Outside the windows, Nashville moved on in sunlight and sound, unaware that a century-old lie had finally fallen.
But Annie knew.
And somewhere beyond the reach of time and violence, she believed Eleanor Blackwood did too.
***
Jack adjusted his tie for the third time as he stood outside the law firm’s conference room, watching blurred shapes move behind the frosted glass. His shoulder still ached when he overdid it, a dull reminder of how close he’d come to not standing here at all, but today wasn’t about injuries or investigations. Today was about the future—about the life he wanted to build with Annie now that the past had finally loosened its grip on both of them.
The small velvet box in his jacket pocket felt impossibly heavy.
He’d been carrying the ring for a week, turning the moment over in his mind again and again, waiting for a pause in the chaos that never quite seemed to come. Every day brought new developments—court hearings, asset transfers, foundation meetings, security briefings. Annie’s world had expanded overnight into something vast and complicated, and Jack had found himself wondering when it was fair to ask her to take on one more life-altering decision.
Maybe there’s never a perfect time, he thought. Maybe you don’t wait for the ground to stop moving. Maybe you just choose who you want to stand with while it does.
The conference room door finally opened, and Annie stepped out, her expression tired but lighter than he’d seen it in days. Uncle Eric followed behind her, already surrounded by attorneys and advisors offering handshakes and quiet congratulations. The foundation documents, it seemed, were officially complete.
Jack moved to Annie’s side as they headed toward the elevators. “How did it go?”
She released a slow breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “Uncle Eric is officially one of the most generous philanthropists in Tennessee. Fifty million dollars to help victims of violent crime.” She shook her head slightly, still amazed. “I think Eleanor would approve.”
“I think she would too.” He studied her face, the faint shadows under her eyes, the steadiness beneath the exhaustion. “And how are you holding up? With all of this—the money, the attention, the way your life keeps reinventing itself?”
They slowed as they reached the elevator bank. Annie was quiet for a moment, considering the question honestly. “Some days I feel like I’m living someone else’s life. Three weeks ago I was arguing with suppliers and worrying about whether my shop could make rent. Now I’m helping manage a foundation and meeting with federal prosecutors.” Her mouth curved, but her eyes stayed thoughtful. “I don’t know if I’ve caught up yet.”
The elevator doors opened, and Jack waited until they were alone inside before speaking again. “And how do you feel about things settling down? About the protection easing eventually. About whatever normal looks like now.”
Annie leaned back against the mirrored wall. “I’m not sure I remember what normal is,” she admitted. Then she straightened slightly, her expression shifting. “But there is something I wanted to tell you. About the foundation. About what Uncle Eric and I decided.”
Jack felt a flicker of nerves he hadn’t expected. “Okay.”
“We want you involved,” she said. “Officially involved.” She met his eyes. “Jack, you understood Eleanor’s case in a way almost no one else did. You risked your life to protect the evidence, and the people connected to it. We want you on the foundation’s board. Helping us identify cases. Families whoneed resources. Who needs someone to take their search for justice seriously?”
For a moment, he couldn’t speak. The offer landed somewhere deep, touching the part of him that had never really known what to do with the things he’d seen, the losses he’d cataloged, the dead who rarely got voices. This was a way to keep doing the work—without losing himself in it.
“Annie,” he said slowly, “that means more than you know.” Then he drew a breath, feeling the weight in his pocket, the timing he’d been circling. “But there’s something I need to ask you before we talk about anything else. Something I should have asked you four years ago.”
The elevator chimed softly as it reached the ground floor. Neither of them moved.
Jack reached into his jacket and took out the small velvet box. Annie’s breath caught, her hand lifting instinctively to her mouth as recognition dawned.
“Jack…”
“I know this isn’t perfect timing,” he said, the words coming faster now. “Your life is complicated. Mine isn’t exactly simple. But Annie, I spent four years letting fear make my decisions. Fear of loss. Fear of loving you. Fear of what it might cost.” He swallowed. “I’m done with that. I don’t want another day that isn’t honest.”
He lowered himself to one knee on the elevator floor and opened the box. The diamond was simple, unpretentious, catching the fluorescent light in a way that felt almost symbolic—quiet brilliance, no spectacle required.
“Annie Whitaker,” he said, his voice steady even as his heart raced, “you are the bravest person I know. You see truth where others look away. You fight for people who don’t have anyone else. You make me want to be better than I am.” He held her gaze. “Will you marry me?”
For a heartbeat, she didn’t move. Then she was pulling him up, arms around his neck, tears warm against his skin as she laughed and cried at the same time.
“Yes,” she said, her voice fierce and breathless. “Yes. Of course, yes.”
Jack slid the ring onto her finger, his hands not quite steady, and drew her into a kiss that tasted like relief and certainty and something finally set right. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I love you,” he said quietly. “I’ve loved you for years. I just finally learned how to stop running from it.”
“I love you too.” Annie lifted her hand between them, studying the ring as if it might disappear. Then she looked back at him, a familiar spark in her eyes. “You’re really sure about this? About marrying into a family that apparently attracts century-old murder mysteries?”
