"And I found my way back to you," he said, his voice low and soft. "So from where I'm standing, today's been pretty perfect."
My throat went tight. "I'm so sorry. About the list, about lying to you, about?—"
"I know." His voice was gentle. "I know you are. And I'm sorry too. Sorry I walked out instead of listening. Sorry I let my hurt feelings matter more than over two decades of knowing who you really are."
"Do you?" The words came out raw. "Because I keep expecting you to walk away. To decide I'm not worth the trouble."
Something shifted in his expression. "Sabrina, you want to know what I realized these past few days?"
I nodded, afraid to speak.
"I realized I've been wasting time being scared. Scared of ruining our friendship, scared of not being good enough, scared of wanting something I didn't think I deserved." He took another step closer. "But you know what scared me most? The thought of losing you completely because I was too much of a coward to fight for what we could have."
My heart pounded against my ribs. "Trace?—"
"I love you," he said. "I've loved you for years, and I was too blind or too stubborn or too afraid to say it. You writing my name on that list? It hurt. But it also woke me up. Made me realize that you were hurting too, had been hurting, and I'd been too wrapped up in my own fear to see it."
Fresh tears spilled down my cheeks. "I love you too. I've loved you since we were kids, and I was so tired of waiting for you to see me. Really see me."
"I see you now," he said, reaching up to cup my cheek. "I see all of you. The good, the complicated, the perfectly imperfect. And I love what I see."
He kissed me then, soft and sure and full of promise. It tasted like forgiveness and second chances and coming home. When we broke apart, I could hear the distant sound of vendors loading trucks, the last remnants of a wedding that never was.
"We should probably help clean up," I said, though I didn't want to move from the circle of his arms.
"In a minute." He pulled back just enough to look at me, his expression serious. "I have something to say first."
Before I could ask what, he dropped to one knee right there in Marla's kitchen and pulled a small velvet box from his pocket.
My heart stopped.
"Sabrina Meyer," he said, his voice steady and sure, "you've been the most important person in my life since I was eight years old and you shared your peanut butter sandwich with me on the playground. You've seen me at my worst and somehow decided I was worth loving anyway. You've built something beautiful in this town, brought people together, created a place that feels like home."
I was crying again, ugly happy tears that I couldn't seem to stop.
"I don't want to waste any more time being scared," he continued. "I don't want to spend another day without you knowing that you're my first choice, my only choice, my forever choice. Will you marry me?"
"Yes," I whispered, then louder, "Yes, of course yes."
He slipped the ring onto my finger. It was a simple solitaire that caught the kitchen light and threw sparkles across the walls. Then he stood and kissed me again, spinning me around until I was laughing and crying and dizzy with joy.
"You know," he said, setting me back on my feet, "there's a perfectly good wedding setup outside going to waste."
I blinked at him. "What?"
"That damn arch-slash-pergola thing is still up. The chairs are still there. The flowers are gorgeous." His eyes sparkled with mischief and possibility. "The photographer's still here, the podcaster's still rolling, and I'm pretty sure the minister stuck around hoping to salvage something from this day."
My breath caught. "Are you suggesting?—"
"I'm suggesting we give Hard Timber something to really talk about. Turn this disaster into our beginning." He grinned. "Unless you want to wait months to plan something elaborate?"
I thought about all the gossip, all the drama, all the ways our story had been twisted and turned into entertainment for others. Then I looked at the man I'd loved for half my life, who was offering me a chance to rewrite our ending in front of everyone who'd watched us stumble through the beginning.
"I think," I said, standing on my tiptoes to kiss him, "Hard Timber's never seen a wedding like this before."
"Well, hell," came a voice from the doorway. "I leave for twenty minutes and miss an engagement?"
We turned to find Marla standing there with the biggest grin I'd ever seen, several of our friends crowding behind her in the doorway.
