“George,” he says, his tone roughening, “Are you serious—”
I’ve turned these words over in my head more times than I can count, but they come out plain because that’s the only way I know how to say something this big.
“The first night I met you and brought food to Trevor’s dorm, I didn’t have enough for four, so I gave you most of mine. Iremember feeling glad doing it. After that, every time I showed up with food anywhere, my first thought was always you—whether you’d eaten, whether you were okay.”
Lance’s eyes grow bright with emotion he makes no effort to hide.
“I didn’t understand it then,” I add. “I do now.”
He exhales sharply, a quick hitch in his breath, and closes his eyes. When he meets my eyes again, every wall he ever kept up is gone.
“You’ve been there when I was too stubborn to ask for help. You held me together. You even saved my shop.” My voice drops lower. “You make me happy, Lance. Annoyed as hell sometimes, but happy. So yeah…marry me.”
Lance wipes at the corner of his eye, shaking his head like he’s physically trying to wrangle his shit together and failing. A breathy laugh escapes him.
“Jesus Christ, G,” he says, “You see me at my absolute worst—when I’m being a petty, sarcastic asshole just to piss you off—and you’re still here. That’s it for me. That’s fucking everything.”
He locks eyes with me, bright and a little wild.
“You’ve got the biggest heart. You give and give more, even when no one asks, and you deserve to be happy more than anyone I know.” He grabs my face with both hands, thumbs rough against my jaw. “I love you, George. I love you more than I know what to do with. So yes… I’m fucking marrying you, Big Guy.”
Around us, Becca makes a sound like she’s crying. Trevor lets out a loud cheer. Vince pulls Adrian closer without taking his eyes off us. Marcus lifts his glass in a small toast.
I show him the ring. He looks at it curiously until he sees a subtle line engraved on the inside.
“What is that?” he asks.
“The coordinates of the ridge.”
He pauses, looking like he’s deep in thought.
“You picked the ridge,” he says.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Even after that—”
“Especially after,” I say.
It’s the same ridge where everything between us once blew up and said things to each other that hurt.
But then I think about all the road trips that somehow always led us back there, the long stretches of road where neither of us needed to say a damn thing. That place belongs to us more than it ever belongs to that one last fight.
“I love you too,” I whisper, smiling, as I slide the ring onto his finger. It fits perfectly.
Lance stares down at it for a long moment, then pulls me up and kisses me hard, deep and full of everything we are. He laughs softly against my mouth, and I smirk into it, catching his grin mid-kiss. When we pull back, he rests his forehead against mine.
“You don’t get to take that back,” he says under his breath.
“I won’t.”
“And I’m absolutely telling the kids you’re the one who proposed.”
Epilogue
Lance
Six months later
