Peeps, it's me. Just here to let you know this Chapterish is a SNACK. One of my favorites so far. Love to hear your thoughts <3

[Quote Aesthetic of the Chapterish]

WATER BOTTLE LABELS

"So let's talk more about the Bahamas, please." I pretend to go formal, getting strictly down to business.

"Shoot," Brooks says. "You talk while I queue up actual music."

He grabs the phone from the table and starts sorting through playlists again, making fun of my selection.

"Where's the boat at? Are we island hopping? Sailing? Deets please." I toss another popcorn into my mouth.

"It's at Atlantis now. That lost city resort," Brooks explains.

"Sure," I nod.

Some reggae beat starts up and I laugh. "Really?"

"Getting in the island mood." Brooks smirks.

I roll my eyes.

"My dad is set up with some other resorts. Cays on the smaller island chains."

Literally these words mean nothing to me. I just wait, eyes bulging, waiting for more explanation.

"The Abacos, the Exumas. Like that. Wherever we want, I think." Brooks says, sheepish. "You want to make the itinerary? Seeing as we're sharing credit and all."

"Hell yes. I'll do all the research," I laugh.

"Deal."

We drink on it, both kissing the bottle and then each other.

"It's gonna be lit," Brooks say.

"For real. Plus gives me an excuse to see you shirtless for a whole week." I tease.

"Like you need an excuse."

"Ha." I roll my eyes.

"Guess we'll have to tell them next week. Or two weeks. When we're home for the Fitting." Brooks makes a face at the word.

The Fitting. Aka: Trix's word for the bridesmaids' and groomsmen's dress and tux selections.

We spend the next half hour talking about the Caribbean trip, finalizing the guest list and laughing at everything we say. 3 AM does that to you.

We take turns trying to throw popcorn into each other's mouths, picking the most old-school songs we can think of, and making up dance moves to match. Brooks spins me around and drops me into a back-breaking dip. Finally we both fall to the couch.

"Not a bad Valentine's Day after all," I say, giggling.

"I knew it would be perfect. You're here and that's all I needed," Brooks whispers, misty-eyed.

"I think that's the boozy popcorn talking," I laugh. "Going to start reciting poetry again?"

"I didn't prepare anything," Brooks teases, touching his heart.

"So recite from the heart. Let's hear it." I nod.

Brooks pulls me onto the sofa and sits me in his lap so our faces are a foot apart. He closes his eyes and opens them, peering into the depth of my soul. My insides jump, feeling a rush of excitement similar to earlier. Only this time it's less his bod and more his soul that's arousing me.

"Ems," Brooks starts. "You own me. My heart at least. And I don't ever want to be sold."

"Best. Poem. Ever." I kiss him in between each word.

"I do my best work when I'm with you. My beautiful muse." Brooks runs his fingers through my hair. "I want to always be with you. Forever."

It's not that he's slurring his words, really. It's just that I can't believe I'm hearing them. I mean, I've heard them all before. A decade ago. That word that catches in your throat as much as your heart.

Forever.

"So I've heard." I keep my voice light –so light you'd never know the crushing weight that word truly brings.

"I think we should live together. We can split the year between Charlotte and Seattle. Make it work. I mean it," Brooks says earnestly.

WOW.

I'm still sitting in his lap, my leg wrapped around his waist. I can't look away from him.

This is it. We're gonna have the talk.

"You want to live together? Brooks!" I can't stop laughing and rolling my eyes. "First you wanna run away and now you wanna live together? You're full of crazy ideas."

"Come on. They're not so crazy. Are they?" Brooks asks.

"It's been like two months since we've been back on good terms. Not even two months!" I exclaim, incredulous.

"It's been over a year, Emmy. Arguably 15 years–"

"Woah. Hold up, dude," I interject. "I don't think all of them count towards our running total."

"Still," Brooks presses on, "I think it's safe to assume we are in this now. I want this. I want you," Brooks pleas. He kisses my nose for the extra-cute effect.

"I know you do," I admit. "It's just –well."

"Well what?" He asks.

"What if you change your mind? Or I do? What if we don't feel this way in six months or a year?" Keep your word vomit in check, bitch.

"I'm not changing my mind. Are you?" Brooks asks, accusatory.

"No," I blurt out.

"So, let's do it. Let's live together."

I can hardly keep up with this conversation. I'm having my own one in my head.

I think of last year –when I couldn't say I love you back. Then I lost him. I know I don't want that again. But can I agree to move in with him? How would I bounce back if we ever broke up again?

"What's wrong?" Brooks asks.

I look up and realize I haven't answered him. My mouth is still hanging open like it's choking on disbelief.

"I don't know. This just seems like talk. And talk is cheap." I shrug, leaning back from him.

His hands tighten around my waist, gluing my butt to the couch between his legs.

"Cheap," Brooks repeats, nodding. "Would it help if I used bigger words?"

"Brooks–"

"I'd do anything to make you believe me. Anything. This is it, Ems. Long haul. You're in or out," Brooks says, his mouth curving into a smile.

Pressure mounting. Hardcore. Big time. The works. There's a million things I want to say, but I don't. I just decide to embrace the spontaneity and smile back.

"Forever?" I ask, repeating his own loaded word. "Why's it feel like we're making some blood pact?"

"Over popcorn and whisky. And..." Brooks leans over on the couch, keeping me in place, and picks up a water bottle from the table.

"Water bottles?" I laugh.

"Patience," Brooks whispers.

I watch him tearing at the label on the bottle, pulling it away it tiny strips of paper. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know about blood pact, Emmy Lou," Brooks says. His nimble fingers are twisting the plastic paper into a tight spiral, his eyes following mine. "And I don't have a ring, so this will have to do."

He takes my hand and I look down as he ties the shitty label around my ring finger.

Somewhere I'm still alive, but it ain't here. I'm dead here. Dead along with all my old hopes that this day would ever happen.

"Yes?"

Brooks's voice brings me back to the present –to Brooks's lap and his lips grazing mine, waiting for my answer.

I don't see 28 year-old millionaire NB with his long hair, muscly arms, and cool-boy nonchalance. I see the boy from the prom photo. I see him in a flannel on the train-tracks walking me home after Back Bay. And I see him as old wrinkly Brooks, his eyes still as young and alive as they are right now.

It's what gives me the courage to grin, nod, and kiss him.

"Yes."

"Yes!" Brooks shouts.

He jumps from the couch and pulls me up with him. We kiss long and deep, his mouth hard and firm against mine. I don't taste the fake butter from the popcorn or even the whisky. I don't even taste the ocean or the salt that I'm used to.

I taste the rest of my life on his lips.

"Did we just–" I begin.

"We did." Brooks nods, laughing at me.

"We're dead. Like oh my god." I can't stop smiling at him.

Are we going to tell people? Is this some insanely immoral Valentine's Day joke? I can just see my mom's face and hear Trix's shrieks of joy and Travis's 'It's about time.'

Instead of people asking Really? Maybe they'll be saying Finally.

"I'll get you a real one." Brooks plays with the tie on the plastic around my finger.

"Fine," I shrug. I put my hand out in front of me as if I'm admiring a sparkling rock. "But this will always be my favorite."

We're dancing again, twirling around under the string-lights, kissing as Taylor Swift sings Lover. I subconsciously play with my ring, making sure I can still feel it there.

No matter what diamond he finds, no matter how many karats it's got, I'll never love it more than this one.

EPIC has outdone itself.

[Ahhh! So what do you guys think of the new engagement??? Will it last? Will they tell anyone? Would you wear a water bottle label on your ring finger? All important questions!]