“Never,” he said. “I love you both, too. I know I’m not your father, but I love you. Your mother has raised you to be remarkable gentlemen, and I want to help her. I want to be there to see the men you become, to have some part in it.”
Reggie had stopped scanning the shelves, and Matthew watched him with wide, searching eyes.
Lord, he couldn’t stop talking now, a dam burst open inside him. “I want to grow old with her, share all the birthdays and Christmases, the bad days and the good. I want them all, with her and with both of you. If you’ll have me.”
Lord, but he prayed that they’d have him. That he would be enough for this family.
After a long pause, Matthew looked at Reggie, and Reggie nodded. “I think she’ll like that.”
“Me too,” Matthew said.
Archie stood, his chest tight with emotion as he made for the door. “I’ll ask her now, and—”
He swung the door open and had to catch himself on the frame to avoid colliding with Marigold. Her mouth hung open in a perfect O, her cheeks flushed. Her eyes were damp, and Archie’s stomach swooped. “How much did you hear?” he asked.
The O turned to a tentative smile. “All of it,” she breathed, chased by a brokenlaugh.
He took her hands, clasped them against his chest so she could feel his pounding heart, the foolish organ that she and her boys had stolen. “I wanted to ask you something—”
“Yes,” she said, her lips spreading into a wide grin. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Matthew whooped from behind him while Reggie clapped, and she was in his arms, kissing him as he laughed, as he cried, as he felt the fulfillment he’d been chasing crash over him.
She tucked her head under his chin, kissed the flushed skin of his throat. “I love you,” she said, and he bent to kiss the crown of her head.
“And I love you, Marigold. Always.”
