Carl got down on one knee, pulled a small, velvet box from his coat pocket, opened it up, and held it up toward her. “Angie,” He said, “you inhabit my heart. You inhabit my mind. You inhabit my soul.”
Angie looked down at Carl with a look of disdain, indifference, and pity. “You make me sound like some sort of invasive species or like a cancer that has metastasized throughout your body.”
“Angie, I’m asking for your hand in marriage,” Carl said.
“My hand?” she said sarcastically. “Whatever shall I do with the rest of me?”
“Angie, I’m being serious. I want to marry you. I want you to be my wife.”
Angie sat down on the park bench and patted the seat next to her. “Get up off your knee, Carl, and come sit here by my side.” Carl jumped up, sat down, and gave Angie a hopeful look.
“You realize that we’ve only known each other for a few weeks,” she said. “This is just the third time we’ve gone out.”
“Angie,” Carl responded, “I fell in love the moment I laid eyes on you. I know you felt something, too. A spark. Electricity. It’s undeniable.”
“Carl, I really like you,” Angie said. “You seem to be a really nice guy. And you’re beautiful!”
“There’s a ‘but’ coming, isn’t there?” Carl said, a defeated look on his face.
“But I’m not ready to get married now. To you or to anyone.” Angie reached out and held Carl’s hand. “The timing is just not right, but if you want to, we can still keep seeing each other.”
“I’d like that very much,” Carl said, relieved that she hadn’t entirely slammed shut the door on their relationship.
Angie squeezed Carl’s hand. “Great. Now let’s go back to my place where we can inhabit each other’s bodies.”
Written for today’s one-word prompt, “inhabit.”