The hostess seats us in a booth by the window, and Mason slides in across from me, already smiling.
“You remember the first time we came here?” he asks.
“Of course.” I lean back, wrapping my hands around the mug of coffee the waitress just poured. “You ordered the biggest breakfast on the menu and I thought, ‘There’s no way he’s finishing that.’”
“And I did.”
“You did,” I admit with a laugh. “I was impressed.”
“And you ordered yogurt with a side of fruit,” he teases.
“I was nervous.” I laugh, and he just shakes his head.
The waitress comes back, and we order—pancakes for me, eggs and sausage for him, home fries to share because the serving size is huge.
Once she’s gone, Mason leans forward, elbows on the table, that soft look in his eyes that still makes my stomach flip.
“I was so nervous to ask you,” he admits with a laugh.
“You didn’t seem that nervous.”
“I was shaking the entire time.” He laughs. “I kept thinking, ‘What if she says no? What if I’m moving too fast? What if she thinks I’m crazy?’”
“I didn’t think you were crazy.”
He smiles, and for a second, it’s like we’re back in that field. Just the two of us under the sunset.
“I knew I wanted to marry you the second time we went out,” he says quietly. “Didn’t say it out loud because I didn’t want to scare you off. But I knew.”
My throat tightens. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand.
I squeeze it, blinking back the emotion. “I knew too, you know. Maybe not the second date, but…close. The way you looked at me. Like I was the only person in the room.”
“Because you were.”
The waitress brings our food, and we pull our hands apart just in time for her to set everything down.
Mason prays, something short but still sweet, and we eat in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the sounds of the diner humming around us—spoons clinking in coffee mugs, old men sitting at the counter talking about the snowstorm coming next week.
We finish breakfast slowly, talking about lighter things—Christmas, what I got his siblings so far, whether we should get a real tree or a fake one.
By the time we leave, the sun’s fully broken through the clouds, and Mason wraps his arm around my shoulders as we walk back to the truck.
“Thanks for breakfast,” I say, leaning into him.
“Thanks for saying yes a year ago.”
I laugh, tilting my head up to look at him. “Thanks for asking.”
He grins, stopping to kiss me right there in the parking lot. And as we drive home, his hand in mine, I tell myself that as long as I have him, I can get through anything.
Chapter 24
Megan - Five Months Later
I lean against the bathroom counter, the negative test still in my hand. Nine months.
