I lean into Declan’s warmth, overwhelmed by the magnitude of what he’s created. Highland exists because of my father’s dream, but Highland 2.0 exists because Declan understood that some things are worth preserving even when preservation costs millions. The irony isn’t lost on me—the man who was supposed to demolish Highland became the one who ensured its permanence.
“Thank you,” I whisper against his shoulder. “For saving Highland, for honoring my father’s memory, for proving that some partnerships are worth fighting for.”
“Thank you for teaching me what building something meaningful actually looks like.” His arms tighten around me. “Maya, everything good in my life started the day you scattered those petition papers across my office floor.”
I pull back to look at him, remembering that moment—how terrified I was, how certain I was that he was the enemy, how impossible our current reality would have seemed. “I was so angry that day.”
“You were magnificent that day,” he corrects, brushing a tear from my cheek. “Fierce and passionate and completely unafraid of a CEO who thought he held all the power. You changed everything in fifteen minutes.”
“We changed everything,” I correct. “Together.”
“Maya, Declan!” Carlo’s voice echoes down the hallway. “The celebration is starting, and people want to see Highland’s co-directors!”
Co-directors. The title still makes me smile. Eighteen months ago, I was Highland’s executive director fighting to save the building from Declan’s company. Now we’re partners in every sense that matters.
The main hall is packed with three generations of families, community leaders, city officials, and media representatives. But more than that, it’s filled with the people who make Highland home—Rosa coordinating food service, Tita Sol directing volunteers, Carlo documenting everything with his camera.
I step onto Highland’s small stage, looking out at faces that represent twenty-one years of community building. These are the people who never gave up on Highland’s mission even when the building seemed doomed. Children who learned to read inour library have grown into adults raising their own families here. Seniors who immigrated decades ago sit beside teenagers born in Los Angeles, all united by Highland’s role in their lives.
“Welcome to Highland Community Center’s anniversary celebration. Tonight, we celebrate not just Highland’s preservation, but its evolution into proof that community ownership and business innovation can strengthen each other.”
The applause is sustained, genuine. I see Mrs. Santos, who I taught to video-call her grandchildren. Tito Ricky, whose legal expertise saved us more times than I can count. Rosa, whose siopao recipe has fed every celebration Highland has ever hosted.
“Two years ago, Highland Community Center faced demolition. Pierce Enterprises planned to tear down this building to make way for luxury development. But Highland’s community proved that our value was never about the building—it was about the relationships, the support networks, the commitment to preserving culture and serving families.”
I find Declan in the crowd where he’s standing near the back, letting me have this moment. “We learned that community preservation and business innovation can strengthen each other when the right partnerships make community ownership possible.”
“Highland’s future is secure because its community controls its destiny. No corporation can threaten Highland’s programming. No developer can acquire Highland’s property. We own our home, and we’ll decide how it serves our community for generations to come.”
The applause is thunderous, and as it dies down, I realize Declan is walking toward the stage. He moves with confidence, but there’s something different in his expression—nervous energy mixed with excitement.
“Thank you, Maya,” he says, joining me on the stage. “Highland Community Center represents everything I didn’t understand about development when I first walked through these doors two years ago.”
A few chuckles from the crowd. “I thought Highland was an obstacle to progress. I thought community preservation and business success were fundamentally incompatible.” He pauses, his smile soft, intimate. “Maya Navarro and Highland’s community taught me that I was wrong about all of those things.”
The crowd is completely silent now, and I realize Declan is sharing something more personal than his usual remarks about development strategy. His voice carries a vulnerability I recognize from our quiet moments together, when he talks about his childhood or his fears about living up to his father’s expectations.
“But Highland’s community also taught me something about partnership, about what it means to build something meaningful with someone who shares your values and challenges your assumptions.” He steps closer, his gaze locked on my face. “They taught me that some things are worth risking everything to protect—community, principles, and love.”
My breath catches. There’s something in Declan’s voice that makes my heart race with anticipation. The way he’s looking at me, the nervous energy I’ve been sensing for weeks—suddenly it all makes sense.
“Eighteen months ago, I thought I was investing in Highland Community Center. What I was actually doing was discovering what it means to find someone who fights for the same principles, who builds toward the same vision, who makes every day feel like an adventure worth sharing.”
I can barely breathe. Around us, Highland’s community has gone completely still, as if they sense something momentous is about to happen. I see Rosa beaming from the kitchen doorway, tears streaming down her face. Tita Sol has her hands clasped to her chest. Carlo is positioned with his camera, and I realize they’ve all been in on this secret.
“Maya, two years ago, you walked into my office with eight hundred and forty-three signatures and a determination to save Highland Community Center. You changed everything—my approach to business, my understanding of what makes developments valuable, my belief in what’s possible when two people work toward the same goals.”
He drops to one knee, pulling out a ring box that catches the light from Highland’s new chandeliers.
“Maya Navarro, will you marry me? Will you spend your life building communities with me, fighting for what matters, proving that love and business and social responsibility can support each other?”
The silence feels eternal. Every emotion from the past eighteen months floods through me at once—the terror of nearly losing Highland, the wonder of watching Declan transform from corporate enemy to community partner, the deep joy of building something extraordinary together.
“Yes,” I say, my voice carrying clearly through Highland’s improved acoustics. “Yes, I’ll marry you. Yes, I’ll build extraordinary things with you for the rest of our lives.”
The eruption of applause and cheers nearly brings down Highland’s renovated ceiling. Declan slides the ring onto my finger—a beautiful vintage piece that perfectly matches the blend of tradition and innovation that defines everything we’ve built together—and then he’s kissing me while Highland’s community celebrates around us.
“I love you,” I murmur against his lips.
