He grinned, but didn’t stop. “Never seen anyone eat like you,” he said, then quickly amended, “I mean—never seen anyone enjoy it this much. It’s good.”
I took another bite and rolled my eyes, but let him watch.
We ate in silence for a while, the only sound the buzz of the river and the steady hum of insects waking up in the reeds. I could feel my own tension melt a little, replaced by a warmth that had nothing to do with the food.
It was the first time in years that I’d sat across from someone who wasn’t trying to get anything from me except maybe another half hour of my company.
Eventually, I finished everything on my plate, even the weird ice cream. Macon wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then cleared the empty containers and set them neatly off to the side.
He reached for my hand again, and I gave it to him.
He didn’t speak for a long time. He just traced circles on my palm with his thumb, the pads of his fingers rough and precise. I was so used to him being a wall—tall and unreadable, always in control—that the nervous energy in him now was almost dizzying.
“You okay?” I said, echoing his words from earlier.
He nodded. Then, after a beat, “No. Not really.”
He glanced at my belly, then looked away. “I know I can’t fix things for you. I know I’m not supposed to even try.” His jaw clenched, and he stared out at the water like it might have an answer. “But I can’t stop thinking about it. About you, and the baby, and how if I could just… make it better, I would.”
The admission landed in my chest with a force I wasn’t ready for. I waited, letting him put the pieces together however he needed.
“I never wanted a family,” he said. “Not until you.”
He said it plain, like he was talking about the weather.
I squeezed his hand, just to remind him I was there.
He dug into his pocket and pulled out a small white box, the kind you’d get at a jewelry counter if you told them you didn’twant anything fancy. He turned it over twice, then offered it to me, unopened.
My hands shook when I took it. I fumbled with the lid, and inside were two rings—simple silver bands, no stones, no engraving, just bright and cold against the velvet.
I stared at them for a long second, then looked up. “Is this—?”
He nodded, eyes fixed on the box. “If you want.”
The words he’d practiced were gone; what came out was raw and unvarnished. “I know I fucked up before. But I want us to be a real family—you, me, and our baby. I don’t care if we stay here, move to the Hargrove place, or even go to Portugal. I just want to be with you, and I want the whole world to know you belong to me.”
He wasn’t looking at me as he said it.
Maybe he couldn’t.
I reached out and took his jaw in my hand, forcing him to meet my gaze. His eyes were wide and hopeful and scared in a way I’d never seen before, not even in the heat of a firefight or the dead of a Montana winter.
“Yes,” I said, voice barely above the river. “God, yes.”
For the first time, I saw relief crash over him. He let out a breath, then crushed me into his chest, arms tight, but careful around the curve of my belly.
We sat like that for a while, the wind picking up off the water, the sound of the world going quiet as if even nature was waiting for us to move.
After a while, I slipped the smaller ring onto my finger, then took his hand and did the same for him. His hands were shaking, but he let me.
He looked at the silver band, then at me. “We should do it right,” he said. “Today, before you change your mind.”
I snorted. “I won’t.”
He grinned. “Let’s go, then.”
He helped me to my feet, then picked up the blanket and the basket with a casual strength that made me feel lighter just watching him. He didn’t let go of my hand the entire walk back, not even when we hit the tricky stretch by the chicken yard or the muddy patch that always tried to steal your boot.
