I yank open the passenger door, grab the small box from the glove compartment, and hurry back.
Neely’s eyes widen when she sees it.
“Tate.”
“I bought this three weeks after we met.”
“You bought a ring after three weeks?”
“I wanted to buy it after three days. I showed restraint.”
She covers her mouth with one hand.
I lower myself to one knee on the gravel of the host site.
“I told you I wasn’t going to ask you to promise me forever that night in the ranger cabin.” I open the box. “But I’m asking now.”
Her eyes fill with tears.
“Neely Quinn, I love you. I love how capable you are and how kind you are. I love that you read historical markers out loud and put too much cream in your coffee. I love watching you write, and I can’t wait until you’re a published author and I can hold your books in my hands.”
She laughs through her tears. “I write romance. You’re not my target audience.”
I look up at her from my position on the ground. “I’m on one knee here, Neely. I’m all about the romance.”
Her tears spill over.
“Marry me, Neel—”
“Yes.” The word is out before I finish asking.
“Yes?” I repeat, because I need to hear it again.
“Yes, Tate. Of course, I’ll marry you. I love you.”
I slide the ring onto her finger and stand, gathering her into my arms.
Behind us, someone claps.
We turn to find Ollie beside his maintenance truck, grinning like an idiot.
“I knew it,” he says. “Bev owes me twenty dollars.”
Neely laughs against my chest.
I tighten my arms around my campground host.
My fiancée.
My home.
EPILOGUE
Neely
Oneyearlater
The RV hasn't moved in eight months. She sits on a gravel pad Tate graded himself, fifty yards from the house, under two ponderosas that drop needles on her roof all autumn like they're claiming her. The wheels still hold air. The engine still turns over on the first try, because I run her once a month, out to the mountain pass and back, windows down. But the dinette is gone, and in its place is a desk Caleb Foster built to fit the curve of the wall, and the bed platform holds bookshelves now, and taped above the desk is a sticky note in Ollie's handwriting that says DOUG'S DOING GREAT, stolen from the maintenance shed on my last official day as camp host.
