Damon’s the one who set all this up: the fairy lights as an excuse for Thanksgiving that’s coming up, wine, and Mia’s favorite cheese.
We’ve been waiting for the right time, and it’s now.
The girls don’t know every detail, but we asked for their blessing earlier this week, and they were thrilled. Emma had gasped and asked, “Like a fairytale?” Ella had nodded solemnly and said, “Mom deserves all of you.”
Zane meets my eyes across the deck, subtly reaching into his pocket. Damon gives a barely-there nod. My heart kicks up a little. It’s time.
I glance at Mia, taking in the way she tilts her head when she laughs, the way she reaches out to tuck Emma’s hair behind her ear, the way she’s finally at peace.
Damon clears his throat, stepping forward. The guy doesn’t get nervous—ever—but I can see it in the way he flexes his fingers, like he’s shaking out tension before a fight.
“Mia,” he starts, his voice catching a little. “We’ve been through hell together. And somehow, through all of it, you’ve held us together. You’ve made this a home. A family. We?—”
She frowns, her expression tightening like she knows where this is going.
“I’m going to stop you right there,” she says, shaking her head. Then, to our complete shock, she turns and walks inside.
For a second, none of us move.
“What the hell was that about?” I ask, my chest tightening.
Damon stares at the door like she might come right back out and say, “Just kidding.”
She doesn’t.
“Maybe she got overwhelmed,” Zane offers, though he doesn’t sound convinced.
“I told you we should’ve done this one at a time,” he adds, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
Damon exhales sharply. “This doesn’t mean no.”
“No,” I agree. “But it sure as hell doesn’t mean yes, either.”
Zane shakes his head. “We should give her a minute.”
Damon doesn't look convinced, his hands still clenched at his sides, but he nods once. “Fine. A minute.”
I glance toward the house, catching the faint movement of Mia’s silhouette in the kitchen. She’s pacing. Thinking. Maybe panicking.
The twins look between us, confused. Emma tugs on Damon’s sleeve. “Did we do it wrong?” she asks.
Damon crouches, his face softening. “No, sweetheart. You and your sister did perfect.”
Ella looks toward the house. “Then why did Mommy go inside?”
We don’t have an answer.
Damon ruffles her hair. “We’re gonna figure it out, okay?”
Zane crosses his arms. “Waiting around isn’t gonna do anything. I’m gonna go talk to her.”
“Bad idea,” I mutter. “She’s not gonna want all of us coming at her at once.”
Zane glares. “Well, I’m not just sitting out here.”
“Neither am I,” Damon says, already moving toward the house.
I sigh, following after them. One way or another, we need to get to the bottom of this.
