Chapter 11 - THE QUESTION I WAS FINALLY READY TO ANSWER
Ryan did not propose for another ten months.
That annoyed me.
Which was how I knew I was ready.
At first, the ring became a joke.
Whenever he reached into his coat:
“Is that it?”
“No.”
Whenever we passed a romantic restaurant:
“Are you doing something?”
“No.”
Whenever his mother invited us to dinner:
“Tell Diane if she hides a photographer, I’m leaving.”
“She’s terrified of you.”
“Good.”
Then eventually I stopped looking for it.
Life became normal.
Ryan moved into my apartment.
Slowly.
One drawer.
Then a shelf.
Then suddenly there were men’s shoes everywhere.
“Why do you own six pairs of brown shoes?”
“They are different.”
“They are brown.”
“This relationship may not survive.”
We laughed.
I changed jobs.
For years, I had worked in luxury event strategy for a hospitality group.
Planning my own wedding nearly killed my love for beautiful things.
Ironically, surviving it gave me a new idea.
I launched a small consulting studio focused on private events and destination hospitality.
Not weddings exclusively.
Definitely not weddings exclusively.
My first major client wanted to renovate an old inn in Maine.
Ryan helped me review the construction proposal.
I paid him.
He tried to refuse.
I threatened to hire someone else.
He invoiced me.
Boundaries.
Romantic.
Noah was released early into a residential reentry program after serving most of his sentence with good behavior.
Ryan told me before anyone else could.
“How do you feel?”
I thought.
“Nothing dramatic.”
“Good.”
“Does he want contact?”
“With me.”
“And?”
“I don’t know.”
I nodded.
That relationship belonged to them.
Not me.
Ryan eventually met Noah in a coffee shop.
He returned three hours later.
Quiet.
I waited until he spoke.
“He apologized.”
“That’s good.”
“I told him I’m still angry.”
“Also good.”
“He asked about you.”
My chest tightened slightly.
“What did you say?”
“That you’re happy.”
I smiled.
“He asked whether we’re getting married.”
I looked over.
“And?”
“I said that was none of his business.”
Correct answer.
“Then he said something I hated.”
“What?”
Ryan looked at me.
“He said he always knew you and I made more sense.”
I laughed.
“Of course he did.”
“Why is that funny?”
“Because Noah cannot accept a universe where things happen without him being secretly right.”
Ryan laughed.
Then sobered.
“I don’t want our relationship to become the lesson from his failure.”
“It isn’t.”
“I know.”
I took his hand.
“Our relationship exists because of everything after.”
“Yes.”
Not because Noah cheated.
Not because Lucy wore white.
Not because I walked toward Ryan beneath an arch.
Those things created an opening.
They did not create love.
Time did.
Truth did.
Choice did.
Three weeks later, my father called.
“Come to dinner Sunday.”
“We already have plans.”
“No, you don’t.”
I frowned.
“How would you know?”
“I spoke to Ryan.”
My pulse jumped.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“Is something happening?”
Silence.
Then my father said:
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
He was the worst liar in America.
I spent the next forty-eight hours convinced Ryan would propose at my parents’ house.
He didn’t.
We ate roast chicken.
My mother complained about traffic.
Dad talked about baseball.
Ryan helped with dishes.
Nothing.
On the drive home, I stared at him.
“What?”
“You know what.”
“No.”
“You conspired with my father.”
“About golf.”
“You don’t golf.”
“I might start.”
“Liar.”
Ryan smiled.
No proposal.
The next morning, I woke at six.
Ryan was gone.
A note sat on the kitchen counter.
Coffee downstairs. Wear shoes you can walk in.
I smiled despite myself.
No dress.
No makeup.
Jeans.
Sweater.
Hair in a ponytail.
Downstairs, Ryan waited with two coffees.
“Kidnapping?”
“Low-budget kidnapping.”
We drove.
Rhode Island.
Newport.
My chest tightened when I recognized the road.
“Hawthorne?”
“No.”
We passed the estate.
Kept driving.
Five miles farther, Ryan turned toward a public coastal trail.
We walked twenty minutes.
No cameras.
No family.
Wind.
Ocean.
Finally, we reached a bluff overlooking the water.
Ryan stopped.
I looked around.
“Nobody is hiding?”
“No.”
“Your mother?”
“Terrified, remember?”
“Photographer?”
“No.”
“Drone?”
“Kate.”
“Checking.”
He laughed.
Then his expression changed.
My heart started pounding.
He reached into his jacket.
I did not panic.
That surprised me.
He held the ring box.
Did not kneel yet.
“I’ve had this for almost a year.”
“I know.”
“I’ve almost asked five times.”
“What stopped you?”
“You.”
I raised an eyebrow.
“Rude.”
“The first two times, you still looked afraid when people mentioned weddings.”
Fair.
“The third, Noah’s sentencing had just happened.”
Also fair.
“The fourth, you started your company and I didn’t want your engagement to become the headline.”
My throat tightened.
“And the fifth?”
He smiled.
“You were sick with food poisoning.”
“Romantic.”
“I had candles.”
“Oh no.”
“Disaster.”
I laughed.
Ryan looked at me.
Then became serious.
“I used to think loving you meant staying out of the way.”
Wind moved my hair across my face.
“Then I learned silence can hurt people too.”
My eyes filled.
“I thought protecting people meant deciding which truths they could survive.”
He shook his head.
“I was wrong.”
He stepped closer.
“I don’t promise never to make another bad decision.”
“Good.”
“I don’t promise we won’t hurt each other.”
“Excellent proposal so far.”
Ryan smiled through tears.
“I promise I will tell you the truth before I tell myself the easier version.”
That broke me.
“And I promise that if you choose me, I will never treat that choice like permanent permission to stop earning your trust.”
Then he knelt.
No arch.
No guests.
No brother watching.
Just Ryan.
“Kate Bennett.”
I started crying.
“You’re making this very difficult.”
“I practiced.”
“Of course.”
He held the ring.
“Will you marry me?”
I looked at him.
And for the first time in my life, the word marriage did not feel like a cliff.
It felt like a door I was choosing to open.
“Yes.”
Ryan stopped breathing.
I laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
He stood so fast he almost dropped the ring.
“Careful.”
“I’ve waited ten years.”
“You waited badly.”
“Still counts.”
He slid the ring onto my finger.
Simple.
Emerald-cut sapphire with two small diamonds.
Blue.
Like the hydrangeas from the wedding that wasn’t.
I stared.
Ryan noticed.
“I can change it.”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
I kissed him.
Then pulled back.
“One condition.”
His face became serious.
“Anything.”
“We do not get married at Hawthorne Estate.”
“Absolutely.”
“No wedding arch.”
“Done.”
“No white roses.”
“Easy.”
“No Lucy.”
Ryan laughed.
“I think that one is safe.”
I smiled.
Then paused.
“Actually.”
He knew that tone.
“No.”
“What?”
“You don’t know what I’m thinking.”
“You want Hawthorne.”
I laughed.
“Maybe.”
“Kate.”
I looked toward the ocean.
“I spent two years making that place the site of the worst day of my life.”
Ryan waited.
“Maybe I don’t want Noah and Lucy to own it forever.”
His expression softened.
“You want to go back?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then we don’t decide today.”
There.
Again.
No pressure.
No rush.
I looked at my ring.
Then at him.
“Ask me tomorrow.”
“What?”
“If I still want to marry you.”
Ryan smiled.
“Cruel.”
“Good practice.”
The next morning, he asked.
I said yes again.
And the next.
And the next.
Not because I doubted him.
May you like
Because we both understood something now.
Forever was made of a ridiculous number of todays.
