As Stuart Bloom In TBBT

February 2011. Valentine's Day.

The helicopter lifts off from Burbank.

Katie's gripping my hand. "I hate flying."

"It's a helicopter. Not a plane."

"That's worse!"

But she's grinning. Terrified and thrilled.

LA spreads below us. Sunset painting everything gold and pink.

"This is insane," she shouts over the rotor noise.

"Good insane?"

"Best insane!"

We circle downtown. Hollywood sign. Santa Monica pier. The beaches.

Katie's taking photos. Laughing. She looks—happy.

Purely happy.

This cost $2,000. Worth every penny.

Dinner at Bestia. Reservations impossible. Unless you know someone.

I know someone now. Marvel connections.

The food's incredible. Italian. Modern. Katie orders wine.

"I can't believe you did this."

"Valentine's deserves effort."

"This is more than effort. This is—movie romance."

"You're worth it."

"Stuart. I love you. You know that?"

"I know. I love you too."

"No. I mean—really love you. Not just say it. Feel it. Deep."

She's crying. Happy tears.

"I've never felt this—safe. With anyone. Like I can build a life. Not just date."

"We are building a life."

"I know. That's what makes it perfect."

We talk about the future. Hypothetically. Jokingly.

But not really joking.

"If you proposed, what kind of ring?" I ask.

"Simple. Classic. Nothing flashy."

"Good to know."

"Are you—proposing?"

"Not right now. But eventually."

"How eventually?"

"Maybe summer?"

"Summer works."

"Okay then."

"Okay then."

We're planning a proposal. At dinner. On Valentine's Day.

That's—serious.

Hotel suite. Peninsula Beverly Hills. Another $1,200.

Rose petals. Champagne. Ridiculous luxury.

Katie's in awe. "This is too much."

"No such thing."

"Stuart. I don't need—"

"I know. But I wanted to."

We make love. Slow. Connected. She cries after.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"Nothing. Everything's right. That's why I'm crying."

We lie tangled together. Champagne forgotten.

"Kids?" she asks.

"Eventually."

"How many?"

"Two. Maybe three."

"Boy or girl?"

"Don't care. As long as they're healthy."

"Names?"

"I like Emma for a girl."

The memory tingle hits.

Emma.

Emma Chen. Comic artist. Comic-Con. That spark.

Why did I say Emma?

"Emma's nice," Katie says. "And for a boy?"

"Haven't thought about it."

"Liar. You've thought about everything."

"Maybe."

She kisses my chest. "I love that about you. You plan. You build. You execute."

"You make me sound like a robot."

"You're the least robot person I know. You're just—effective. At life."

We fall asleep wrapped together.

Perfect night.

Perfect moment.

Perfect relationship.

Morning. Katie's still asleep.

I'm on the balcony. Peninsula view. LA waking up.

Last night was—everything.

I'm thinking about rings. Proposals. Summer timing.

This is it. She's the one.

We're building a life together. Moving in. Getting engaged. Eventually married. Kids. The whole trajectory.

My phone buzzes. Text from Wil.

Wil: Fourth shop? I'm in for another $100K. Let's talk equity.

Me: Thanks. Will call tomorrow.

Another text. Leonard.

Leonard: Happy Valentine's. Hope you had a good one.

Me: Best one yet.

Leonard: Still worried about the Tuesday thing. Sorry. Can't shake it.

I don't respond.

Leonard's wrong.

Last night proved it.

Katie loves me.

We're planning our future.

She wouldn't cheat.

Not now.

Not ever.

I go back inside.

Slide into bed.

Hold her.

And believe everything's perfect.

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