Page 162 of Never After Us
“Stop skipping,” I whisper.“You’re going to blow our cover.”
She stops.
Turns.
Puts her hands on her hips.
“You said be casual.”
“That’s ...not casual.That’s suspiciously joyful.”
She narrows her eyes.“You’re being dramatic.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose.“I’m proposing to your mother.I’m allowed to be dramatic.”
She shrugs like this is barely an event.“Just don’t faint.”
“Yeah.Thanks.”
We turn the corner, and the garden comes into view.
Aly outdid herself, with the help of Ari who’s been my soundboard since the moment I began to search for the perfect ring.
Strands of warm glass bulb lights hang from the branches like low constellations.A hundred mason jars with tea candles line the path, flickering gently in the early spring breeze.There’s a small arc of wildflowers—even in March, she managed to find them—woven into a crescent above a wooden bench.
It’s intimate and soft and exactly what Mara deserves.
I swallow hard.
She always said she loved gardens at dusk.
“Is it perfect?”Mila asks.
“It’s ...yeah,” I breathe.“It’s perfect.”
“Good,” she says.“Because she’s coming.”
My spine straightens.Mila grabs my hand with a conspiratorial squeeze before dashing off behind a hedgerow—Aly’s cue to collect her and keep her hidden until the right moment.
Footsteps sound behind me.
“Alec?”
I turn.
Mara is standing at the garden gate, wrapped in a soft jacket, hair pulled back with a couple of loose strands brushing her cheeks.She looks beautiful—tired, cautious, hopeful.Like someone still learning what it means to breathe without waiting for the next hit of grief.
Her eyes widen as she takes everything in.
The lights.
The candles.
The flowers.
Then me.
“What ...what is this?”she asks softly.
