pinky promise - jamie tartt

‟ LIKE A SUPERHERO „

˗ˏˋ 'ˎ˗

"Tatum Greene, I love ya, so very, very, very much. Will ya marry me?"

"I—no."

"Tate!" Phoebe's annoyed voice called out, and Tate could help the giggle at the overly-expressive look of disbelief on Jamie's face as he knelt before her. "You're supposed to say yes."

An hour earlier, Roy had dropped his niece off at Jamie's house so he and Tate could watch her for a few hours. While Jamie had been incredibly nervous about the opportunity to babysit Roy Kent's niece, Tate had offered to take Phoebe while Roy's sister was called in for an emergency surgery and Roy himself had his own meetings to attend.

"Just warning, she's fucking really into weddings right now." Roy had claimed as he shoved Phoebe's bag into Jamie's hands at drop off. Tate had thought that meant an afternoon of making Jamie act as the groom while he pretended to marry Phoebe, dressing the young girl up in order to seem bridal.

What Roy should have said when he delivered his warning was that Phoebe was really into planning weddings, and engagements, like an absolute drill sergeant.

"Sorry, Pheebs, but," Tate playfully winced, waving a hand wildly between herself and a still kneeling, still pouting, Jamie. "If I marry him, then my name will be Tate Tartt."

"Oh," Phoebe scrunched her face as she heard the name. "It does kind of sound like a superhero character."

"Oi! What's wrong with me last name?" Jamie asked, offended, and Tate's feigned look of disgust cracked under his genuine confusion.

"You can hyphenate it." Phoebe assured Tate, who was impressed by the young girl's vocabulary. Tate nodded, accepting the answer, and turned back to Jamie, who was still holding the plastic ring with a bright pink gem outstretched towards her.

"Okay, ask me again." Tate grinned, getting back into character. Jamie rolled his eyes at her dramatics, grinning despite it all, but one encouraging nod from Phoebe had him puffing out his chest and leveling his most charming smile at her.

"Tate, will you do me the honor of bein' me wife, even if ya hate me last name, 'cause it makes ya sound like a superhero or some shit?"

"Got myself a romantic, huh?" Tate couldn't help the taunt, right hand pressed over her heart while the left extended towards Jamie. "Of course I'll marry you, you dork."

He slid the costume jewelry ring onto her finger—initially trying to put it on her middle finger, but getting it right after Phoebe cut in—standing from where he knelt to kiss her in an over-the-top way intended to make her giggle.

"Hey, Pheebs?" Tate broke away from Jamie, turning towards the young girl with a conspiratorial grin. "Jamie's wallet's on the kitchen island. He owes you a pound for swearing during the proposal."

"Right!" Phoebe grinned, taking off like a shot out of the living room and into the kitchen.

"How are we supposed to pay for the weddin', now? I owe her more than a pound, and she knows it." Jamie taunted, feigning seriousness as his hands grabbed at Tate's sweatshirt to pull her closer to him. She moved easily, hands settling against his chest to catch herself, grinning up at him.

"I know a footballer who might have a stake in this wedding and could put his Premier League contract to good use." In response to her light, teasing words, Jamie kissed her. Short and sweet, it only last a moment before he was pulling back to smile at her, grin a little more serious.

"You really ain't gonna take me last name?" He asked, voice soft, and Tate could hardly think beyond the jumble of emotions in her brain. Or the hidden promise in Jamie's words, that there will come a day when she has to decide whether or not to take his last name or hyphenate or keep her own.