Claire had explicitly forbidden that. Instead he took her to the small public library his new firm had helped renovate in Queens. The library was closing early for the holiday. Snow had begun outside, lighter than the storm that introduced them.
Jack led Claire toward a reading room where a tiny tabletop Christmas tree stood on the librarian’s desk. “You know,” Claire said, “if you’ve arranged a flash mob, I’m leaving.” “I don’t know enough people for that.” He reached into his coat pocket.
Claire’s expression changed. “Jack.” “I had a speech.” “Of course you did.”
“I forgot most of it.” “Good.” He laughed, nervous for once without camouflage. “I know we met because weather destroyed every plan we had,” he said. “But everything good after that happened because we kept making plans anyway.”
Claire’s eyes filled. “So I would like to keep doing that. With you. Very deliberately.”
He opened the ring box. “Claire Bennett, will you marry me?” She looked at him for a long second. Then she said, “Only if you promise not to claim I’m yours at the wedding gate.”
Jack smiled. “No promises.” “Yes.” Their wedding took place in September, far from snow, on a warm afternoon at a small inn outside the city.
Rebecca stood beside Claire. Jack’s father wore the brass house keychain on his car keys and showed it to anyone who would tolerate the story. June and Harold Meyer received an invitation through the address they had exchanged at the airport, and to everyone’s astonishment, they came. June hugged Claire and said, “I told you not to waste a storm.”