“We’re getting married,” I whisper as it sinks in.
He nods, then worries his lips before speaking.
“I’ll wait. A month, a year, ten, but I want you walking down an aisle toward me sometime in the future. There’s no rush, Hallie. I just needed to give you that ring, to take that step now. But I’m a patient man. I can wait until you’re totally ready.”
I shake my head against his. “I don’t think there’s any reason to wait. I don’t want to wait to marry you. I don’t need time anymore,” I say, my eyes watering again.
“Well, good, because Wren’s looking at a fall wedding,” he says with a smirk. I let out a laugh and shake my head, the tears finally falling freely. “Are you happy?”
“Are you blind?” I ask.
He shakes his head and swipes a thumb over my cheek. “Hallie, baby, you’re crying. I think I should probably ask if you’re happy when you’re crying like this.”
“Yes, I’m happy, you big idiot. Though the next time you have some grand gesture, would a couple of texts that are longer than a single word hurt?”
“What?”
“I spent the entire day thinking you were trying to figure out how to let me down easy and break up with me.” His face goes soft, and he continues to wipe at my cheeks. The tears haven’t stopped, and I don’t think they will anytime soon.
“I knew if I texted you, I’d spill everything. I was too excited. I was trying to preserve the surprise.” I glare at him, and he laughs, pulling me into him and kissing me again like he can’t help it before sighing with regret. “I hate to say this, but we have to head downstairs soon, or else they’re all going to barge in on us.”
As he finishes his sentence, there’s a gentle knock on the door, and Mrs. King’s voice sifts in, soft and cautious. “Everything okay in there?”
I beam up at my fiancé.
Another woman might find his family barging in on a private moment annoying, but not me. I’ve waited my entire life for a noisy, intrusive family, and just like everything else, Jesse just gave that to me.
“Let’s go,” I say with a whisper, pressing my lips to his one last time before moving for the door.
When we step out of Jesse’s childhood room, everyone is standing in the hall, and I laugh, realizing that he really was planning this all day. I even spot Nat and Colt, who were definitely not here for a family dinner an hour ago.
“SISTERS!” Wren shouts, lifting her hands into the air and running toward me, pushing her brother away. We hug, and when we pull back, I look at my best friend for a beat before we both squeal, jumping up and down. Jesse laughs from beside me, and then there’s a soft hand on my shoulder as a teary-eyed Mrs. King pulls me away from Wren and into her arms.
“Now you really have to call me Mom,” she murmurs into my hair, and I start to cry in earnest. She holds me for a moment before passing me off to Colt, who wraps me up tighter than anyone else.
“Happy for you, Hallie.”
I look back at my big brother, the only real family member who has ever mattered, and I have to swallow back even more tears. “I love you, Colt.”
His eyes soften a bit before he presses a kiss to the top of my head and steps back. Jesse is wrapped in a back-slapping embrace from Madden, and I smile as my attention turns to Emma, who is standing there patiently, a knowing smirk on her lips.
“You’re good with this?” I ask. She looks at me like I’m a moron, all pre-teen attitude.
“Hallie, who do you think I was texting all day? Someone had to check your ring size,” she says with an eye roll, and I remember her playing around with my jewelry box in our room while I did my hair, not thinking a thing about it.
“Oh, you’re so sneaky,” I say with a laugh, then pull her into me for a hug. But when she hugs me tight and looks up at me, the attitude and sass are gone, and a contented look settles over her face. I put a hand to her cheek and blink back more tears.
“I love you, Emma.”
Her eyes shine the same way I know mine do, and somewhere to the side of us, I hear sniffling that is definitely Wren and probably Mrs. King.
Or Mom, I suppose.
“I love you,” she whispers.
I look over her head to her dad, who is watching us with warm eyes, his own glassy from tears.
“My girls,” he mouths.
