“I had a speech,” I said. “I practiced it on Buddy. It was terrible. He liked it but he has no standards.”
She was staring at the ring. Her book was forgotten in her lap.
“So I’m just going to say it. I want to marry you. Not the wolf way. The human way. Your way. Because you deserve both and I want to give you both.”
“Finneas...”
“You called me a caveman to a dog. You threatened me with pink wallpaper. You read to me in the worst Scottish accent in the history of the English language and I fell in love with you somewhere between chapter three and the part where you told Fin about my forearms.” My voice was shaking. Fantastic. “You are the best thing that ever happened to me. You and Alex. I want to spend the rest of my life getting things wrong while you photograph it.”
She laughed. It came out wet.
“Marry me, Andrea.”
She looked at me, crouched in front of her in the reading nook, ring in my hand, Buddy asleep at her feet, our son making bubbles in the bouncer. Her eyes were full. Her chin was trembling. The dimple wasn’t showing because she was biting her lip trying not to cry.
“You practiced on the dog?”
“He was very encouraging.”
“How long have you been carrying that ring around?”
“Three weeks. It’s been burning a hole in my pocket.”
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m aware.”
She took my face in her hands. Kissed me. Soft, firm, certain.
“Yes,” she said against my mouth. “Obviously yes. Did you seriously think I’d say no?”
“There was a nonzero chance.”
“There was a zero chance. Absolute zero. Negative chance.” She kissed me again. “Put the ring on me before you drop it.”
My hands were still shaking when I slid it on her finger. It fit. She held her hand up and looked at it, turning it in the afternoon light from the window.
“It’s perfect,” she said. “Not flashy.”
“I know you.”
“You do.” She looked at me with wet eyes and the dimple finally showing. “You really do.”
Alex chose that moment to spit up on himself in the bouncer. Buddy woke up, started licking the baby’s foot. Alex screamed. Andrea grabbed the baby, I grabbed the dog, and we spent thenext ten minutes cleaning spit-up off a onesie while Buddy tried to help by licking everything within reach.
“Romantic,” Andrea said, wiping Alex’s chin with the sleeve of my shirt she was wearing.
“I can redo the proposal if you want. Candlelight, music, the whole thing.”
“Don’t you dare. This was perfect.” She looked at the ring on her finger, then at our son screaming in her arms, then at Buddy trying to eat a burp cloth. “This is exactly us.”
She was right. It was.
The weeks after the engagement settled into something I hadn’t expected: normal. Alex got bigger, louder, more opinionated about when he wanted to eat. Andrea started bringing him to the animal wing, settling him in the bouncer while she worked. Buddy appointed himself the baby’s personal guard and growled at anyone who got too close, which was ironic coming from the dog who’d escaped his own kennel six times.
I went back to pack business full time. Council meetings, territory management, the rebuilding that comes after you banish three families and your own mother. It wasn’t easy. But I came home every night. Dinner at the table, bath time, the three am feed I still refused to give up.
Andrea wore the ring everywhere. I caught her looking at it sometimes, turning her hand in the light while she was reading or feeding Alex, this quiet smile on her face she didn’t know I could see. She’d been different since the engagement. Not different in a big way. Just softer around the edges, more settled,like the last piece of something had clicked into place and she’d stopped bracing for it to fall apart.
