“And here we are. Living on our own, meeting great men, falling in love.”
“Hell, we’re lucky,” I agree.
She arches a brow. “Is it luck? Or was it being open to the right person at the right time?”
What Reese says rings true with me. I was open to Declan Steele from the day I met him, but the timing was all wrong. We weren’t ready for real love then. But, five years later, when we found our way back to each other, I was so ready for him. For big love, for forever love. Maybe everything has fallen into place because I’m open to everything, as long as it’s with him.
Watching Declan through the window, a new sense of rightness settles over me. I’ve had so many questions over the last few months. But the answer I’m holding onto as I leave the kitchen is one I didn’t know I needed until now.
I make my way to the back door, head down the hill, and stop a foot away from the man I cherish.
“Whew. I survived that,” Declan says lightly, wiping a hand across his brow. “And it wasn’t as terrifying as I thought it would be.”
I grin, but my smile isn’t for Declan and Pearl. It’s all for him.
He’s relaxed, content, and . . . happy. He’s smiling at me. With me. For me.
All at once, the picture of the rest of my life snaps into place.
The second we arrive at my grandparents’ home, Grandma spins me around and sends me back to my car. “We need whipped cream. Can you get some, my favorite grandson?”
“Since you asked so nicely,” I say as I trudge back down the steps. “Also, it’s a grandma food rule.”
Her smile is full of pride. “I taught you well.”
“Can’t have peach pie without whipped cream,” I say as I pass Declan on the porch. When I reach the sidewalk to the street, I realize he’s not following, and I turn to ask, “You’re not coming with me?”
He shakes his head. “I see enough of you. I don’t get as much of Kim and Trevor.”
I roll my eyes. “See if I believe you next time you say you miss me.”
“Absence makes the heart grow fonder, sweetheart,” he calls playfully as I slide behind the wheel and set off through my hometown.
Along the way to the store, I pass the park where my Little League team won and lost all those games in middle school. My high school looms off to the right, the site of good and bad times. I leave them in the rearview mirror and cruise through downtown, passing Ink Lore, the place where I’ve gotten all my tattoos.
When I turn on the next block, I absently note the window display on one of the shops across from the grocery store. I park and trot inside to grab the whipped cream. At the checkout I pause, feeling like I’m forgetting something. By the time I pay for the whipped cream, that feeling has become a steady drumbeat in my head.
It’s a powerful sound, demanding I listen. There’s something I have to do.
Something I want to do.
I make my way to my car and peer across the way to the shop windows. To the display that caught my eye.
It’s a jewelry store.
I can just about make out a slogan on the glass.
When you find the one you love . . .
The calligraphy leaves the sentiment unfinished, but I know how it should go.
When you find the one you love, nothing should stop you from being together.
Even if . . .
I drop the whipped cream in the car, lock the doors, and jog through the lot and across the street.
The sign on the door says the store closes in fifteen minutes. A bell tinkles softly as I go inside, and a man who looks like Andy Garcia from Ocean’s Eleven looks up from the counter. “Good evening. Can I help you?”
“Hey, there.” I take a deep, steadying breath. But the words unspool with ease. “I want to propose to my boyfriend and I don’t want to wait much longer. Well, not this second but really soon, but I don’t know a thing about rings.”
“How exciting! And no worries. I know lots about them. We have a few options. Gold, white gold, and platinum.” He hurries me over to the counter and shows me some bands. “Do you know what size he is?”
I shrug, then hold up my left hand. “About the same size?”
With practiced efficiency, he measures my finger then taps his chin, peering into the display cases. He selects a few rings and sets them in a velvet-lined tray on the counter.
“Do I try them on?” I ask.
With a smile, he says, “Yes, since you’re the model for him.”
My heart is beating outside my body as I try on rings for the man I want to become my husband. The last one is perfect—strong, solid platinum. I can’t stop staring at the metal, and I swear I’m a neon sign. I’m fireworks flashing across the summer sky as I imagine sliding this ring on Declan’s finger.