey
Structural Edits by Lauren at Creating Ink
Cover design by Letitia at RBA Designs
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To Demi,
You inspired me to write Penny’s story.
Your kind soul and thoughtfulness to the environment, your commitment to a better world, and your love of animals.
You give me so many happiness pennies.
CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Epilogue
Also by Leesa Bow
Acknowledgments
About the Author
PROLOGUE
PENELOPE
Not one person makes someone happy.
It took me longer than it should for those words to sink in.
Even in high school, I was never without a boyfriend for long, which says more about me than I like to think about.
My parents also emphasize how happiness is about a person’s well-being. They link contentment with society and respect for the environment. While I understand it, I’m not as invested as my parents in joy sourced from a relationship with nature. Because it’s been six months since the man I imagined spending the rest of my life with shattered my heart, and all the advice to immerse myself in nature hasn’t helped. The countless trips to the beach or hiking in the mountains until I fall into bed exhausted fail to heal the gaping chasm in my chest.
This month, my relationship with nature is on hold because she’s just not doing it for me.
Although the grapes to make wine—tick.
So, I’m sticking with what other almost-thirty single women do on Friday nights—drink wine with my besties until it numbs the pain.
Tonight is my friend Hugh’s twenty-ninth birthday. In typical Hugh style, he has booked birthday celebrations every day for the next week.
September is perfect in LA to enjoy the warm nights, and tonight Hugh chose a restaurant to begin festivities. Otium is fabulous, although I feel uneasy being here because it’s where my ex and I came on regular dates. The food is to die for, so I’m not letting stupid memories ruin my fun, and I’ve wasted no time downing a few glasses of white wine.
“So how do I ask her?” A muscle tics in Hugh’s jaw as he looks between our other close friend, Zara, and me. He lounges back in his chair, and the ridiculously expensive yet surprisingly tiny cocktail in front of him is yet to be touched. “There are a hundred scenarios, and I want it to be smooth yet romantic. If it’s complicated, I’ll freeze and mess up.”
Hugh has been in a relationship for two years, and I didn’t see a proposal coming.
“Mess up like say the wrong thing or not ask her at all?” Zara rolls her eyes as though asking someone to marry you should be the simplest thing for anyone.
“Yeah. The last thing I want is to be at an expensive restaurant wearing a suit and surrounded by other people, witnessing…” He changes direction, “What if she says—”
“She won’t,” Zara and I say in tune.
“She loves you. She only wants you. You’ll be fine,” Zara almost sings.
Hugh’s nervous eyes dart and lock on me before staring at his hands.
“Hugh.” I wait for him to give me his attention. “Bernard was a dick. Don’t compare your love to us.” No one should compare their relationship to my ex and me, especially me, because I always pick the guy destined to break my heart.
Hugh is in love.
Bernard was not in love with me.
And I wish it didn’t take five years for me to realize that fact.
His gaze turns to understanding. “Thanks, Pen.”
I smile then catch the faint outline of my reflection lost in the city lights in the floor-to-ceiling glass window at our side. Bernard and I used to flirt in the glass, catching fleeting glimpses of the other’s reflection. A year ago, I misinterpreted his expression. His pained eyes were not from a stressful week that came with being the CEO of a construction firm. Over the prior twelve months, I’d become acquainted with tension on a Friday night. Only this time, Bernard stumbled to find the ‘right words.’ I saved him the embarrassment and left the relationship myself—a learned skill to read between the lines.
Two weeks later, I resigned as an interior decorator.
His company’s head interior decorator.
“Pen, you’re the creative one of all of us.” Hugh forks the gnocchi seasoned with black truffle in his mouth and groans. “I could live on this.”
“You say that every time.” Zara shakes her head.
“You should try it just once.”
She straightens her back. “You know I don’t eat pasta. Too many carbs.”
“You used to eat pasta,” I remind Zara. We grew up together, and both left San Diego to go to college in LA. That’s where we met Hugh.
“When I was a teenager.” She rolls her eyes.
Hugh shakes his head. “Anyway, where should it happen?”
“I still think a restaurant,” Zara says. “Just make it intimate.”
Hugh stares at her deadpan. “I’d rather dine at my place. I want to arrive and have a setting that’s relaxed, alone, and neither of us has to do anything.”
