Relief floods through me, followed immediately by something deeper. Something that feels like finally coming home after being lost for years.
"Really?"
"Really." She leans up to kiss me, and it's soft and sweet and tastes like tears and Thai food. "I love you, Kasen James. Even when you overthink things and bring home new beers for me to critique when I can't even drink them and leave your sketchbooks all over my clean kitchen counters."
"I love you too." I pull her closer, feeling our son push against me. "You and our son and this whole ridiculous life we're building."
"Summit William James," she murmurs against my neck. "Has a nice ring to it."
"Better than James James."
"Uh, just a little." She laughs, the sound vibrating through both of us. "We should probably tell people we're married, huh?"
"I think a lot of people already know. Your mom does, Reed, Banks, Kieran. Everyone else can wait until tomorrow," I say, already sliding down her body to kiss her neck. "Right now, I want to show my wife how much I appreciate her saying yes."
"Technically, I said yes months ago. I just didn't remember it."
"Semantics." My mouth finds that spot behind her ear that makes her shiver. "You're saying yes now, and that's what matters."
"Kasen."
"Yeah?"
"Shut up."
I do. And as I strip her underwear off and settle between her thighs, this beautiful, infuriating woman who's somehow become everything to me, I realize something profound:
Somehow, the biggest mistake of my life turned out to be the only thing I've ever gotten completely right.
"I love you," I whisper against her skin as she sighs my name.
"I love you too," she breathes back. "Now less talking, more doing."
I laugh. "Yes, ma'am."
And as I lose myself in her, I know with absolute certainty that whatever challenges await with a newborn and two businesses—we're ready.
Because what started as the dumbest mistake of my life has become the smartest thing I've ever done.
Even if I was too drunk to remember it at the time.
Later, as Wren sleeps beside me, her hand resting on her belly and our son moving beneath her skin, I finally dig the ring out of my jeans pocket. In the moonlight filtering through our bedroom window, I slip it onto my finger where it belongs.
Where it's always belonged.
Tomorrow I'll put her ring back where it belongs too. But tonight, I just want to lie here with my wife, listening to her dream, feeling like the luckiest bastard in Portland.
I wake to find Wren already up, standing at the window in our bedroom with a mug of her cream with a splash of coffee. She's wearing my Timber Brewing hoodie, the one she's claimed as her own, and her pink hair looks almost neon in the early morning light.
"Morning," I say, my voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." She turns, and that's when I notice the tears in her eyes. "Kasen?"
"What's wrong?" I'm out of bed in seconds.
"Nothing's wrong." She laughs, wiping at her eyes. "I just—I want to do this right. The proposal. I know we already talked last night, but I want to ask you properly."
"Pink—"
