Page 18 of Marry Me Tomorrow
“Gwen and Niall are confirmed,” Holly says, looking up from her phone. “You all can reminisce about high school another day. Right now, we have an engagement to celebrate!” Holly links arms with Jenny and leads her out my office door.
As the girls walk ahead, I can’t help but watch Jenny’s profile. The way her hair catches the sunlight and the glow on her face makes my chest tighten.
I couldn’t have picked a better fiancée if I’d tried.
“Hey, man.” Greg elbows me lightly. “What’s got you all emotional?”
Laughing, I shake my head. “Nothing really, dude. I think it just hit me that I’m actually getting married.”
“Well,” Greg says, “if you picked as good of one as I did, then marriage will be a breeze. And from what I know about Jenny so far, you’ll be just fine.” Greg claps me on the shoulder before following the girls out.
Jenny glances back at me, her eyes catching the golden light of the setting sun. My heart skips a beat. That’s my future wife. I will do everything to make sure she is happy, even if this is just a temporary situation.
I hold the door open for Jenny as we walk into the Lunar Lounge. The familiar chime of the bell above the door blends with the low hum of conversation and the faint notes of a song drifting from the speakers. For as long as we’ve been old enough to go to a bar, we’ve always come here to celebrate. Big milestones or small victories, this place has seen it all. So, it’s only fitting that Holly wants to come here to celebrate Jenny and my engagement, even if she and everyone else doesn’t know the whole truth behind it.
“You been here before?” I ask Jenny, glancing at her as we step inside. The warmth of the room envelops us, and the mingled scents of citrusy cocktails, polished wood, and faint traces of bar food make the place feel alive.
“I haven’t actually. By the time I was old enough for a place like this to be my scene, I had moved to Atlanta.” Jenny’s voice is tinged with curiosity as her gaze roams the room. Her eyes widen, taking in the eclectic chaos that is the Lunar Lounge.
The restaurant is not like your typical place. The walls are a vibrant masterpiece, painted with sprawling murals that pay homage to legendary singers from every genre imaginable. Elvis, Aretha Franklin, Freddie Mercury, and even Madonna seem to come alive under the glow of dim, colored lights. They’re connected by swirls of music notes, gleaming instruments, and an explosion of vivid colors that make the walls feel as though they’re in constant motion.
Above us, a dormant disco ball hangs like a sleeping star. Its mirrored surface catches faint glints of light, a hint of the magic it brings when it spins during special events. Sally, the owner, told us once that it only lights up for the most important celebrations.
The bar at the back of the room gleams under warm lighting, its polished surface reflecting a kaleidoscope of bottles behind it. Rows of liquors in every hue imaginable line the shelves, from deep ambers to electric blues. It’s the kind of setup that promises any drink you can dream of. I catch a whiff of freshly cut limes as a bartender slices fruit for a cocktail.
“Wow,” Jenny breathes, still taking it all in. “This place is incredible.”
I grin. “Wait until the music really gets going. That’s when it feels like home.”
This restaurant has always been more than a hangout spot. It’s been our refuge. Whether belting out an off-key tune on their Funky Friday Karaoke nights or laughing over shared memories, this place has always been a second home. For me, it’s as comforting as the marina—the one other place where I feel completely myself.
As we weave through the tables, the hum of voices and the clinking of glasses create a backdrop to our conversation. We head toward one of the U-shaped booths nestled along the wall and big enough for our group. Gwen and Niall are already there, waving as they spot us.
“You dance, Jenny?”
“No,” she says, “never been much for getting up in front of people to make a fool of myself, especially in big crowds.”
“What about your art shows?” I ask as we walk. “Don’t you have to stand in front of a bunch of people for that?”
“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” Jenny admits, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “But it doesn’t feel the same as getting out in front of people I don’t know and dancing, which I’m not good at. I created my art pieces and know them inside and out. Talking about them to people is like talking about your kid or your pet. You know?”
“I suppose that makes sense,” I reply, nodding thoughtfully. “But I’d argue that dancing with someone you know can be like that too. You get to share your love of the song with everyone else who loves to dance and listen to the band sing.”
Jenny swats me lightly on the arm, her laugh bubbling out. “You like being right, don’t you?”
I smile broadly, my chest swelling with a playful kind of pride, and nod.
“I guess,” Jenny says, “that means you’re not going to let me just sit here and watch you all dance, then, are you?”
Pausing, I turn serious and take her hand gently in mine. Her skin is soft, and her fingers instinctively curl slightly against my palm. “I would never force you to do anything you don’t want to do. I mean that, both in this scenario and in our future as husband and wife. You can always guarantee, with one hundred percent certainty, that I will do everything in my power to make sure you are well cared for and happy. You will never need to be scared of me or what I might think. I am committed to you and will uphold my title as your husband with everything I am, even if it is just a temporary thing.”
Her smile softens as she looks up at me. Letting go of my hand, she reaches around me for a hug. The embrace is warm and grounding, her cheek pressing lightly against my shoulder. “Trent, you are the sweetest, most perfect arranged fiancé I have ever known,” she says in a hushed tone.
“Hopefully I’m the only arranged fiancé you’ve ever had. Or do you have something else you need to tell me?” I say, crossing my arms with exaggerated offense.
Jenny giggles, the sound like the soft chime of bells. “You’re such a dork. You know that, right?”
“I don’t know if I should be offended by that or not,” I reply, grinning despite myself.
