It's ours.
And somehow, that makes it even more perfect.
"Hey, beautiful," Troy's voice carries across the yard, and I look up to find him walking toward me, still in his work boots and dusty jeans.
My heart does that stupid fluttery thing it's been doing since the day he moved in. Some things never change.
"Hey yourself." I sit back on my heels, wiping dirt off my hands. "How was the job?"
"Finished early." He stops in front of me, looking down with that soft expression he gets when he catches me in the garden. "Thought I'd come home and help you."
"I'm almost done." I gesture to the neatly pruned basil. "Just need to water and then—"
"Ainsley." His voice has changed. Gone lower. More serious.
I blink up at him. "Yeah?"
"Stand up."
I frown but obey, brushing dirt off my knees. "What's wrong? Did something happen at the—"
"Nothing's wrong." He reaches out, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. His hand lingers on my cheek. "I just... I need to ask you something."
My heart kicks into overdrive. "Okay."
He takes a breath, and I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. For a man who faced combat for fourteen years, he looks nervous.
"This garden," he starts, gaze sweeping across the yard. "This house. This life we've built together. It's everything I didn't know I needed."
"Troy—"
"Let me finish." His thumb brushes over my cheekbone. "A year ago, I showed up on your doorstep with a duffel bag and no plan past finding a place to sleep. I thought I was just looking for a room. A temporary stop while I figured out what came next."
I nod, not trusting my voice.
"But then you opened that door." His mouth curves into a small smile. "And you stood there with your color-coded labels and your five-page rule sheet and your garden you wouldn't let anyone touch. And I knew."
"Knew what?" I whisper.
"That I was home." He drops his hand from my face, and for a second I think he's going to step back. But then he's lowering himself down onto one knee in the dirt, and my breath catches.
"Oh my God," I breathe.
He pulls a small velvet box from his pocket, and when he opens it, the diamond catches the afternoon light.
"I’ve been wracking my brain on how to do this epic proposal for you because you deserve it all, but that just isn’t us. And I can’t wait anymore. Ainsley Boothe," he says, voice steady despite the emotion shining in his gray eyes. "You are the most stubborn, careful, beautiful person I've ever met. You made me follow rules I had no intention of keeping. You let me into your garden and your life and your heart, even when you were terrified I'd leave."
A tear slides down my cheek.
"I'm never leaving," he continues. "I want to build a life with you. Expand this house, help you open your nursery, grow old in this garden. I want to wake up next to you every morning and come home to you every night. I want all of it, sweetheart. Forever."
He takes a shaky breath. "Will you marry me?"
I'm crying now, full-on sobbing, and I can barely see him through the tears. "Yes," I choke out. "God, yes. Yes, yes, yes."
His face breaks into the biggest smile I've ever seen. He slides the ring onto my finger—a perfect fit—and then he's standing, pulling me into his arms, lifting me off the ground.
I wrap my legs around his waist and kiss him hard, tasting salt from my tears and feeling his laugh rumble through his chest.