I take a sip of my wine. “Relaxed? What about the beach?”
“Yes.” Zara’s brown eyes round. “Take a picnic basket and a blanket. That’s simple and romantic.”
Hugh’s shoulders rise and fall with a long sigh. “But how do I set it up?” he asks quietly.
“Have someone set it up for you.” I shrug. “It’s an easy solution.”
“Set what?” he prompts.
I tap my fingers on the table. “The blanket. But it needs to be modern and not just a basic picnic blanket. A small table. Cushions to sit on. Flowers set on a side table. A candle burning with a backdrop of the sunset and ocean.”
“And in the basket is wine, glasses, and appetizers ready to serve.” Zara grins at Hugh as though we have it worked out for him.
“And a sign in the sand with her name on it or the question already written for you.” I wink at him.
Hugh gives me his attention. “You’re so good at this… romantic ideas.”
I smile at Hugh. “It’s something I’ve always enjoyed… planning dates.” I planned so many fun dates for Bernard and me during our time together.
Hugh scratches at the five o’clock shadow along his jawline. “Could you set something like that up at Santa Monica Beach?”
“Me?” I choke on a piece of chicken. “There are companies who specialize in proposals.”
“But they don’t know me like you, Pen. You could personalize it for us. You know Sienna, and you’ve known me forever.”
For months, I have distanced myself from anything remotely romantic. “Anyone but me,” I murmur.
“I’ll pay you three hundred dollars and cover the cost of any props.” He doesn’t plead yet with the way he stares at me, he could soon be on his knees.
“Maybe I…”
“Yes.” Hugh smacks his hands on the table. “What about next Friday around five? I’ll take Sienna to the beach. After a short walk, we’ll casually stroll up to your amazing setup.”
I let out a long sigh. “Fine. But I want to source everything, and the weather must be ideal. Otherwise, you’ll need to postpone it.”
Zara bumps my shoulder. “Pen, you should consider a side business with your artistic flair.”
Sealing a couple’s fate with artistic skills is not on my radar since I’ve managed to mess up every relationship I’ve been in since high school.
Now, I hope my bad luck doesn’t rub off on Hugh.
As fate has it, the following Friday is nothing but blue skies and a faint breeze. Every prop is packed in the car.
When I arrive at Santa Monica Beach, I transfer everything to a small cart and wheel it down to a location away from the crowd. After unrolling the beige blanket, a color to blend with the soft sand, I give it a shake and allow it to float down like a cloud falling from the sky. A wooden table is centered on the blanket, and a round oak table is positioned in the sand by its side. Both are knee-high. I position the peonies and lilies—Sienna’s favorite—with strawberry-scented candles on the side table. Then, I place a string of pearls over a large clam shell on the corner of the blanket. Two large cushions are located on either side of the table for the couple to relax. I pitch a macrame half tent behind the table for an intimate feel. And a Will you be my forever? sign is on a long metal prong I push into the sand near the side table. I set the table for two, then place the picnic basket holding the food and drinks behind the table in the macrame tent backdrop. Dropping tiny candles in small glasses, I create a path leading from the table to the water. After I finish lighting the candles, I pull out my camera, capture the setting, and send a picture to Hugh with the caption, Ready when you are. Good luck!!
Now, to wait nearby to ensure no one else decides to claim the picnic.
“Did you do this?”
I jump at hearing a deep, gravelly voice from behind me. Despite the man’s serious expression, the most gorgeous dark brown eyes stare back at me.
Is he a ranger?
“Am I in trouble?”
“What? No. I’m curious.”
The handsome man is dressed in a white shirt and black tie and could easily be someone important. Holding my gaze, he runs a hand through unruly brown hair. It’s windswept despite there being barely a breeze.
He pulls out his wallet—it’s only now I notice his rolled-up trousers and how out of place he is dressed like this—and starts counting his money.
“What are you doing?”
He glances up at me and keeps counting. Then he shoves a wad of cash toward me. “Same place. Tomorrow night.”
I hold up my hands to halt him. “I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong idea. This is for a friend.” A friend who will be walking toward us any minute.
He raises his eyebrows. “I have a thousand dollars. Can you do it or not?”
