“I love you.” I kiss him again.
We’re laughing and crying and shaking as he slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly. He pulls back and wipes the tears from my cheeks with his thumbs.
“You’re going to be my wifey.” He leans in and whispers in my ear, “And that’s the greatest accomplishment of my life.”
“I’m dreaming,” I whisper.
“No,” he says against my lips. “You’re wide awake, babe.”
Applause breaks out around us, and that’s when I realize we’ve drawn a crowd. I bury my face in his chest, overwhelmed. He’s right; the world does disappear when we’re close.
Addison is at the edge of the crowd, with her hand pressed to her chest. Tears stream down her face, and she doesn’t rush over or make a scene. She stands there, watching us with the proudest smile I’ve ever seen.
When our eyes meet, she mouths,I love you.
I say it back.
My parents push through the crowd together. Mom is already crying, and Dad’s mustache is twitching the way it does when he’s fighting emotion.
“Took you long enough,” Dad says to Patterson.
“Wanted to get it right, Coach.”
“You did,” he says.
Mom pulls me into a hug so tight that I can barely breathe. “It’s right this time,” she whispers against my hair. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
When she releases me, Dad clears his throat and extends his hand to Patterson. “Welcome to the family, son.”
“Son?” Patterson takes it. “Can I call you Dad now?”
“Only outside of the facility,” he says, giving him an eye.
Patterson’s parents appear next. His mom wraps me in a hug and whispers how thrilled she is to officially call me her daughter.
His dad claps Patterson on the shoulder with a simple, “Proud of you.”
Jameson pulls Patterson into a hug. “You could’ve told me it was tonight.”
“And miss that look on your face?”
“I’ve had best-man notes ready for weeks. Would’ve been nice to know when to pull them out,” he says, and it’s real happiness on both of their faces.
“Let’s meet up next week,” Patterson tells him.
Addison makes her way over and hugs me tight. “Maid of honor?”
“Uh, yes. Who else would it be?”
The rest of the night blurs into congratulations and champagne. At some point, a collector approaches me about purchasing one of my pieces.
“I’m sorry,” the gallery assistant tells her. “The entireSecret Lovercollection has been sold.”
I turn to Patterson. “All of them? Already?”
“Congratulations,” he says. “That’s amazing.”
