It’s perfect. Simple, elegant, warm from his hands, and so unmistakably real that another sob breaks free before I can stop it. The band catches the light from the string lights overhead, and I stare at it like it might vanish if I blink too long.
He cups my face and kisses me deeply, decisively, like this isn’t a question anymore but a declaration. The bar erupts again, louder this time, applause and laughter crashing around us as if the building itself is celebrating.
And then Mason is there.
He barrels into us with all the momentum of a five-year-old who has been holding onto a secret for far too long. He grabs onto Aiden’s leg first, then twists around to look up at me, eyes wide and shining. “Does this mean Aiden’s gonna be my stepdad?”
Aiden laughs, a sound so full it makes my chest ache, and scoops Mason up effortlessly. “If that’s okay with you, buddy.”
Mason doesn’t hesitate. “Yeah!” Then his face scrunches, the way it does when he’s thinking hard. “But I still have my regular daddy, too, right?”
My heart squeezes painfully, but before I can answer, Aiden looks at me, then back at Mason, his tone steady and calm. “Always,” I say, stepping closer, my hand resting over Mason’s back. “You get to have both, sweetheart.”
Mason considers that for exactly one second before nodding decisively. “Cool. Can we get a dog too?”
The bar explodes into laughter all over again.
Aiden grins at him. “We’ll talk.”
“That means yes,” Mason announces confidently.
Around us, the celebration surges forward again, people crowding in with congratulations, hugs, claps on Aiden’s back, hands reaching for mine to admire the ring. Roz hugs me so fiercely I nearly lose my balance, laughing and crying at the same time. Carlie pulls both of us into an embrace that’s tight and unapologetic, muttering, “It’s about damn time,” like she’s been waiting six years to say it.
Through it all, Aiden stays close, one hand always finding mine. Every time I glance down at the ring, a new wave of disbelief and joy crashes through me.
People drift back to their tables, glasses raised, laughter warming into something steadier and more affectionate. The music lowers just enough to make room for voices again, and I realize my cheeks hurt from smiling so hard for so long. I keep glancing down at my hand, at the ring catching the light, half-expecting it to disappear the moment I stop looking at it.
The first toast is inevitable.
Garrett somehow ends up with a microphone, which makes a collective groan ripple through the room before he even opens his mouth. He grins, clearly enjoying himself far too much, andclears his throat with exaggerated seriousness. “I’d like to thank everyone for finally getting these two idiots together.”
The bar erupts again, and I laugh despite myself, shaking my head as Aiden mutters something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like a threat.
“It only took six years,” Garrett continues, gesturing broadly, “a cabin, a fire, an arsonist, an entire community rebuild, and one extremely patient kid.”
Mason shouts, “That’s me!”, and the room laughs harder.
“But seriously,” Garrett adds, his voice softening just enough to land, “I’ve worked with Sloan a long time. I’ve never seen him like this. And I’ve never seen someone fight harder for a dream than Harper fought for this place. So here’s to love, stubbornness, and showing up when it matters.”
Glasses lift. Cheers follow. I blink rapidly, emotion pressing hard behind my eyes.
Carlie takes the microphone next. “To my brother,” she says, voice catching slightly, “and my best friend.”
The room quiets instinctively.
“I thought I was protecting you both once,” she continues. “I thought distance would keep you safe. I was wrong. I’m sorry I kept you apart.” She smiles through tears. “You are perfect together. And watching you find your way back to each other has been one of the greatest privileges of my life.”
I don’t even try to stop the tears this time. Aiden squeezes my hand tightly, his jaw set, eyes bright.
Chief Morales follows, taking the microphone with the kind of authority that doesn’t need volume. “To second chances. And to fighting for what matters.”
When the microphone is finally set aside, the music swells again, but something has shifted. The celebration feels deeper now, more intimate, like everyone here understands they’ve witnessed something real. People dance. People toast again attheir tables. Mason shows off what he proudly declares is his “best move,” which involves spinning and nearly falling over until Aiden steadies him.
The night eventually exhales.
It doesn’t end so much as it softens, the way good nights do when they’ve given everything they can. The music lowers another notch, conversations drift into quieter pockets, and people begin to trickle out in pairs and small groups, still buzzing, still smiling, still stopping to hug me one more time before they leave. Staff start clearing empty glasses and wiping down tables with easy efficiency, the practiced movements of people who know this place intimately, who understand that closing time doesn’t mean the magic disappears—it just goes dormant until tomorrow.
Aiden stays close without crowding me, his hand finding mine whenever the noise or emotion threatens to tip me over again. Eventually, without either of us saying it out loud, we drift toward the back patio.
