I pause long enough to take another bite. They are so good.
After I swallow, I answer him. “You? Take a break from the garage? That’s not your style.”
He feigns a wounded look. “Hey, I can relax. Sometimes.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Where would we go?”
He sips his coffee, mischief in his eyes. “Cabin in the woods. Hot tub. No cell service. More pancakes than we can
possibly eat.”
I stifle a laugh. “Pancakes are a requirement?”
He winks. “Non-negotiable. Also, hiking. Or not. We can just see how many pancakes it takes to regret our choices.”
My heart skips. “That sounds perfect.”
He grins. “So, will you run away with me for the weekend? Pancakes and all?”
I pretend to consider. “If there’s whipped cream, I’m in.”
He lifts my hand, kisses my knuckles. “Done.”
That afternoon, I walk through town and wave to neighbors I never thought I’d know. Mrs. Abernathy insists I take a cinnamon roll home. Jack sneaks a kiss in the garage whileHenry grumbles about public displays. I duck into my tiny office, just a room above the florist, but mine.
Something settles inside my chest. This is my life now. I built it.
That night, Jack and I sit on the porch, shoulders pressed together, watching stars burn holes in the dark sky.
He says, “What’re you thinking about?”
I close my eyes and breathe in the night. “How lucky I am.”
He kisses my hair. “Me too.”
I turn and search his face. “You really think this is forever?”
His green eyes are steady and sure. “I know it is.”
And I think he’s right.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
JACK
I never saw myself as the guy planning a marriage proposal down to the last detail. I always thought I’d just know when the time was right—no grand gestures, no elaborate speeches, just something real.
Turns out, standing here at the stove, stirring marinara sauce while the radio hums in the background, is precisely the moment I want.
Beth is out running errands, so the house is quiet except for the bubbling pot and my heartbeat thumping in my ears. Garlic and basil fill the air, and wildflowers from the farmer’s market sit in a mason jar on the table—bright, a little wild, exactly like us.
The ring in my pocket weighs on me, heavier than its size. I’ve carried it for weeks, always waiting for some perfect sign. But I already know. I’ve known since the day Beth walked into my life, eyes stormy and cheeks streaked with tears, but still stubborn, still fierce.
I want forever with her.
I just hope she wants the same.
The front door creaks open. I hear the familiar thud of Beth’s shoes hitting the wall.
