"An ice menorah with actual flames isn't special enough?" She loops her arms around my neck. "The fire chief personally called to verify we had insurance."
"Worth every penny of the premium increase." I kiss her lightly. "My mother's never been to Pittsburgh before."
"And you want to impress her." Noa's expression softens. "She's going to love it, Brian. Just like I love you."
Even after a year, those words still hit me with the force of a physical blow. I pull her closer, burying my face in her neck. "What did I do to deserve you?"
"You kneaded bread dough in my kitchen." She runs her fingers through my hair. "It was basically over for me right then."
* * *
The combined space of Klein Sports Management and Bishop Books buzzes with holiday energy. String lights twinkle everywhere, the scent of fried potatoes and donuts fills the air, and at least a dozen children race between bookshelves and office furniture. The once-firm boundary between my professional life and personal space has dissolved completely, and I find I don't miss it at all.
My mother holds court near the refreshment table, already deep in conversation with Noa's father about the proper way to fry latkes. My mother does not share Mr. Bishop’s views on grapeseed as the superior frying oil. Rachel's three children have joined forces with Leah and Eli, forming a marauding band that occasionally includes Gunnar's toddler when he can keep up. The Stags mingle easily with my family as if they've known each other for years instead of hours.
"Your mom is exactly how I pictured her," Hawk comments, appearing at my elbow with a glass of wine. "Terrifying but lovable."
"She's already planning our family vacations for the next five years," I admit. "She and Noa's dad are debating the merits of Florida versus Arizona for winter breaks."
Hawk laughs. "Speaking of planning ahead..." He glances meaningfully at my pocket, where a small velvet box creates a telltale bulge. "You ready for this?"
"As I'll ever be." I take a deep breath, scanning the room for Noa. She stands near the connecting doors, deep in conversation with Emma and my sister. The sight of them together—my past and present seamlessly connected—fills me with a certainty I've never felt before.
An event staff member catches my eye and nods. Time for the lighting.
"If I could have everyone's attention," I call over the noise. "The sun is setting, which means it's time to get lit.”
The crowd moves toward the large windows overlooking the parking lot, where the ice menorah stands gleaming in the twilight. Eight crystal-clear ice cylinders plus the helper, each topped with a gas torch waiting to be lit.
Noa joins me, shaking her head with amused disbelief. "This is ridiculous, you know."
"You love it," I whisper, taking her hand as we step outside.
The December air bites at our cheeks as everyone gathers around the ice sculpture. Noa squeezes my hand. "Your turn to light," she says.
I take the long lighter and approach the menorah, aware of all eyes on me. With ceremonial slowness, I ignite the shamash first, then the rightmost candle. The flames leap high against the darkening sky, reflecting off the ice in a dance of fire and light. Everyone cheers, and I start singing the familiar words, the crowd joining in as I blaze the night with fire.
Turning back to face our gathered families, I find Noa in the crowd. She steps forward to join me like she’s summoned by the flame. This is the moment I've been planning for months.
"Before we head back inside to the warmth," I begin, "there's something I'd like to say."
The crowd quiets, sensing what's coming. My mother clutches her chest dramatically. Rachel grins, already filming with her phone.
I take both of Noa's hands in mine. "One year ago, a snowstorm and a dead car battery brought me to your doorstep. I thought it was bad luck at the time."
"Worst customer service ever," she jokes, eyes already shining with tears.
"Turns out, it was the best thing that ever happened to me." I drop to one knee, snow immediately soaking through my pants, but I barely notice. I pull the box from my pocket, opening it to reveal a diamond nestled in a gold setting shaped like a small flame. "Noa Bishop, you lit up my life when I didn't even realize I was living in darkness. Will you marry me?"
Her hands fly to her mouth, tears spilling over despite her smile. "Yes," she manages. "Of course, yes."
As I slip the ring onto her finger, cheers erupt from our families. The Stag brothers whoop like they've won a championship. My mother sobs openly. Noa's father embraces Carol, both of them wiping away tears.
I stand to kiss my fiancée, lifting her slightly off the ground with my enthusiasm. When we part, she keeps her arms around my neck, eyes sparkling with more than just tears.
"I have some news too," she whispers, just for me.
"What is it?"
