Charlotte’s voice is gentle. “You couldn’t tell.”
Sophie grins a little. “Guess all those breathing lessons worked.”
For a second, we just pause there—Charlotte with the picture, me beside her, Sophie humming along to the playlist she made for unpacking. The house smells like coffee, cardboard, and lemon cleaner, a quiet sense of something new beginning.
Charlotte sets the frame on the counter. “Feels different seeing my stuff here.”
I smile. “Good different?”
She looks up, soft grin. “The best kind.”
David looks between us with that older-brother grin. “Alright, lovebirds, I’m heading out before this gets sappy. You got it from here?”
Charlotte straightens, laughing. “We’ll manage. Thanks for the help.”
He claps my shoulder on his way out. “Good. Don’t mess it up, Cap.”
The door shuts behind him, and Charlotte carries a stack of towels toward the hallway, humming as she goes.
I glance toward Sophie, sitting cross-legged on the floor, carefully unwrapping a set of plates like it’s the Stanley Cup itself. She catches me watching and smiles.
“What?” she says.
“Nothing,” I answer. “Just proud of you.”
She tilts her head. “For what?”
“For making all this feel easy.”
Her grin widens. “It kinda is. I like Charlotte.”
That hits somewhere deep. And just like that, I know—it’s time. Before I ask Charlotte, I need to talk to Sophie first.
Charlotte’s in the hallway now, organizing a stack of folded towels and humming under her breath. Sophie’s still kneeling by the open box, arranging plates into neat piles like she’s solving a puzzle.
“Hey, Soph,” I say quietly, leaning on the counter. “Can I steal you for a minute?”
She looks up, head tilted. “Am I in trouble?”
“Not yet.”
That earns a laugh, and she sets the plate down, brushing her hands on her jeans before following me toward the back porch. Late afternoon light cuts across the yard, soft gold on the fence line. The air smells like grass and summer.
We sit on the steps, side by side. It’s quiet enough to hear the hum of the highway a few blocks away.
For a while, she swings her legs, sneakers knocking lightly against the wood. She’s growing fast—twelve going on twenty—but moments like this still knock me sideways.
“I wanted to talk to you about something,” I say finally.
She glances over, cautious but curious. “Okay.”
I take a breath, try to line the words up right. “You know how much Charlotte means to me.”
Her smile comes fast. “Obviously.”
“Obviously,” I echo, fighting a grin. “Well…I’ve been thinking about asking her to marry me.”
Her head snaps toward me. “Wait—really?”
