He raises a brow. “But if you ever make her cry for the wrong reasons,” he adds, “I may be old, but I still know how to shoot. And the weight of a gun in my arms will steady these old hands just fine, boy.”
A grin breaks across my face. “Yes, sir.”
He smiles then—full and warm. “Go make it official,” he says. “Before I change my mind.”
I don’t do flashy. I don’t do grand gestures with cameras and crowds.
Danae doesn’t either.
She likes quiet mornings and honest words. So I wait. A week. Then another.
I carry the ring in my pocket like a live wire, feeling its weight every time I sit down, every time I move.
It’s simple. Not overdone. A diamond that catches light but doesn’t scream look at me. Rather it’s a glint catching the light naturally calling for attention.
Danae is like that. She glows.
It’s late afternoon when I finally do it.
The house is warm with the kind of quiet that only comes after months of peace.
Danae’s out back on the patio, barefoot, watering the small herb garden she insisted on planting even though I told her we could buy fresh anything we wanted.
She says it tastes better when you grow it.
I stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching her. The sun hits her hair and turns it into something almost unreal with this shine. She hums under her breath, completely unaware of what’s about to happen.
The road used to feel like this moment. Like anticipation. Like something pulling at me.
But this?
This feels steady. Certain. Anchoring.
I step outside. She looks up, smiling when she sees me.
“You’re staring again,” she teases lightly.
“Yeah. Can’t help but be drawn to beauty.”
She tilts her head. “At what?”
“You.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”
I walk toward her slowly. She notices something shift then. The way I’m moving. The way I’m looking at her.
Her smile falters slightly.
“Miles?”
I stop in front of her. The wind picks up gently, brushing her hair across her cheek. I tuck it behind her ear.
“I need you to hear something,” I begin.
Her eyes search mine. “Okay.”
I inhale. “The road has always been a siren,” I explain. She blinks, confused but listening. “It’s always called me away,” I continue. “Every time things got heavy. Every time life got loud. The road was easy. No roots. No staying. Just motion.”
