After letting go, he reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a flat, small, and neatly tied canvas pouch. It was the kind of bag he used for holding spare parts or special lures, practical and well-worn. He pressed it into my palm.
“Ooh, a present!” I exclaimed. “Maybe a shell you found on a remote flat? Or perhaps a piece of sea glass worn smooth by the ocean?”
I cocked my head, but he remained silent and justsmiled faintly. I carefully untied the drawstring and tipped the contents into my hand.
It wasn’t a shell.
Several perfect, intricate loops of thin rope—twine that looked like he’d used it a time or two—were coiled in my hand. Smiling, I gently separated the loops, then froze. My heart stopped.
A ring lay in the center.
It was simple, elegant. A band of shining white gold holding a single, square-cut diamond that sparkled with a hint of blue.
Remembering its job, my heart pounded a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I jerked my head up, my eyes wide with a question.
Austin rubbed both palms on his jeans, but when he met my eyes, his gaze was unwavering, so full of raw, powerful emotion that made my eyes begin to sting.
“That’s a fisherman’s knot.” His voice was low, steady, as he gestured to the coil of rope still resting in my palm. “It’s a variation of a uni knot. It’s the one you use when you want to make sure the line never, ever slips, no matter how hard the fight is, no matter what storm hits. You tie it right,” his eyes held mine, “and it holds forever.”
He took my other hand, his grip firm, grounding. “Heron House was your new beginning, Iris. A place where you put down roots and built something lasting.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “And you were my new start. I spent thirteen years thinking my life was over, that all the good parts were just memories. You taught me how to live again, not just survive.”
His voice was thick with emotion he no longer tried to hide. He took the loop of rope from my palm and expertly slipped the ring free. He didn’t get down on one knee. Hedidn’t need to. All he had to do was meet my gaze—his vulnerability his greatest strength, his heart in his eyes.
“I want to be your anchor, Iris. And I want you to be mine. For all the storms to come.” He held up the ring, the beautiful gem catching the morning light. “Please marry me.”
I couldn’t speak. I could only nod, a frantic, jerky motion, my throat too tight with joy.
He took that as the answer it was. A slow, beautiful smile bloomed on his face. He took my left hand and slid the ring onto my finger.
“Yes,” I managed to choke out, my voice a watery, triumphant whisper. “Oh, Austin. Of course, yes.”
I threw my arms around his neck, burying my face in the warm, solid curve of his shoulder, breathing in the scent of him. Of home. He held me tightly, his strong arms a promise of forever.
Eventually, we broke apart. He picked up the coils of rope, turning them in his hands. “I set it up first with fishing line since you usually make this knot in line, but I thought it looked stupid for a proposal. The rope has more weight to it, more meaning.”
“It was perfect. All of it. Completely you.”
We sat there for a long time, in that sunlit, meaningful spot, surrounded by the hum of the life and love we had built together, my new ring a cool, solid weight on my finger.
Our future was secure.
One knot, tied forever.
