There's a strand of hair that's fallen out of place, and it's taking everything Coop has in him not to reach out and tuck it back behind her ear. He's done that for her a countless number of times before, it's always that same strand that can never be tamed, but he remembers that on the night he'd proposed, he hadn't had to tuck it back once. It's silly to think of it now but at the time, late into the night before he'd fallen asleep and before Sylvie had written that note for him to find in the morning, he'd thought of it as a sign that maybe things were settling in the way they were supposed to for them. He'd been exhausted, he realizes now, from working up all that nerve to ask Sylvie to marry him and putting the effort into trying to make the proposal special.
He hadn't wanted some bullshit cliche like dumping the ring into a flute of champagne--which he doesn't get in the first place because it'll just be sticky, no woman would want to slide some sticky as hell ring on her finger because her boyfriend was too much of a dumbass to think ahead--or taking her to the top of the Eiffel Tower because fuck, they'd lived in Paris, that would have been the equivalent of doing something that required little to no thought. He'd kept it simple in the end, had invited some of their closest friends to dinner, never mind the fact that one of them, Luka, was a professional photographer and what did Sylvie mean that it seemed odd he had his camera ready for when they were sitting down to dinner, he was a professional photographer.
Coop had cooked a fantastic dinner, had set up their little dining room with those strands of white lights that gave everything a soft glow and had made Sylvie look exceptionally beautiful, not that she doesn't always look that way. She'd been talking to Luka's wife when Coop had pushed his chair back to get down on one knee and when Sylvie had finally noticed, Luka had started snapping the photos. He admittedly still has a few, reluctant as Luka had been to give them, and sometimes Coop will look through the pictures just to remember that at least for that first minute, Sylvie had seemed so happy. So genuinely excited. Still in love with him.
He studies her now without trying to make it obvious, though he's never been very good at masking himself when it comes to her, and he knows what he'd known from that first night he'd seen her. She's not here to try to hurt him again and in spite of the bitterness he may still feel from the way she'd left him high and dry, Coop doesn't truly believe that she'd ever intended to hurt him. They can be honest with each other this time around, completely honest each other, and she'd left him because of what he is but she'd come back anyway. She'd missed him, she's here, and for right now, she doesn't plan to leave. Maybe he ought to give her some credit for that.
"I think Cooper would be the luckiest dog in this park to get to go home with you," he tells her, tone nothing if not sincere. "Long as you promise to take really, really good care of him. Like, ridiculously good care of him, that dog's my namesake. He's very fragile."
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He hadn't wanted some bullshit cliche like dumping the ring into a flute of champagne--which he doesn't get in the first place because it'll just be sticky, no woman would want to slide some sticky as hell ring on her finger because her boyfriend was too much of a dumbass to think ahead--or taking her to the top of the Eiffel Tower because fuck, they'd lived in Paris, that would have been the equivalent of doing something that required little to no thought. He'd kept it simple in the end, had invited some of their closest friends to dinner, never mind the fact that one of them, Luka, was a professional photographer and what did Sylvie mean that it seemed odd he had his camera ready for when they were sitting down to dinner, he was a professional photographer.
Coop had cooked a fantastic dinner, had set up their little dining room with those strands of white lights that gave everything a soft glow and had made Sylvie look exceptionally beautiful, not that she doesn't always look that way. She'd been talking to Luka's wife when Coop had pushed his chair back to get down on one knee and when Sylvie had finally noticed, Luka had started snapping the photos. He admittedly still has a few, reluctant as Luka had been to give them, and sometimes Coop will look through the pictures just to remember that at least for that first minute, Sylvie had seemed so happy. So genuinely excited. Still in love with him.
He studies her now without trying to make it obvious, though he's never been very good at masking himself when it comes to her, and he knows what he'd known from that first night he'd seen her. She's not here to try to hurt him again and in spite of the bitterness he may still feel from the way she'd left him high and dry, Coop doesn't truly believe that she'd ever intended to hurt him. They can be honest with each other this time around, completely honest each other, and she'd left him because of what he is but she'd come back anyway. She'd missed him, she's here, and for right now, she doesn't plan to leave. Maybe he ought to give her some credit for that.
"I think Cooper would be the luckiest dog in this park to get to go home with you," he tells her, tone nothing if not sincere. "Long as you promise to take really, really good care of him. Like, ridiculously good care of him, that dog's my namesake. He's very fragile."