But it had also been ten years. Ten years of loving him, even when I couldn't admit it. Even when I was in DC, then back in New York, then dating other people who were never quite right because they weren't him.
"The bridge sounds nice," I said carefully.
Garrett's smile was bright. Too bright.
"Then I'll pick you up from home." He kissed me again, longer this time, lingering, and grabbed his keys. "I've got to head in early. Shane needs help with something."
"Shift coverage?"
"Right. That."
The door clicked shut behind him.
Maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was just a walk and a sunset.
But I'd been a journalist for years. I knew when something was happening.
He picked me up at six.
I'd changed three times before settling on a simple dress. Nothing too fancy. Nothing that screamedI know what you're planning. But I'd put on the earrings he'd given me. Curled my hair. Spent longer on my makeup than I had in months.
Just in case.
Garrett's breath caught when he saw me. That was the only tell I needed.
"You look beautiful," he said.
"It's just a walk."
"Yeah." His voice was rough. "Just a walk."
We took the subway to the bridge. The city was golden in the evening light. The air warm but not heavy, carrying the smell of street food and something sweeter underneath.
We walked in comfortable silence. His palm was sweaty. I pretended not to notice.
The bridge stretched out before us. Cables rising toward a sky blushing pink and orange. Tourists with cameras. Joggers in neon sneakers. A man playing violin near the first tower, something classical and melancholic that made my throat tight for reasons I couldn't name.
Garrett led me to a spot near the center of the bridge. The same spot, I realized. The exact same spot where he'd pulled me close ten years ago and kissed me for the first time.
"Garrett—"
He turned to face me.
Sunset behind him, painting him in gold and amber. Gray-blue eyes bright. Wet, almost. Jaw set the way it got when he was trying to hold himself together.
"Years ago, I proposed because I couldn't wait another second to ask you to be my wife."
My heart stopped.
"I was twenty-six. I thought I knew what love meant. I thought wanting you was enough. That if I loved you hard enough, nothing could ever go wrong."
"Garrett—"
"I was wrong." His voice broke on the word. "I didn't know what losing you would feel like. What it would do to me. Eight years of trying to move on. Trying to build a life that made sense without you in it." He swallowed. "I didn't know what it would feel like to get you back and almost lose you again."
He reached into his pocket. Pulled out a small velvet box.
"I know now what forever actually costs. What it takes. What you have to be willing to give." He opened the box.
