Everything was perfect. I had been promoted to a higher position at work, and I''d just finished talking to my realtor, who told me the house I wanted was now mine.


    Now, I was driving over to my girlfriend of four years to ask her to marry me. I parked in her driveway, turned off the ignition, and reached into my pocket, pulling out a small black ring case.


    "You got this, Peter. Just ring the doorbell, get on one knee, and propose," I muttered to myself. Then I frowned. "Or should I wait to see her first before getting on my knee? Should I get on one knee before or after the door opens?"


    I lightly slammed my head against the steering wheel and groaned.


    "Well, no use overthinking it."


    I pulled the key from the ignition, grabbed the bouquet of dahlias from the passenger seat—her favorite—and stepped out of the car. Using the side mirror, I checked my reflection. I was still in my office wear from work. Not ideal, but it would do.


    I''d been to this house a million times, but tonight felt as nerve-wracking as the first time I asked her on a date. I was stressing over nothing, right? I mean, what''s the worst that could happen? She could say no.


    "Fuck it," I said, taking a deep breath before ringing the doorbell.


    After a minute or two, the door swung open. It wasn''t Chloe. It was her mother, Mrs. Henderson. She had wheat-blonde hair, sharp grey eyes, and pink lips. Her figure could''ve inspired a gixar mom character—big thighs, wide hips, and a small waist.


    "Oh, Peter! Good evening," she said, her eyes scanning me from head to toe. When her gaze landed on the bouquet and my formal attire, her lips curled into a knowing smile.


    "What brings you here?" she asked playfully.


    "Hi, Mrs. Henderson. Is Chloe home?"


    "She is, but you haven''t answered my question," she said, her piercing gaze making me sweat.


    It felt like being in an exam room when the teacher looms over your desk, even if the test is easy you still feel like you are doing something wrong.


    "Well… The thing is… You know how people… People who…" I stammered, my hands growing clammy as I undid my collar button and pulled my tie loose with my free hand.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    "Hm, when did you start stuttering? Come in; this is like your home too, isn''t it?" she said with a grin on her face before stepping aside.


    "Yes, ma''am," I replied, moving inside the house quickly.


    I''d been here countless times and knew the layout like the back of my hand. Yet, for some reason, I headed to the dining room instead of the obvious choice—the living room. My palms were sweaty, my mind racing, and my heart pounding so loudly I didn''t even notice Chloe''s dad sitting at the dining table, sipping coffee.


    "Good evening, Mr. Henderson," I said nervously, gripping the bouquet so tightly I broke a few stems.


    He cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow. "Feeling jittery today, Peter?"


    "A little, sir," I admitted.


    "Is there something you want to get off your chest, son?"


    "Yes, sir. I mean, no, sir. Actually… yes," I blurted, squeezing my eyes shut. "Mr. Henderson, I''d like your blessing."


    "Hm. Blessing?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone.


    "I want to propose to Chloe, sir. And I''d like your blessing," I said in one hurried breath.


    "That''s why you look like that," he chuckled. "Don''t worry, champ. You had my blessing when you helped me build the patio out back. This is just a formality."


    I exhaled in relief, but he wasn''t done.


    "My wife, though… that''s a different story. Good luck," he added with a smirk before taking a sip of his coffee.


    "Thank you, sir," I said, my nerves easing slightly.


    Footsteps approached behind me—three distinct sets. One must have been Mrs. Henderson, the second Chloe''s younger brother, Michael, and the third… Chloe.


    "Why do I have to be here?" Michael groaned. At seventeen he was taken from his room and obviously he was forced here, his annoyance was understandable.


    And then there she was. Chloe. Breathtaking as always. She wore no makeup, just a plain old t-shirt and sweatpants, but she didn''t need anything fancy to look beautiful. Her shoulder-length hair framed her deep green eyes and pink lips. Even in baggy clothes, her figure was unmistakable.


    "Pete, what are you doing here?" she asked, her voice light and teasing.


    I handed her the bouquet of roses, watching as a wide smile lit up her face. She brought them to her nose, inhaling deeply.


    "What''s the occasion?" she asked playfully. God, I love her.


    "Chloe, being with you has been the best thing that''s ever happened to me. You''re thoughtful, you see the best in the world even when it''s hard, and you have this way of looking at me that makes time stand still," I said, my heart pounding. Her smile deepened, but I noticed her eyes narrowing slightly.


    "Although," I added, "you have a bit of a problem admitting when you''re wrong. And you''re stubborn. Very hard-headed."


    Her glare sharpened, but the faint smile remained.


    "Still, I''m glad that out of everyone you''ve ever met, you chose me. I know I''m not perfect, but I promise to try my best for you."


    I pulled out the ring case and dropped to one knee. Chloe''s hands flew to her mouth.


    "Chloe Alan Henderson, would you be willing to spend the rest of your life with this idiot?"


    She whispered, "Yes." Then, louder, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" practically shouting each one.


    I stood, pulling her into a tight hug that lifted her feet off the ground. I spun us around, her laughter filling the air.


    "You idiot, you didn''t even put the ring on me yet," she said, still holding me.


    "Who cares about the ring? You said yes!"


    "I care. And I''m pretty sure my dad does too," she teased.


    Her dad chimed in, "She''s right, champ."


    Reality hit me. I realized we had an audience—Mrs. Henderson, Mr. Henderson, and even Michael, who now seemed genuinely interested.


    I sheepishly let Chloe down and slid the ring onto her finger.


    The room erupted in cheers. Chloe wiped away a tear while her father invited me to stay for dinner. How could I say no?


    The meal was filled with laughter, joy, and the occasional teasing glance from Michael. Throughout, I couldn''t help but steal glances at my fiancée—my soon-to-be wife.


    After dinner, Chloe walked me to my car. Once we were sure her parents weren''t around, I pulled her close, wrapping my arms around her waist. We kissed, her hands trailing up to rest on my shoulders.


    "You should go before I drag you to my room," she whispered, her voice laced with mischief.


    "Is that a threat or a promise?" I teased.


    "Just go!" she laughed, gently pushing me toward the car.


    I kissed her forehead before stepping into my car and driving off.


    I wasn''t sure about a lot of things in life, but one thing was certain: this was the best day of my life.