“I have nothing to contribute.”
We wind through the narrow, curved streets of Whitstable, windows down, wind tugging at Lily’s hair as she leans into the warm breeze. Sunlight turns her waves to gold.
“Can you smell the flowers?” she says in wonder. “It smells like spring.”
I nod, though what I really smell is her perfume, light citrus and floral.
A promise of spring even as the leaves fall around us.
The road opens up, and I reach across the console and thread my fingers through hers.
She squeezes once, warm and certain.
As I drive, I steal a glance at her. Then another.
And then I surrender to the journey.
To her.
Her laughter. Her blush.
Her.
She really does blush beautifully.
And she’s mine.
53
Epilogue II: The Proposal
Brandon
The road trip is finally nearing its end.
Weeks of miles lie behind us now, from film locations to rain-soaked ruins, the long drives stitched together by conversation and laughter. Somewhere between England and Scotland, as the sisters’ thoughts turn toward returning to Australia, the shape of a life begins to feel real.
She met my parents along the way. They’re usually reserved, but she coaxed laughter from them around the campfire, drawing out stories I’d never heard, and softened them in ways I didn’t realise were possible. They adored her. As I knew they would.
As we explore our final destination, an ancient castle perched above the Highland hills, the future no longer feels abstract.
The ring has been sitting in the inside pocket of my coat for days now. This is the moment.
The clouds roll low over the landscape’s muted greens and purples, the sky dark and heavy, the last of the daylight slipping into indigo as the tour winds through the ancient castle. The air tastes like ice, sharp and cold, but Lily is buzzing beside me, unable to hide her delight. Every few steps, she tests her healed foot with a bounce or a skip, as if she still can’t get over having it back.
“Careful,” I warn, though my smile gives me away.
She glances over her shoulder with a grin that spells trouble. Then she darts for the narrow stone staircase spiralling up one of the towers.
“Lily.”
My voice echoes up the stairwell, but she’s already laughing her way upward, footsteps quick on the worn steps. I follow, taking the steps at a leisurely pace. My legs are long enough to close the distance in seconds, butwhere’s the fun in that?
She can run, but she can’t hide.
My hand brushes the cold stone wall for balance.
At the next landing, I reach an open archway. I hesitate for a moment, wondering if she’s gone further up. A faint giggle floats in from outside, and I step through.
