Page 125 of Love, Second Chances and Other Nonsense
“Let’s say we’re both lucky then.”
“If we must.” I press a kiss to her forehead, then her nose, then finally her lips. She turns more fully in my arms to kiss me properly, her hand coming up to cup my cheek. When we part, Irest my forehead against hers, and my thoughts drift to the small box burning a hole in my pocket.
I’ve been carrying it for weeks, waiting for the right moment.
“Caitlin,” I begin, my voice suddenly rough with emotion. “You know I love you, right?”
She smiles, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’ve had my suspicions.”
“I’m serious,” I say, though I can’t help smiling back. “I love you in a way I didn’t know was possible before I met you. Complete, all-consuming, terrifying love.”
Her smile fades slightly, her expression growing more serious as she registers my tone. “I love you too, Adam. More than I could have ever imagined.”
Her eyes are shimmering now, reflecting the firelight. I shift slightly, reaching into my pocket with one hand while keeping the other firmly around her waist.
“I want to spend my life with you,” I tell her, my voice low and intense. “Not just the good times. I want everything. I want mornings when you’re grumpy before coffee and evenings when we’re both too tired to cook. I want arguments about whose turn it is to do the dishes and making up afterward. I want to build furniture while you experiment with new recipes. I want Sunday dinners with your family. I want to have kids with you, and I want to grow old with you. I want a real, messy, beautiful life with you.”
I pull out the small velvet box, and her eyes widen as she sees it. With slightly trembling fingers, I open it to reveal the ring inside; a simple band of white gold with a small, perfect diamond flanked by two tiny sapphires.
“Caitlin Hughes,” I say, my voice catching slightly, “will you marry me? Will you build that life with me?”
She stares at the ring, then at me, her eyes wide and full of tears. For one heart-stopping moment, she’s silent, and Iwonder if I’ve misread everything. Then her face breaks into the most radiant smile I’ve ever seen.
“Yes,” she whispers, and then louder, “Yes! Of course, yes!”
My hands are shaking as I take the ring from the box and slide it onto her finger. It fits perfectly.
She stares at it for a moment, then launches herself at me with such force that I fall back onto the blanket, her body pressed against mine. Her lips find mine in a kiss that’s equal parts joy and hunger. I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight against me as if she might float away if I let go.
“I love you,” she murmurs against my lips. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”
I roll us over so she’s beneath me now, the firelight casting golden shadows across her face. Her hair fans out on the blanket, her eyes bright with happiness, and the sight of her, finally my fiancée once again, steals my breath away.
As I lower my mouth to hers again, feeling her arms wind around my neck to pull me closer, I can’t help but think that whatever Caitlin says, I’m the lucky one. This brilliant, beautiful, fierce woman is mine, has chosen to be mine for the rest of our lives. Despite everything, she loves me. And as we lose ourselves in each other, with the fire crackling beside us and the stars wheeling overhead; I make a silent promise to spend every day making sure she never regrets that choice.
Epilogue: Caitlin
If there is one thing I’ve learned over the last five years, it’s being wary of absolutes. Never is a dangerous word. Five years ago, I left Iowa heartbroken and alone, and I swore I’d never set foot in Mount Pella again. Yet here I am, sitting in a vinyl booth in the small, shabby diner that sits across the street from our hotel, watching my daughter color on a children’s menu while Adam studies his own. Life has a funny way of making liars out of all of us.
“Mommy, look!” Louisa holds up her paper, crayon marks spreading well beyond the outlined pancake she was supposed to be coloring. “It’s purple!”
“I see that, baby. It’s beautiful.” I smooth back a strand of her dark hair, so like her father’s. At three years old, Louisa is a force of nature, all curious mind and stubborn determination, with my freckles scattered across her nose and Adam’s dimples flashing when she smiles.
“Not a baby,” she corrects, brow furrowing in a perfect miniature of Adam’s serious face. “I’m a big girl.”
“The biggest,” Adam agrees, setting down his menu to help her color the bacon purple, too. His sleeves are pushed up, revealing the intricate tattoo work that now covers his left arm completely; vines and flowers intertwined with images that tell our story: a Colorado mountain range, the outline of my grandmother’s house, our wedding anniversary and Louisa’sbirth date in Roman numerals, my name hidden among leaves near his wrist.
Our waitress approaches, coffeepot in hand, her eyes darting eagerly between us. She’s older, with bottle-blonde hair and a nametag that reads “Darlene.” I’ve never seen her before, but she clearly knows who Adam is.
“Ready to order, hon?” she asks him, already pouring coffee before he can answer. “You’re Gerald Kelley’s boy, aren’t you? All grown up now.” Her eyes linger on his tattoos, the beard, the man bun he’s taken to wearing his hair in. She doesn’t bother hiding her curiosity. “Almost didn’t recognize you.”
“Imagine that,” Adam says with a polite smile that doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Heard your mama moved to Des Moines,” Darlene continues, clearly fishing. “And that poor Greene girl. Such a shame what happened with your sister and her fiance…” She tsks, shaking her head like she isn’t thoroughly enjoying this and greedy for every bit of gossip.
Adam’s jaw tightens, but his voice remains even. “Louisa, what do you want for breakfast, sweetheart?”
Our daughter looks up from her coloring, blissfully oblivious to the tension. “Pancakes!” she declares. “With blueberries!”
