Page 79 of Knife Volume 2

And that was exactly right. It was who they are, and she’d never been happier to belong to anyone in her life.

Because she was marrying an ultimately practical man, the next thing out of his pack was two large thermoses with the beef stew she’d scented the day before while she’d been blindfolded upstairs in another of his deviantly evil poses.

They had a wonderful meal of hot beef stew and cold tea while sitting on boulders, looking out over the valley, and Tuesday couldn’t help but keep looking at her ring.

And then the questions started in her head, so she asked them out loud.

“How long have you had it?”

“About a month. Maybe a little longer.”

She turned to look at him. “A month?”

“The timing kept not being right.” He spooned up some stew. “You went to New York. Then we were planning for two clubs to come here at the same time, and you filmed the next week. The weather was wrong the next week, and we were so close to the fall colors by then, it seemed best to do it at the peak.”

She looked at the valley, at the blazing October colors she’d been walking through all morning, and understood he’d been in possession of a ring for over a month, waiting for the exact right time.

“Who helped you pick it out?”

He was quiet a beat. “Gen.”

She absorbed that. He’d gone to the woman who wore couture and heels when everyone else was in jeans because he’d wanted the best.

And that meant she upped her mental price a great deal, taking the cost from four figures to five.

He pulled out his phone, opened his gallery. “There are matching bands, but Gen found several others that would work. I haven’t bought them yet, since I figured you should be in on that part. If you don’t like these, we can find others.”

He handed her the phone, and she scrolled through the options — the matching set were wide bands, yellow gold, the same channel of diamonds near the edge, so with her engagement ring beside it, it’d look like a single band, probably.

The next picture showed them together and verified it.

She liked the other options, too, but loved the way the matching set worked with her ring.

His would be chunky and substantial, and she asked him, “I really like the matching set, but are you okay with diamonds?”

“These diamonds, yes, since I won’t be able to knock them off. Gen told me I’ll have to clean the channel with a toothbrush, but that’s okay. I wouldn’t be comfortable with diamonds sticking up, but I’m good with them like this.”

She handed his phone back to him, lifted her thermos, took another bite of stew, and told him, “Okay.”

He lifted an eyebrow, and she said, “I mean, yes.” She rolled her eyes. “I know, I already said yes. I’m just still processing the details.” She blew out a breath. “Do you have ideas for the wedding? And how soon are we going to do this?”

“Oh no, I did the ring and planned the proposal. You do the wedding. Whatever you want — traditional in a church, biker wedding in the woods, a damned kinky wedding with you in my ropes, or something else entirely. I have twenty grand in cash set aside for the ceremony and reception. If that isn’t enough, I can add more.”

He took her back a different way, climbing down into the gorge on a steep trail, hiking on a much lesser-used trail, looking up at the canyon walls. They stopped for another meal a few hours later, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches that hit the spot, and eventually ended up at the base of Foster Falls again, where he produced a bowl of bananas, berries, and watermelon slices while they sat in the negative ions and mist of the falls.

They climbed out of the canyon, rode down the mountain, and he pulled into an all-you-can-eat country buffet in South Pittsburg — and they both ate their fill while Tuesday stared at her engagement ring and imagined growing old with Harlan Corbett Walton, named after both of his grandfathers.

She rolled Tuesday Marie Robinson Walton around in her head, getting comfortable with the idea of it. Tuesday Walton. It was going to take some getting used to, but she had the rest of her life.

Chapter 33

Tuesday couldn’t believe they’d made it to Thanksgiving, but she was beyond happy to arrive at her grandmother’s house on the back of Knife’s new bike. She carefully removed the box with her sweet potato casserole (half with pecans, half with marshmallows) and apple pie, and thought about how much she was looking forward to her grandmother’s carrot cake.

As always, Thanksgiving at her grandmother’s house was loud, chaotic, and perfect in all the ways Tuesday had grown up loving.

When they all sat down to eat, the long table was packed with her parents, her brother August and his girlfriend, along with Tuesday’s Aunt May and her kids. The air smelled like cornbread dressing, roasted turkey, and the tang of her grandmother’s cranberry sauce. Laughter bounced off the walls, plates clattered, and two of her cousins battled over who got the dark meat of the turkey. Tuesday preferred the lighter meat with her grandmother’s gravy, so she was good.

Knife and August helped her grandmother bring the three large turkeys to the table, and Knife took his seat beside Tuesday. She reached for her wine, and the light of the chandelier caught her ring — a sparkling reminder of the day he’d asked her to marry him.