Not tension. Not hesitation.
Decision.
“Good,” he says.
Before I can ask what that means, he steps back just enough to crouch down, his hands moving quickly and efficiently as he pulls a piece of twine from the side of his pack. I blink, caught off guard, watching as he works it between his fingers, looping it, tightening it, shaping it into something deliberate.
“What are you doing?” I ask, half laughing already because I have a feeling I know.
He doesn’t answer right away. He finishes the loop, tests it, then looks up at me.
And then he drops to one knee.
My breath catches.
“Ethan…”
“I don’t do things halfway,” he says, his voice steady, grounded, like everything else about him. “You know that.”
I nod, my chest tightening.
“You stopped running,” he continues. “You came up here. You stood in front of me and told me you’re staying. You chose this.”
His gaze holds mine, unwavering.
“You chose me.”
The world feels very quiet all of a sudden, the wind easing around us, the mountain stretching out in every direction like it’s holding this moment with us.
“I’m not asking you to give anything up,” he says. “I’m asking you to build something with me. Here. With me. No halfway. No maybe.”
My throat tightens, emotion rising too fast for me to get ahead of it.
“I want all of it,” he adds, his voice dropping slightly. “The stubbornness. The way you look at me when you think I’m wrong. The way you stand your ground. The way you don’t run anymore.”
He lifts the loop of twine.
“It’s not much,” he says, glancing at it briefly. “But I’ll fix that later.”
A laugh breaks out of me, shaky and real and completely overwhelmed.
“You are unbelievable.”
“Yeah.”
“You hiked me to the top of a mountain to propose with twine.”
“It’s symbolic.”
“It’s string.”
“It’s going to be a better story than a jewelry store.”
I laugh harder, wiping at my eyes because at some point I started crying without noticing.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
