Chapter Two – The Proposal
1099 Words
The flowers became a rhythm.
A crimson heartbeat that pulsed at the pub’s counter every few days, as though Dylan Grant’s presence could be summoned even when he wasn’t there.
The first delivery had been roses — lush, deep red, wrapped in paper so crisp it crackled when Shelly opened it. The crystal vase that accompanied them looked absurd on the scarred wooden bar. Alicia had been wiping down tables when she saw her mother lift the small cream envelope, her fingers trembling slightly. She didn’t read the card, but she didn’t need to. She saw it in the way Shelly’s lips curved, in the way she smoothed her hair before tucking the note into her apron pocket like it was made of glass.
The second delivery was lilies — white and fragrant, their scent filling the pub so thoroughly that even the smell of beer and fried chips couldn’t compete.
The third time, there were no flowers.
It was a box. Velvet. Heavy. Inside, pearl earrings that seemed far too fine for someone who came home smelling of lager every night.
Shelly had held them to her ears in the bathroom mirror, turning her head left, then right, and laughing softly. Alicia had watched from the doorway, a dish towel in her hands, wondering when this all became… normal.
Dylan himself began appearing more often, slipping into the pub like he belonged there, though his pressed coats and subtle, expensive cologne said otherwise.
He had a way of listening that drew Shelly in — leaning forward, nodding in all the right places, smiling in ways that made you feel like you’d said something far more interesting than you actually had.
Alicia didn’t trust it.
She didn’t trust men who seemed too smooth, too quick to know exactly what to say.
But her mother was glowing, and the pub’s regulars noticed.
One Thursday night, while Shelly was laughing with Dylan at the far end of the bar, two of the older locals, Gary and Pete, nudged Alicia as she wiped down a table.
“Your mum’s got herself a right gentleman there,” Pete said, nodding toward Dylan. “Look at him — not a hair out of place.”
“Or a lie out of his mouth,” Gary muttered, grinning into his pint.
Alicia gave them a tight smile. “He’s… polite.”
“Polite!” Gary snorted. “He’s a catch, love. You could do worse.”
“She could do better,” Alicia said before she could stop herself.
Pete chuckled. “You’re protective, that’s all. Give the man a chance.”
But giving him a chance wasn’t easy when every interaction felt rehearsed.
When he spoke to Alicia, it was always with the same level of warmth, the same perfect pitch of interest, as though she were a client he was trying to impress. He asked about her job at the library, about her favorite authors, about whether she’d ever thought of going back to school.
She gave polite answers, but kept her walls up.
She didn’t owe him anything.
It was two weeks after the first roses when Shelly came home with a folded letter in her hand. Alicia was at the kitchen table, sorting through bills, when she noticed her mother hovering in the doorway.
“What’s that?” Alicia asked.
Shelly hesitated, then smiled. “Dylan wants to take me to dinner tomorrow. In the city.”
“The city?”
“He’s sending a car,” Shelly said, as though that explained everything.
Of course he was.
That dinner turned into another. Then a lunch. Then a Sunday afternoon at the art museum.
Shelly started coming home with little stories — “He knows everyone, Ali” — and with small bags containing scarves or paperbacks “he just thought I’d like.”
Alicia kept her comments to herself, but each gift felt like another link in a chain.
The proposal came faster than she could have imagined.
It was a cold Thursday evening, rain misting against the windows. Alicia was curled on the sofa with a book when the front door opened and her mother’s laughter spilled into the flat.
Shelly stepped inside, cheeks flushed, coat damp from the rain, Dylan right behind her holding a single white rose.
“Hello, Alicia,” he greeted warmly.
She looked up. “Hi.”
He placed the rose in the vase on the side table, then turned to Shelly. “Go on. Tell her.”
Shelly bit her lip, almost shy — and Shelly was never shy. “Ali… Dylan asked me to marry him.”
For a moment, Alicia thought she’d misheard.
“What?”
Shelly held up her left hand. The diamond was modest but flawless, catching the lamplight. “He proposed. Over dinner.”
“That’s… fast,” Alicia said carefully.
“When you know, you know,” Dylan said smoothly, his arm sliding around Shelly’s waist.
Later that night, after Dylan had gone, Alicia found her mother in the kitchen, staring at the ring.
“Are you sure about this?” she asked quietly.
Shelly turned, her expression soft. “Ali, I know it’s quick. But he makes me happy. Happier than I’ve been in years.”
“It just feels sudden. We don’t know much about him.”
“We’ll learn,” Shelly said, with a note of finality. “And you’ll see — you’ll love him too.”
The move happened two weeks later.
Dylan insisted they come to “our home” before the wedding. “There’s more space,” he said. “And you’ll be closer to the city.”
Alicia stood in her room, taping the last box shut, when Dylan appeared in the doorway.
“Need a hand?”
“I’m fine.”
He smiled faintly. “You know, I can’t wait for you to meet my son. I think you’ll get along well.”
Alicia froze.
She’d known Dylan had a son — Tristan, somewhere abroad at university — but the way he said it felt… loaded. Like the words were carrying a weight she couldn’t yet see.
The estate was nothing like their flat.
The drive up was long, lined with oaks, the house itself sprawling and pale stone. Inside, the air smelled faintly of polished wood and something floral.
“Welcome home,” Dylan said, leading them into a foyer larger than their entire apartment.
Shelly looked like she’d stepped into a dream. Alicia, however, couldn’t shake the feeling that she’d just stepped onto someone else’s stage.
- Writer
