“Cinque,” the man corrected, holding up five.
Caleb sighed, muttered something about extortion, and pulled out his wallet. “You’d think being a Dane would give me better negotiating skills,” he said under his breath.
I stepped closer, tucking my hand into the crook of his arm. “It’s not that you’re bad at it. It’s that you’re hopeless.”
He smirked at me, that dimple in his cheek flashing. Then, without warning, he shifted something behind his back. “Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so,” he said, and there was a note in his voice—a kind of low, warm command—that made my pulse skip.
I rolled my eyes but obeyed. Around us, the market kept moving: women with scarves tied over their hair haggled for olives, kids darted between stalls with breadsticks clutched in sticky hands, and somewhere a man sang, his voice rich and raw.
“Okay,” Caleb said softly.
I opened my eyes.
He was holding out a bouquet—sunflowers, small white blossoms I didn’t know the name of, and sprigs of rosemary. It was messy, asymmetrical, the stems wrapped with twine, but it was beautiful in the way only something chosen with care could be.
I took it automatically, lowering my face to breathe in the mix of sweet and green and peppery.
That’s when I saw it.
Tied to one of the rosemary sprigs was a gold ring. Not flashy. Not ostentatious. Solid and warm, the kind of piece that would survive years of kitchens and travel and still look as right as the day it was made.
My breath caught, the sounds of the market going dim.
Caleb was already kneeling between crates of tomatoes and lemons, one knee in the dust, his eyes locked on mine.
“Meghan Delaney,” he began, his voice steady but low enough that I had to lean in to hear. “I’ve fought a lot of battles in my life. Lost some, won some. But you—” He paused, his jaw flexing. “You’re the one thing I never want to fight. You’re my home. My reason to get up in the morning.”
I felt the tears start before I could stop them, hot against the cool morning air.
He untied the twine and took the ring in his big, calloused hand. “I don’t care where we are—Montana, Charleston, here. I just care that I’m with you. Marry me.”
I laughed then, a laugh that cracked and broke because it was tangled with a sob. “Of course, I’ll marry you.”
He slid the ring onto my finger. The gold was warm from his hand, the fit perfect, and the weight of it felt like an anchor in the best way. Solid. Sure.
When he stood, he didn’t hesitate, just pulled me into him and kissed me—right there in the market, with the cheese vendor watching and a couple of teenagers snickering from the olive stall. Someone whistled. Someone else shouted something in Italian that sounded like approval.
I pulled back enough to look at him, to really see him: the sun catching in his hair, the lines of his face etched in warmth and certainty. This man who had walked into my life and, somehow, made me believe we could build something together that wasn’t just survival—it was joy.
“Guess that makes you my fiancée,” he said, grinning like the word tasted good in his mouth.
“Guess it does,” I said, my voice thick but steady.
We didn’t rush to leave the market. We wandered, hand in hand, the ring glinting every time the light caught it. He bought us fresh figs and insisted on feeding me one, pressing it to my lips so I could taste the honeyed flesh. I bought him a shot of espresso from a tiny stand, and he grimaced at the bitterness before chasing it with a kiss.
By the time we looped back toward the café at the corner, my bouquet was shedding petals, and the heat of the day was starting to press in. But inside, I felt light.
I thought about the woman I’d been at the start of this—obsessed with work, chained to my kitchen, carrying the ghost of my parents’ restaurant like a burden I could never set down.
They’d want this for me, I realized. Not just the success, not just the kitchens and the menus—but the joy. The room to live. To love.
Caleb squeezed my hand, and I looked at him, my chest full enough to ache. Home wasn’t a place anymore. It was him. And I was never letting go.