No, and it’s not about the money because if he is proposing tomorrow and hasn’t thought about it until now, he might regret it, and I don’t want that on me.
Wait. A thousand dollars.
Why is he so desperate?
“I could just take your money and run.”
“You won’t.”
“You don’t know me.”
“I’ve been watching you for the past five minutes. You’re passionate about perfection. You won’t run.”
“And you can tell that by looking at me?” I fold my arms defiantly. “I’m more than meets the eye.”
His eyes lower, taking in my bare legs in denim shorts. Every inch of me feels the heat where his eyes invisibly trace along my skin. When his eyes meet mine again, a slow grin spreads across his face. “I’m sure you are.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “Your offer is no longer appealing.”
He closes his eyes and slowly opens them again. “Please. What you created here is romantic,” he pleads, holding out the money.
In the distance, I make out Hugh and Sienna walking toward us. “We have to go,” I say quickly, grabbing his hand to pull him along. I drop it quickly when the heat from his skin seeps into mine. Not what I expected. We head up toward the path leading off the beach.
“Here.” He shoves the money in my hand. “I’ll double it tomorrow night.”
“I don’t want anymore,” I shoot back.
He strides ahead of me. Aware I’m on a public beach, I shove the cash in my pocket before I’m mugged, then turn to watch Hugh lead Sienna along the candle-lit path.
Even from here, I can see her joy. She touches the sign, and when she turns, Hugh is on one knee. She throws her arms around him, and they kiss. He slides the ring on her finger and then leads her to a cushion. They sit at the table, and Hugh serves the appetizers and the non-alcoholic champagne.
Happy birthday, Hugh.
And just like that, happiness pennies fill my emotional jar.
When I head to the car, the mystery man is gone. Still, I’m smiling as I drive to get a taco, wait until Hugh sends a text to tell me they’re leaving, and return to pack up my romantic setup.
The first step of a happy ever after thrills me, even if it’s not mine.
The following afternoon, I’m prepping the same setting for a couple I don’t know.
What is his girlfriend’s favorite scent? To be safe, I use vanilla-scented candles. What flowers does she like? I decided I couldn’t go wrong with red roses. And appetizers—is she allergic? Gluten or dairy intolerant?
I’ve been stressed all morning trying to make an imperfect situation perfect because he has one chance to impress the love of his life, yet he’s acted on instinct by liking what I did. Nothing is personalized to them as a couple.
After I finish setting up, I leave a mixture of foods with labels on packets so the couple can read the ingredients used. Then, at a safe distance, I roll out a towel, sit, and wait.
I scroll on my cell phone and sneak glances like a shepherd protecting her sheep.
A half-hour passes.
Ugh. Did I do this for nothing?
He paid me well—too well. I catch a glimpse of a couple holding hands, walking close to the water’s edge. The woman is wearing a cocktail dress, her strappy heels in her hand. Sunlight shines from the diamonds around her neck, light reflecting like shards of glass as it moves back and forth. Mr. Handsome is wearing a suit jacket, white shirt, dark tie, and his trousers are rolled to his knees. His dress shoes are in his other hand.
Why did he pick the beach and not a fancy restaurant?
I shake sand from the towel before retreating to my car.
I recline in my seat and close my eyes.
Maybe Hugh is right.
Making other people happy could be my side hustle.
My cell beeps with a message, waking me. The sun is lower in the sky, and the filtered light through the clouds is enough to lull me into a deeper sleep than I wanted.
I open the message from Zara.
How did the suit guy go?
I fell asleep longer than I should have. Heading down to the beach to pack up now.
With my cart in tow, I head back down to the beach as the sunlight fades.
Seagulls have gathered near my setting. I rush over and shoo them away from the food left on the table. Despite the birds, I don’t have a good feeling. The wooden sign is lying flat in the sand. Hardly any of the food has been touched, and the candles are out.
Shit. I messed up.
His fiancée hated it.
Then I see the note in the basket with more cash.
Thank you for creating something wonderful.
I waited for you, but I had to leave.
F.H.
He waited for me?
I told him I didn’t want any more money.
I turn and search the beach.
There is no one as interesting as him in sight.
F.H.
I don’t even know his name.
Yet I can’t help feeling disappointed that I’ll never see him again.
