“Beauregard,” Noémie said, her voice barely audible, “it will all work out. Do not worry.” Her smile was as warm and comforting as her hand on my arm. “She will see the love in your heart. How could she not when it is written all over your face?”
I shrugged as I zipped up Carson’s jacket. “I hope you’re right.”
“I am, mon fils. I am.”
“Canyou come out here for a minute? Please?” I texted Geneviève after everyone had left. I finished the last minute preparations.
My skates were laced.
All I needed now was Geneviève.
“What for?” she texted back.
I let out a loud sigh and typed, “Jase showed me how to flood the rink this afternoon and I wanted to show you how great it looks.”
Not one second later, my phone rang with a video chat from her. I chuckled and tapped the screen.
“Beau, do not go on the ice. Do you hear me?” she said, her voice loud and insistent. “Have you already gone on the ice? Please tell me you haven’t?” I could see and hear her fumbling around, her phone was jostling all over the place.
“Nope, not yet. I was just going to step on it now,” I said, holding in my laughter.
“No! Stop! No, don’t! Let me change. I’ll be right out. I want to go on it first, Beau, please?” she said, setting her phone down. I could see her changing clothes almost erratically. She was seriously hilarious.
“I’ll only take a couple laps while I wait.”
“No!” she screeched as she pulled on a tight, pink turtleneck. “Beau, just wait! For Pete’s sake. I’ll be out in a minute.” Then she clicked off her phone.
I laughed into the dark, quiet night. The moon was big and bright, showing off the mountains in the distance. No wonder they lived here. It was beautiful, and the air was so crisp and dry. And clean.
As promised, Geneviève didn’t take long to get ready. It seemed like only minutes until she burst out the side door with her figure skates on. I smiled and watched her slide on her red and gray mittens—the ones with the big maple leaf on the top.
“I’m here, I’m here, did you—” she said, stopping still in her tracks when she finally looked up. “What’s—what—” she stuttered, gazing around at the rink.
With her mother’s help, I ordered dozens of red roses.
We placed them in vases along the boards, interspersed with candle lit lanterns.
“Geneviève, come. I have something to ask you,” I said, smirking over at her confused face.
“What’s going on, Beau?” she asked quietly as she walked up to me. I grabbed her mitten covered hand and helped her onto the ice.
She gazed into my eyes with more than a hint of uncertainty. “Go on,” I said, jerking my head toward the ice, but still leaned against the boards.
With some hesitation, she let go of my hand and skated to the middle of the ice. Her hands went straight to her mouth when she read what was frozen there.
It had taken what felt like hours for us to arrange the rose petals into the words, ‘Geneviève, will you marry me? For real?’ on the ice. Luckily, Jase stayed inside with the boys—and Geneviève, who had spent the entire day either lying on the couch or on her bed.
She’d been oblivious to what was going on.
Then Noémie had gone back inside, and Jase came out to show me how to flood the ice.
I had to admit, it looked pretty spectacular.
“Beau,” she said, her mittens still covering her mouth, muting her voice.
“I’ll be needing an actual answer this time, Geneviève,” I said, unable to stop the huge smile that lifted my lips. “Am I allowed to come on the ice yet?”
Her hands dropped from her face, and she smiled back. “Not yet. One second.” Then she raced to the boards and grabbed a vase of roses. She carried them to the center of the ice and set it down, then went to work.