Peter felt the pull of it all. This was how it was. That life was a giant rip pulling you further away from shore and whoever was next to you at a certain point would be the person you married. And it was Grace. She put up with him. And that seemed to be all it took.
While standing together on the Lorne beach, wind whipping the sand into their eyes, he felt the ground beneath him shake. The weight of the tiny box kept him off balance.
Peter pulled Grace close, wrapping his arms around her. Loose strands of hair tickled his face. He watched the seagulls as they rode the invisible waves as each gust thrust them this way and that.
It seemed to be a game for them, float effortlessly on the wind without smashing beak first into the sand.
Peter placed each hand on her shoulders and looked into her brown eyes. There was no point in seeking the answers there. There was no looking deep into her soul and finding some preordained scripture declaring he was hers.
It was simply life buffeting him about and all he could do was not crash face first. The choice became either propose, or risk losing her.
Peter got down on his knees and asked her to marry him, but she couldn’t hear him with the wind rattling in her eyes. She thought he was having a stroke and was about to keel over and die.