Page 132 of Falling for Sunshine
“I wasn’t planning on saying anything,” he starts, voice low but carrying, “because Lucy knows I’ve never been great with public declarations. Emergency operations in a hospital parking lot? Sure. Speeches… not so much.”
Laughter ripples through the room, warm and familiar.
He swallows once, then continues. “But today… I keep thinking about how life has a way of closing doors we weren’t ready to lose, and opening others we didn’t know we needed. For a long time, I thought part of me was gone for good—burned out, worn thin, given away. Then this woman walked into my life.” He glances at me, and everything inside me stills, like the music has paused just for us. “Lucy didn’t just bring joy back into my world. She brought light. Hope. Purpose. Things I didn’t even realize I was running out of.”
His fingers tighten gently around mine, and I swear the whole room leans in at once.
“She’s the bravest, most stubborn, most extraordinary person I’ve ever known,” he says. “And somehow, she chose me. So today, in front of everyone we love…” His voice softens. “I want to promise that I’ll keep choosing her. Every day. Every season. Every storm.” He lifts our hands a little higher, our rings catching the glow of the string lights. “Lucy Kincaid, being yours is the greatest gift of my life. And I plan to spend the rest of it making sure you feel as loved as you make me feel.”
A quiet chorus ofawwws sweeps the room, followed by warm applause. Nash leans down and presses a lingering kiss to my forehead, sealing the moment, grounding me in him, in us.
When everyone begins to clap again, he lowers our hands—but he doesn’t let go. He never seems to let go. And maybe that’s the part that hits my heart the hardest.
Because as the room spins with soft lights and laughter and the sound of silverware against champagne flutes… I look down at our joined hands, at the way our rings catch and hold the light. His band is new and unfamiliar on him, but it feels like it’s always belonged there—like he has always been meant to stand beside me, anchor and soft place and everything in between.
My fingers lace with his, instinctive and sure, and something inside me settles with quiet certainty.
This is home.
Not the room. Not the town. Not the celebration swirling around us.
Him.
His hand in mine. His vow wrapped in gold. His steady warmth against my palm, promising a lifetime of mornings where neither one of us has to wonder if we’re chosen.
I squeeze his hand once more, letting the moment imprint itself somewhere deep and permanent.
From this day on, we walk through every doorway together. And as long as my hand is safe in his, I’ll never doubt where I belong.
