Yesterday's Gone: Season Three (THE POST-APOCALYPTIC SERIAL THRILLER)

you, right?”
    She nodded her head.
    “Do dogs have three eyelids?”
    Rose nodded.
    “Does the human brain generate enough power to light a light bulb?”
    She nodded again.
    “Does mizithra with coriander kick unholy ass?”
    She laughed then cracked out a half-broken, “Yes.”
    Boricio squeezed her hands inside of his. “This is the best news ever. Especially this morning. So thank you.” He smiled. “This is great for us, I promise. Right now, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. And I’ll stay that way until this afternoon, and then I’ll be even happier.”
    Boricio took Rose by the hand, then led her to the bedroom. He stopped in front of the bed, turned back toward her, then lifted her hands over her head.
    Boricio pulled her tee shirt from her body, and while he was always especially attentive to her breasts — he called them her rosebuds — he quickly passed them after a light kiss, dropping to his knees and burying his face in her belly. His lips lingered at her button, then he finally stood, pushed her back to the bed, and peeled her pink panties down her legs and past her ankles.
    Boricio showed Rose how happy he was until they both fell asleep.

    **

    They woke up nearly two hours later, closer to lunch than breakfast. Boricio’s arms were still wrapped around Rose. He lightly squeezed her to see if she was awake.
    “How was your rest?” she said, turning toward him.
    “Amazing, you?”
    “I never really fell asleep. I was thinking instead.”
    Boricio brushed the side of her cheek. “Me too,” he said. “I was just keeping my thoughts in the middle of my snores.”
    “You mean your thunder,” she laughed.
    Boricio lightly slapped her cheek, a tickle really, then climbed over her body, hopped from the bed, held out his hand, and pulled her from bed. They kissed again before heading into the hall, then into the bathroom for a quick shower together.
    Boricio dried off, then threw on a pair of jeans and a black tee. He grabbed the step-stool from the kitchen while Rose finished applying her makeup, then, as quietly as he could, he crept back into the bedroom, over to the closet, then up on the ladder. Boricio reached for the small black box shoved all the way at the back of the top shelf.
    He lifted the lid, smiled at the ring, then slipped the box inside his pocket.
    Boricio returned the stool to the kitchen, then poured a tall glass of orange juice for them to share. She was suddenly in the kitchen, smiling. “You seem so mysterious this morning,” she said.
    “No mystery,” Boricio said. “That’s just change you’re sniffing. And I think you’re the one who started the morning getting all Darwinian on me.” He opened the door, waited for her to step out, then followed and closed the door behind him. “I always figured that if you don’t like something, it’s your job to change it,” he said. “And if you can’t change it, well then you have to at least change the way you think about it. But since the day I met you, Rose, I haven’t wanted to change a thing about my life, or any of the ways I think about it. But this change is good. This change is great.”
    Boricio opened the door to her Mini Cooper and kissed her softly. Rose kissed him back hard, like she wanted to pull Boricio back into the bedroom. He wanted that too, but he wanted breakfast and all that would come after even more.
    The drive was mostly silent — a sky of sunshine fine with Boricio. The flat of his foot kept slapping the pedal, coasting through the empty four-way stops, and quickly closing the short distance to Schooner or Later, where he would ask Rose if he could watch her wipe cheese from her lips every Sunday for the rest of their forevers.
    Quiet was best — it gave Boricio time to reflect, and perhaps even perfect his proposal. He thought about how grateful he was to have someone like Rose calming the grizzly that had been waking inside him, the same bear who had been sleeping at the mouth of Boricio’s cave as long as he could remember. Just when Boricio thought the old monster was finally ready to open its eyes, stretch its arms in a yawn, then amble outside the cave, Rose came along to wave it back inside.
    Boricio had spent the last month obsessed with the idea of marrying Rose. She would probably want a wedding, maybe invite her sister, Mary, from Missouri. Boricio would be happy to go to the courthouse on Tuesday, since he still wanted to spend Monday in bed.
    Boricio