After they wipe cola from the dash, they talk about waiting.

She watches him press a crumpled napkin against his shirt to soak up what soda it can, and thinks about how much she loves him, thinks about how long three years is.

"I don't want a long engagement," she says quietly. She doesn't know if it's the kind of conversation you have at a rest stop, but she's never been good with locations, anyway.

When he doesn't look at her, she crosses her arms and stares into her lap. "I... just... I don't know. Never - Nevermind. I'm sorry. I don't know how to -"

"Don't," he interrupts. "Don't apologize."

When she doesn't look up, he drops the napkin in the cup holder and says with soft determination, "Look at me, please."

She turns her head toward him slowly, but doesn't uncross her arms. He can see the nervousness in her eyes, like this will be some sort of deal breaker for him. It's as if she's never realized that, for him, there's never been a deal breaker. Stutters, stalls, and shuddering stops - hiccups, yes - but the machine never truly breaks. They never break.

"I just don't want to spend the beginning of our engagement apart," she clarifies.

"I can wait," he says.

It's really a half-promise because he's not so sure that he can. The way her hair falls in her eyes now, he thinks he might fumble the ring from his pocket with fingers still sticky from the soda and let the words tumble from his dry mouth. But it's not what she wants. She's afraid she'll be left to drown alone in limbo again, and he can only hope she knows he's always got a life preserver strapped to his back.

"Three months isn't that long," she says and her hands fall to her lap. She smiles and he can't help but do the same.

He grips the steering wheel and grins widely. "You seem so convinced I'll ask, Beesly."

She playfully hits him on the arm and tells him to shut up and drive.