"I know!" I couldn't contain my excitement. "I can't believe people want my nature photography. Like, it's just pictures of mountains and trees and—"
"It's art. Beautiful art that captures Hope Peak's magic." His expression was so proud, so genuine, that emotion swelled in my chest. "I'm so proud of you."
"I'm proud of us," I said softly. "This year has been extraordinary. Better than I ever imagined."
"Better than viral videos and sponsorship deals?"
"So much better. I'm creating things that matter. Helping people. Living honestly instead of performing all the time." I paused. "Actually, I've been meaning to tell you—I'm thinking about stepping back from social media even more. Maybe just post once a week about our programs, keep it focused on the work instead of me."
Bart's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really. I still love what we do—the marketing, the storytelling, helping families find us. But I don't need the validation anymore. I don't need to check my follower count or obsess over engagement metrics." I squeezed his hand. "You helped me remember who I am beneath all that noise."
"You helped yourself. I just gave you space to figure it out."
"You gave me everything." My voice cracked slightly. "A second chance. A purpose. A home. A family."
"Speaking of family—your parents called earlier. They're confirmed for New Year's."
"I know! I'm so excited. And your mom texted that she and Henry are bringing homemade fudge."
"The good kind?"
"Is there any other kind of Ginny's fudge?"
We both laughed, and the waiter appeared to take our dinner order. After he left, Bart leaned back, studying me with that intense focus that made my pulse skip.
"What?" I asked.
"Just memorizing this moment."
"Why?"
"Because I want to remember exactly how you look right now. Happy. Glowing. Completely yourself."
My cheeks warmed. "You're being weird tonight."
"Maybe." But he was smiling. "Drink your champagne."
I lifted the glass, taking another sip. Something clinked against my teeth—something solid that definitely wasn't a bubble.
I pulled the glass away, confused. At the bottom, through the remaining champagne, something sparkled.
My breath caught.
"Bart—"
He was already moving, coming around the table to kneel beside my chair. My hands started shaking so hard I nearly dropped the glass.
"Is that—is there a—"
"Finish your champagne."
I stared at him, then at the glass, then back at him. "There's a ring in my champagne."
"Observant as always."
"Bart—"
