She narrows her eyes at me. “For what?”
“Evidence.”
“That sounds threatening.”
“It’s not.”
She laughs, turning back to the plants, and I lower the phone slightly, watching her without the screen between us now.
She’s still chaos. Still leaves her place in a state that would drive most people insane. Still talks too fast when she’s thinking through something and doesn’t realize she’s already solved it. But she’s here. She didn’t quit. And she didn’t leave.
I push off the fence and walk toward her, slipping the phone into my pocket as I close the distance. She doesn’t notice right away, focused on another tomato, twisting it free with more care this time.
“See?” she says. “Technique.”
“Improvement,” I correct.
“I’m getting there.”
“You are.”
She glances up at that, something softer moving through her expression before she looks back down again.
“Don’t get used to agreeing with me,” she laughs.
“I won’t.”
I stop a few steps away from her, taking it in — the garden, the house behind her, the way the light hits her hair in the late afternoon.
This is what I meant. This is what lasts.
She turns back toward me, holding up another tomato like she’s about to make a point. And then she stops.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asks.
I don’t answer right away. I reach into my pocket instead. Her eyes track the movement, curiosity shifting into something more focused as I step closer.
“Troy…” she says slowly.
I pull the box out and turn it once in my hand before opening it. The diamond catches the light the same way everything else does up here. Suddenly, she’s quiet.
“I wasn’t planning on doing this with a speech,” I say. “You know I don’t do that.”
She nods slightly, still staring at the ring.
“Yeah, I know that about you,” she says.
“But I meant what I said,” I continue. “About not investing in things that don’t last.”
Her gaze lifts to mine.
“And you stayed,” I say. “Even when it would’ve been easier not to.”
Her breath shifts, just slightly.
“I didn’t just stay for the garden,” she says.
“I know.”
