“Yes.”
He closed his eyes like the word hit him physically.
Then he slid the ring onto my finger.
It fit.
Of course it did.
Dylan did not stand right away.
He stayed there on one knee, holding my hand, staring at the ring like he had built houses, survived bullets, lost years, and crossed every mile of guilt just to reach this small circle of metal and stone.
Then the front door of the ranch house opened.
Nate yelled, “Did she say yes or do I need to start emotionally supporting him?”
Lily shouted, “Don’t rush her!”
Regan screamed, “She said yes, didn’t she?”
Skye yelled, “I can’t see!”
Cal roared, “Get back inside before you let the heat out!”
Dylan looked up at me.
I started laughing and crying at the same time.
“Our family is insane,” I said.
“Our family,” he repeated.
Soft.
Wondering.
Mine.
Then Edge’s voice cut through the cold from the porch.
“Get up before your knee freezes. I’m not carrying you.”
Dylan looked toward the house. “Merry Christmas to you too, dad.”
Edge’s face turned red, his hand fisted but Regan was there keeping him in line.
Later that night, after the congratulations, the crying, the inappropriate toast from Nate, and Regan holding my hand for so long I thought she might never let go, Dylan and I finally escaped upstairs.
To the blue quilt room at Cal’s ranch, the one I always stayed in when the family gathered here. The room had old wood floors, thick curtains, a heavy bed, and a window that looked out over the snow-covered pasture. Someone had already turned down the blankets. Someone else—Regan, obviously—had left a small bundle of fresh pine and ribbon on the dresser beside a candle that smelled like vanilla and cedar.
“Subtle,” Dylan said, shutting the door behind us.
I looked at the bed.
Then at him.
“Do you think they know?”
