The ferry was a midday medley of pedestrians, cars, and work trucks getting the houses and estates ready for the season. Noah and Dahlia didn’t get off the bike. They didn’t need to. It was a short ride, plus they had all the open air they could need.
She whispered, “I love you, I love you, I love you” in his ear from behind, sending shivers down his spine. He was convinced that she had no idea what was to come. Not the house he’d rented, not the ring that now rested in the console, and not the fireworks—both literal and figurative—after. But there was always a chance he could be wrong, especially after that comment she made back at the house.
They drove off, inhaling the promise of spring and notes of diesel fuel. It was her understanding that they were staying at a fancy hotel called the Rosemont. To confuse her a bit more, he took a few-minutes detour and finally pulled up to the house they’d be spending the weekend at. It was the gingerbread house with a wrap-around front porch and ornately carved balusters that they’d pulled up to on their very first date. Only “Je Cherche Un Homme” wasn’t playing; it was “Secret Garden” by Springsteen on a loop, courtesy of Gretchen’s handiwork.
“Noah.” Her breath hitched. “What are we doing here?” Following his lead, she took off her helmet and placed it on the handlebars.
His eyes burned as their feet crunched on the tiny pebbles. Why was he so emotional? It probably had something to do with this being a once-in-a-lifetime moment with her. One he needed to draw out just a little bit longer.
“I saw this place on Airbnb and thought it would be a fun surprise. Plus, this is where I first wanted to kiss you desperately, you know.” His eyes widened with a playful grin, while inside, he was a hot mess of jitters and angst. With still no call from Baz, he realized he may have to improvise.
“Babe, me too. That mustache of yours was way too sexy.” She laughed, leaning up to press her mouth to hers. “Wait, is this song fromJerry McGuire?” she said, turning toward the portico. Her face was dappled in the sunlight, which made his heart skip a beat or two. She was the most beautiful woman Noah had ever dated, by far. It was her natural looks and her slender but sporty body, but it was also her ability to rise above with grace and humility. And there was also the matter of her kindness, which was vast and endless, even for strangers.
“D, wait.” He rushed in front of her as her feet began to move.
“What?” Her laugh bubbled over. Either she was just excited about their getaway, or she knew.
“Listen, baby. Just listen to the song.”
And she did. She closed her eyes and opened her ears, and hopefully her heart too. He tugged her hand to his chest, feeling his heart thud wildly under her delicate touch. It was his love letter in this song. It spoke of a path, a secret garden, a house, a hammer, and parts of ourselves we keep hidden, even in love. The only difference was that Noah knew he didn’t know everything about Dahlia, but he knew enough. And if she said yes, they’d have all the time in the world to bridge that gap.
Her eyes released and met his glassy gaze. Growing up, Noah had often heard “men don’t cry” from the men his mother brought home. But this one did. It was only a matter of time before the waterworks began; he could feel it. It was the perfect storm; he had the girl, the home, the secure life he’d always dreamed of, and a love he’d never believed he deserved after feeling abandoned by his mom.
“Come, baby,” he said in a quiet tenor she wasn’t used to. Her smile matched his tender warmth. Hand in hand, they walked up the steps, hearing the soft tap of their shoes on aged wood.
Dahlia gasped before she hit the last step. Feeling her hand slip away, Noah turned to face her. Both hands were covering her mouth, and she was visibly shaking as she glanced over the gorgeous porch picnic before her eyes. It had a low table in the center surrounded by pillows, poufs, and blankets. Lanterns of all shapes and sizes, as if they’d been collected over time, flanked the refined but bohemian vignette. And flowers as far as the eye could see. There was food too, courtesy of his sister. It was indeed Instagrammable, thanks to Gretchen and Uncle Bruce. He had to remember to go overboard with his thanks when seeing them later.
“Noah, you did all this?” Delight and surprise danced across her face.
“I may have had a little help,” he said, pulling her up the rest of the way.
“It’s …” She shook her head as an ocean welled in her pretty caramel eyes. “Gorgeous, beautiful, stunning, spectacular.” She took a breath. “And I love it to pieces.”
Before she could say or do anything else, he planted her in front of the window, behind the canopy of climbing white roses. The smell of musk and citrus floated through the quiet country air. There wasn’t a car or person in sight. It was like the rest of the world was muted to this one moment. His hands were trembling and his heart pounding as he took her hands in his.
“D, it’s crazy to think how much my life has changed in a year. Last May, I was lost, drifting anchorless in the cold, bottomless ocean. I was broken and unfixable, but something told me if I could fix a few pieces of old furniture, then maybe, just maybe, it would fix me. Then I came to Meadow Lane, thanks to Lil.” He winked. “And you barged into my barn.”
She laughed through her tears. “Yourbarn, huh?”
He nodded. “And into my heart. You found me, and in your kindness and our fucking extraordinary connection, I felt whole.” Helowered to one knee, with the song still playing on a loop in the background. Their eyes met as little whimpers fell from her lips. “I wasn’t looking for you, and yet somehow you found me. I know this has been a whirlwind romance, but if there’s anything we’ve learned from Lil and Gene, it’s that when you know, you know. And baby, I know.”
She stood there silently, shaking.
“Dahlia, you complete me in every possible way.” He pulled the box from his pocket and, with trembling fingers, opened it. It was a simple princess-cut emerald set in platinum. It wasn’t a conventional ring by any means, but it had a story. And once she knew it, it would mean that much more. “Will you marry me and walk through this life with me?”
“Oh, Noah,” she cried. “Yes, yes! There’s no one else I’d want to walk this life with.”
She’d said yes, even with the knowledge that they’d probably be spending the summers apart for the next few years at least. Noah chalked it up to blind faith, something he’d known nothing about before last summer.
He slid the ring onto her finger and kissed her hungrily, like the rest of the world was still on pause. It was a kiss that awakened the beast inside him and tented his faded blue jeans. There was plenty of time before the small gathering at the Hive for him to make a mess of her. But for now, he would take his time and savor each moment.
“The ring. I love it, babe.” She held it out—the vibrant green looked pretty with her short pink nails.
“There’s a story.” He went on to tell her how it was Gene’s mother’s. On the day Gene was supposed to meet Lil to say goodbye, he was going to give it to her as a promise for their future. But her father showed up instead, leaving him for dead. Noah had had a two-carat oval diamond on hold in the city, but Gene insisted. He knew Dahlia would want the heirloom; that was the kind of woman she was.
Dahlia cried and laughed at the full circle moment. To think a chance encounter seven decades ago between two people who weren’t supposed to fall in love could lead them here, to one another.
They cuddled, talked, ate, kissed, christened the kitchen and bed. Their bags arrived courtesy of Bruce, and they finally got dressed.
