How the hell does he know?
"Ask her what?"
"Don't play dumb, Scott. The Tiffany's bag kind of gave it away." Blake leans closer, lowering his voice. "So when?"
I run a hand through my hair, feeling suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of what I'm about to do.
"I don't know. Soon. I just... I know I want to marry her. Not someday, not eventually.Now."
"Good for you." Blake claps me on the shoulder. "She's lucky to have someone who's that sure."
"Nah. I'm the lucky one."
The plane touches down in Iron Ridge and Blake gives me a ride from the airport. I spend the entire drive adjusting the ring box in my pocket. My hands are actually shaking. Not the subtle tremor of post-game adrenaline, but the full-on, can't-hide-it quiver of a man who's about to bet his entire heart on four simple words.
I flex my fingers, willing them to steady.
"You want me to stick around?" Blake asks as he pulls into my driveway. "Provide moral support or whatever?"
"Nah, I'm good." I grab my bags from the back seat, then freeze.
Because there are three cars in my driveway.
Mia's beat-up Honda, which I expected.
But also my mom's sedan and... is that Bear's massive pickup truck?
What the hell?
"Everything okay?" Blake follows my gaze.
"I... think so?" I stare at my house, which looks... different somehow. The porch light is on, and there are other lights glowing warmly through windows that I definitely didn't leave on when I left for the road trip.
"Sure you don't want me to wait?"
"No, it's fine. Thanks for the ride, man."
Blake grins. "Good luck, bro. Whatever her surprise is, I'm sure yours will top it."
As his truck disappears down the street, I stand in my own driveway, bags at my feet, staring at my house.
The ring box feels warm in my pocket, a reminder of the life-changing question I'm carrying around.
Deep breath, Scott. Let's do this.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Ryder
Ipush through my front door, bags dropping to the floor as I'm hit with the sound of laughter drifting down from upstairs.
Female laughter. Mia's laugh mixed with...my mother's?
"What the fuck?" I mutter, leaving my luggage in the entryway and following the voices.
The sound of footsteps and muffled conversation grows louder as I climb the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs. The ring box in my coat pocket feels heavier with each step, pressing against my chest like a reminder of everything I want to ask her.
"Welcome home!"
