“Shhh, just do it, Trouble.”
I glance at Teddy in the backseat. He’s practically vibrating. “This better not be a prank,” I murmur as I slide it over my face.
“Just ten minutes,” Sebastian promises. “Give or take.”
But it feels longer. Mostly because I’m blindfolded. And mildly carsick. And every bump in the road makes me question whether this surprise involves a goat or public embarrassment or both. When we finally stop, the air shifts. I feel the door open, and two sets of hands find mine, one warm and solid, the other small and eager.
“Careful,” Sebastian warns, low in my ear, so low it sends goosebumps trailing down my arms. The wind carries the scent of something sweet. Fresh soil. Grass after rain. Something alive. My pulse kicks, and my steps slow.
I wrinkle my nose. “It smells like dirt.”
“That’s just Wattle Creek.”
“Reassuring,” I retort.
“Okay,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear. “You can take it off.”
I tug the blindfold down… and stop breathing. We’re in the middle of the tulip field. Rows upon rows of colour stretch around us in a wild, breathtaking display—reds, whites, oranges, every shade of purple imaginable. The sun is melting into the horizon, painting the sky in a kaleidoscope of gold and rose. The air is thick with the scent of summer.
It’s… beautiful. But I’ve seen it before.
This field is not new to me. To us. I remember the first time I brought Sebastian here, last October. I even dragged him back here earlier this February for a picnic that ended with a bee sting, two bruised knees, and a very illegal skinny dip in the river.
I turn, confused. “Why are we—?”
But I don’t get the chance to finish, because Sebastian is already dropping to one knee. And beside him, Teddy, holding a velvet box with both hands, eyes wide with excitement.
“Bash…”
He looks up at me with a smile that makes my vision blur. “Trouble.”
She’s still the most beautiful damn woman I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot. Too much, if I’m honest. The kind of things that crack something inside a man and make him settle for surviving instead of living. Days where I woke up because I had to, not because I wanted to. Nights where the only thing that kept me going was the sound of Teddy breathing beside me. Responsibility. Routine. Fighting through the fog for someone else. That was my life. Until her.
Until Olivia Mitchell walked through my door with her wild hair, loud laugh, and that chaotic kindness that hit like a punch to the ribs. She was sunshine in boots, stubborn as hell, clumsy in the most endearing way, and sweeter than anything I ever thought I’d get near again.
And I never stood a chance.
I take the velvet box from Teddy’s small hands, clearing my throat once, then again, because my heart’s trying to climb out of it. “I used to think I knew what love was,” I start, voice rougher than I planned. “But the truth is… I don’t think I ever really lived before you. No. I know I didn’t.”
Her breath catches. Her eyes shimmer. God, if she cries, I’m done for.
“When Teddy came along, I learned how to survive. How to grind through the days. How to be what he needed.” I swallow. “But it wasn’t untilyou, until you danced barefoot in my kitchen, moved into our home like you were always meant to be there, left your silly notes on my fridge, kissed me like you invented the damn thing, that I realised I wanted more.”
Her throat works around a sob she tries to swallow. It kills me.
“You made me believe I was allowed to hope. To dream. To picture a future where my life wasn’t just about getting through the day. You made me look forward to things. To us. To raising Teddy together. To watching you carry our future, the way you were always meant to.”
Her knees wobble. Mine do too.
“To doing it right this time,” I say quietly. “With you.” I draw a breath that tastes like tulips and rain and the first moment of the rest of my life. “Marry me, Olivia Mitchell. It would be the greatest damn honour of my life to call you my wife.”
Teddy bounces beside me, practically vibrating. “Say yes, Mummy! Say yes!”
She drops to her knees in front of us, crying and laughing and nodding like she’s run out of ways to say it.
“Yes,” she chokes out. “A thousand times, yes. In every lifetime, yes.”
I slide the ring onto her finger—a two-carat radiant diamond, set in gold. Because she sparkles like light breaking through a storm, so fucking radiant it hurts to look at her sometimes.
