Johnny was a nervous wreck. His hands wouldn’t stop fidgeting with the edge of his shirt, and he kept pacing near the patio door like a man on the verge of flight. It was his 21st birthday, and his friends had gone all out—a massive party, fairy lights strung across the backyard, music thumping, people laughing, drinking, dancing. But none of that mattered to him. Not the cake, not the balloons, not even the bottle of whiskey someone had wrapped with a bow and shoved into his hands.

All Johnny cared about was you.

You were out on the makeshift dance floor, your head thrown back in laughter as you spun in a slow circle with one of your friends. Your smile lit up the entire night more than any string of lights ever could. And God, the way your eyes sparkled when they locked with his across the crowd—it nearly made his knees buckle.

You had been together for three years. Three long, ridiculous, beautiful years. And tonight, Johnny had decided, was the night. The little velvet box in his pocket felt like it weighed twenty pounds, but it had been burning a hole there all evening. He had a plan—hell, he’d rehearsed the speech in the mirror a dozen times. He even practiced getting down on one knee without looking like a complete idiot.

But standing here, watching you, all that confidence was slipping away like water through his fingers.

“If you look any more in love with them, they’ll probably catch on,” came a voice at his side.

Johnny blinked and looked over. Gibsie, his best friend since middle school, was leaning on the porch railing with a plastic cup in his hand and a smirk on his face.

“Too late,” Johnny muttered. “I think I’ve been caught since the first time they looked at me.”

Gibsie snorted. “Yeah, well, you’ve always been a sucker for that smile. You sure you’re not gonna throw up before you pop the question?”

“I might,” Johnny said, only half joking. “Do you think... do you think they’ll say yes?”

Gibsie turned to face him fully, his expression softening. “Mate. They’d say yes if you asked them right now in your boxers with barbecue sauce on your chin. They’re crazy about you.”

Johnny gave a tight laugh. “I hope you’re right.”

“I know I’m right,” Gibsie said, nudging his shoulder. “Besides, look at them.”

Johnny looked. You were now leaning against the table, sipping a drink, looking around the party. Your gaze stopped on him. Your eyes warmed instantly, and you smiled—this soft, private thing like it was just for him.

“See that?” Gibsie said. “They already said yes. You just haven’t asked yet.”

Johnny’s throat tightened. He took a shaky breath and looked down at his hands. His fingers grazed the ring box again.

“What if I don’t do it right? What if I screw it up?”

“You will. You’ll probably say something dumb. You’ll fumble the box. Maybe even trip,” Gibsie said cheerfully. “But it won’t matter. You love them. They love you. That’s it.”

Johnny was quiet for a moment. Then he squared his shoulders, ran a hand through his hair, and whispered, “Okay.”

“You’re doing it?” Gibsie asked, straightening.

“Yeah,” Johnny said, more to himself than anyone else. “I’m doing it.”

He stepped off the porch and walked toward you, weaving through the crowd, heart pounding so loudly it drowned out the music. You turned just as he reached you, eyebrows lifting in curiosity.