“Thank you so much,” Sophie responds just as seriously, tucking the flower behind her ear.
Watching her there—Sophie with a rose in her hair, surrounded by rescue puppies, in the town we both call home now—makes my chest tighten. I belong here. Not just in Bellrose, but in this life, with this woman, building something neither of us could have predicted a year ago.
“Earth to Zayn?” Harper waves her hand in front of my face. “You’re staring at Sophie like she’s the eighth wonder of the world. Again.”
“Because she is,” I say without apology or embarrassment.
Harper rolls her eyes dramatically, but she’s smiling. “You two are so disgustingly perfect together it’s almost offensive to the rest of us.”
Sophie laughs, and I still love that sound more than anything. “Don’t you have wedding cakes to harass someone about?”
“Fine, fine. I know when I’m the third wheel.” Harper grabs her clipboard and backs away. “But we’re not finished with this conversation. Lemon or chocolate, people! These are crucial life decisions!”
As she disappears back into the crowd, Sophie leans her shoulder against mine. “You’re thinking pretty loudly over there,” she murmurs.
I smile and meet those green eyes that still undo me. “Just appreciating the view.”
The festival thrums with families devouring cotton candy in the afternoon sunshine. Kids with face paint sprint between booths while the rose naming contest reaches its climax. I can barely register any of it. The ring box in my pocket burns against my thigh like a brand, impossible to ignore.
When our replacement volunteers arrive right on time, I attempt casual when I ask Sophie, “Want to take a break? Walk down to the harbor?” I think I sound relaxed, but Sophie raises an eyebrow like she’s already onto me. Even after five years of separation, she reads me better than anyone ever has.
“Everything okay?” she asks, those green eyes searching my face.
“Perfect,” I say, taking her hand. “Just need some fresh air. And time alone with you. Away from the puppy chaos.”
She smiles in that way that still stops my heart mid-beat. “Lead the way, counselor.”
We navigate through the crowd, past the band and food vendors, toward the quieter waterfront path. The sun sinks lower, bathing everything in gold. Sophie’s hand fits perfectly in mine, and I notice her engagement ring catching the light. I trace my thumb over it, still occasionally stunned that she’s actually going to marry me.
Sophie glances at me as we reach the harbor walkway. The breeze carries salt and the perfume of roses from the festival behind us.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” she asks.
“You,” I tell her honestly. “Us. How drastically everything’s changed since last year.”
She bumps my shoulder with hers. “Good changes?”
“The best.” I guide us off the main path toward the trail ascending to Cliffside. My pulse accelerates. I wonder if she’ll deduce what’s waiting for her up there.
Sophie immediately registers our direction. “We’re hiking up to Cliffside? In these shoes?” She doesn’t sound annoyed though, just intrigued. We’ve experienced so many pivotal moments on that trail.
“Trust me,” I say, squeezing her hand.
“I do.” Those two simple words carry more weight than any legal contract I’ve ever drafted. A year ago, she couldn’t have spoken them.
The trail gets steeper than I recalled, but I barely notice it in my boots. Each step brings us closer to the overlook, to what I’ve set up there, to the future I’ve been working for since I realized what a huge mistake I made leaving her.
The trail curves one final time before opening onto the overlook. I slow, suddenly anxious in a way I haven’t been sinceI proposed. What if she doesn’t want this? What if it’s too much or too rushed or too?—
Sophie stops dead. Her hand tightens around mine. “Zayn,” she breathes, voice trembling. “What is this?”
A wooden arch stands near the cliff edge, completely enveloped in roses—dusty pinks and deep violets. Glass mason jars with candles line the path, waiting to be lit at dusk. Four chairs sits in a semicircle—designated for Reed, Harper, Sara, and Dr. Martinez. A bottle of champagne chills in ice beside a small table draped with white linen.
“This,” I say, turning to face her completely, “is where I thought we could get married. Today. If you want to.”
Her eyes widen, darting between my setup and my face. “Today? But we haven’t planned—we don’t have?—”
I pull a small velvet box from my pocket. Inside rests a delicate gold band designed to nestle perfectly against her engagement ring. “We have what actually matters. Each other. The people who love us most. This place that’s ours.” I reveal a folded document in my other hand. “And a marriage license, all signed.”
