I launched into a ridiculous story about another volunteer accidentally locking herself inside the supply closet. I added increasingly absurd details until Carl’s shoulders relaxed.
By the time I finished, he was smiling.
“You did that on purpose,” he said softly.
“Did what?”
“Nothing.”
He lowered his eyes to the game board, a thoughtful stillness settling over his face.
I did not understand why.
A week later, I arrived to find him wearing a pressed blue shirt.
A small velvet box sat beside his tea.
“Carl?”
“Marry me, Selena,” he said.
I nearly dropped the grocery bag.
He gave me a tired smile.
“I know how that sounds.”
“We have known each other four months.”
“Four very competitive months,” he corrected.
I did not laugh.
Carl folded his hands, and the humor disappeared from his expression.
