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“My mom loved gardening. She’d read me books about flowers.”

Preston lets go of my hand, stepping out into the field, walking several feet away before he kneels and begins plucking stems. It hits me how much the flowers he gifts me mean to him; it’s him sharing his mother’s love with me. Butterflies flutter throughout my entire torso, so much so that breathing feels heavy.

“Get over here,” he calls, over his shoulder, one eye squinted from the sun.

“I’m not getting bugs in my socks.”

“It’s worth it, I promise.”

I step forward slowly, letting the flowers brush my calves through the thin pajama pants. The sun is warm on my face, and the air is permeated with flower perfume and rich, drying dirt. The light shines on the muscles of his back, contouring them in golden light.

“What are you doing?”

“You’ll see. In the meantime, take this and read it.”

From his pocket, he pulls a folded-up paper from the notepad that sat on the desk in our room.

My Darling,

I can honestly say I’ve tried a hundred times to find the perfect words while you sleep peacefully across the room, but every version falls short when I look at you.

Despite it all, you’ve been the calm in my chaos, my steady place to land. You’re the part of my life I didn’t know was missing, until I found you.

For me, love announced itself all at once, but that’s not always the case, and I understand that. I hope piece by piece, you’re finding your love for me, too.

Our situation is a lot, but you make the world feel far less heavy. I don’t need or want perfect days with you. I just need you. Your voice, your heart, your presence beside me.

So here I am, asking you the most honest question

I’ve ever asked:

Wynnie Jackson, will you marry me?

—Preston

All the air spills from my lungs, and my cheeks heat from tears in my eyes. I look down at him, holding a tiny circle of wildflowers with two white blooms positioned as stones.

“Will you marry me, darling?”

I swallow hard, trying my hardest to process the proposal and the note. It’s no longer something we’re discussing in hypotheticals like I thought we were doing last night. It’s all flowers and dirt, sleepy eyes and morning sunlight with the sweetest note of them all.

“I know this isn’t conventional, probably not the proposal you dreamed of having, but this feels so fucking real to me, Wynnie. Talking about it last night, then sleeping next to you, made me realize I don’t want to wait until we’re safe for you to make a decision. I want you now, and for whatever forever we can manage, even if that’s just a few more days.”

I stare at the handcrafted ring, my entire body trembling.

There are literally a million reasons to say no. We’re fugitives that don’t even know what the end of the day will bring. Just days ago, we were elbows deep in blood, killing people the other one cared about. We’ve been running on adrenaline and fear, making decisions the average person would never make.

But sitting in a field of flowers, watching this man who dragged me in and out of hell offer me a ring made with his own hands… none of it seems to matter, because maybe I do love him. Not the desperate, clinging love of someone afraid to be alone, but instead the real thing. Sticking by someone through bad and good, crimes and virtues, learning how to handle and appreciate both sides. It’s complex and far messier than I could ever imagine. I know it in my bones, the way something in me settles when his eyes that remind me of autumn leaves look deep into mine I know he can see my spirit bared.

He’s able to light a fire in me in ways no one ever has, but in the same breath, can calm me.

Obviously, this is fast and crazy for us to do, but so has our entire relationship.

I nod, my throat too tight to speak.

Preston’s face breaks into a smile that could power the entire Las Vegas strip. He slides the flower ring onto my finger with shaking hands, then pulls me toward him until we both fall in the dirt. My laugh is muffled, filled with half-cries as I hold onto him, terrified I might float away without his clutch.

“I do love you,” I whisper into his neck. “It just scares me so much.”