I picture the grand re-opening in my head—music spilling out onto the street, lights strung overhead, the hum of conversation and laughter. Firehouse shirts mixed with bar regulars. Harper in her element, glowing with pride and joy.
I don’t want to interrupt that and make it about me or us. It’s her night. I just want to add to it.
I want to ask her in front of the people who watched her rebuild, the people who showed up when everything burned. I want Mason there too, not as a prop, but as part of the reason. Because this isn’t just about Harper and me. It’s about the family we’re building. All that’s left now is figuring out how to make ithappen without tipping her off, which might be the hardest part of all.
Because Harper is observant, and she knows me better than anyone ever has. I almost slip up a few times. When she’s washing a pot. When she’s tucking Mason in. When she’s half asleep on the couch next to me, pressed against my shoulder. Those quiet moments when she’s not made up or trying to impress anyone. When she’s just being her normal, everyday self.
That’s the time it hits me again and again how much I love her, and how much I want to spend the rest of my life with her.
The grand re-opening cannot come soon enough. Otherwise, I’ll screw this proposal up. I need to own up to the fact that I’m doing this, so I can get some help.
Most of the crew has already filtered out, boots echoing down the bay and disappearing into the night. A few engines sit dark and still, the space smelling faintly of oil, metal, and the lingering trace of coffee that’s been burned one too many times. I like it best at this hour. There’s room to think without interruption.
Garrett is wiping down a truck when I finally decide to stop circling the thought and say it out loud.
“I need your help,” I tell him.
He doesn’t look surprised. He just straightens slowly and gives me a measured look. “About time.”
I exhale, rubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “And I’m going to need the whole crew.”
That gets his full attention. “Oh, this is serious, then.”
“It is. I’m going to propose to Harper. At the grand re-opening.”
Garrett lets out a low whistle. “Damn. You’re really doing it. No bullshit?”
“I want to do it right. Something that won’t take away from her achievement—it’s not about me. I want to enhance the night.”
He nods, expression shifting from amusement to something more thoughtful. “She deserves that.”
I explain the vision as clearly as I can. Garrett listens without interrupting, nodding slowly. When I finish, he smiles in a way that’s softer than I’m used to seeing from him. “You know. I give you a lot of shit. We all do. But you’re different now. Happier. Steadier.”
I shrug. “Turns out showing up is good for you.”
He snorts. “Who knew?” He claps me on the shoulder, firm and approving. “You’ve got us. Whatever you need. Logistics, coordination, keeping her distracted—we’ll make it happen.”
As Garrett heads toward the locker room to start spreading the word, I stay where I am for a moment longer, leaning against the truck and letting the certainty settle fully into my bones.
HARPER
Iwake up every morning with a list already running through my head.
Two weeks. That’s all that stands between me and the grand re-opening of the bar, and every single day feels like a race against the clock. Permits. Inspections. Staffing. Marketing. Vendor confirmations. Music. Liquor deliveries. A hundred tiny details that all matter, because this place matters.
I live at the bar site now more than I live anywhere else.
By the time the contractors arrive in the morning, I’ve already walked the space twice, coffee in hand, checking progress and mentally rearranging furniture that hasn’t been delivered yet. The walls are up, the floors are down, the bar itself gleams under the lights like it’s daring me to believe this is real. Some days, I still catch myself expecting to smell smoke.
Instead, I smell fresh paint and sawdust.
I’m stressed, yes. My shoulders ache. My phone never stops buzzing. But underneath all of it is excitement so sharp it almost hurts. This was my dream once. Losing it felt like losing proof that I could stand on my own.
But rebuilding it feels like reclaiming a piece of myself.
And the charity angle has taken on a life of its own.
What started as Aiden’s quiet suggestion—maybe donate part of opening night to the burn victim recovery fund—has snowballed into something massive. Someone floated the idea of auctioning off firefighter calendar photos. Someone else called the local news. Now there are confirmed cameras, a city council member attending, and a waiting list for tickets that makes my head spin.
