"Look more closely."
I stare at the screen. The image sharpens in my mind.
It's—wait.
That's the corner. The southeast corner of this floor.
"Wait—" My voice comes out strange. "That's—the southeast corner."
"It is," Tom says quietly.
I turn, scanning the space. "But I don't—"
"Keep walking."
My feet move before my brain catches up. I'm walking toward the corner. My heartbeat pounds in my ears. And then I see it.
A small black velvet box, duct-taped to the beam.
My knees go soft. I reach out, palm flat against the beam to steady myself.
I stop. Turn. Look at him.
He's smiling now, a little sheepish, a little breathless. "It's duct-taped down pretty good. You're gonna have to grab it hard."
I walk over, my hands shaking, and pry at the edges. The duct tape finally gives, and I hold the box in my hands, staring at it.
Tom crosses the space between us in three strides. He takes the box gently from my hands, but he doesn't open it yet. He just looks at me, and for a moment, neither of us says anything.
Then he takes a breath.
"I didn't think it was possible to love anyone as much as I love you."
His voice is quiet, steady. "And every day, I love you more."
A tear slips down his cheek, and he swipes at it quickly, laughing a little. Then he takes my hand, holding it between both of his, and looks right at me.
"Samantha—" He pauses. "Wait. I just realized I don't know your middle name."
I laugh, the sound coming out shaky. "Allison."
He grins. "Samantha Allison Morgan." His grip tightens on my hand. "Will you marry me?"
He opens the lid of the box, the ring catching the light, and gives me this questioning look—hopeful, nervous, vulnerable.
"Please say yes," he adds quickly, "because I really want to spend the rest of my life with you."
I'm laughing and crying at the same time.
"Yes."
Tom exhales. Relief floods his face. He slides the ring onto my finger, his hands steadying as the band settles into place. I can't stop staring at it. The diamond catches the late afternoon lightpouring through the exposed steel framework, throwing tiny points of brightness across my hand.
I look up at him, and he's grinning.
"Are we allowed to take our hard hats off?" I ask.
He shakes his head, smiling. "Well, technically, that's against the rules."
