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“What’s this?” I ask, curious about the timing.

“Open it.”

Inside are travel itineraries and glossy photos of a stunning coastal town built into steep cliffs overlooking turquoise water.

“Riomaggiore?” I gasp, recognizing the colorful buildings from my grandmother’s stories. “We’re going to Cinque Terre?”

“We leave tomorrow,” he says, his eyes dancing with excitement. “I’ve already cleared your schedule for the next week. And...” he points to the itinerary, “there’s a three-daystopover in London. I thought you might like to visit that museum exhibit you mentioned, the one you almost moved there for.”

I stare at him in disbelief. “But the quarterly implementation—”

“Will still be here when we get back.” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “The team can handle things for a week. And we’re taking the company jet, so we can return quickly if there’s a genuine emergency.”

“You planned all this before...” I gesture to the ring.

“I did.” His expression turns serious. “Whether you said yes or not, you deserved this break. Though I’m incredibly relieved you said yes.”

“You were that confident?” I tease, trying to process this second surprise.

“About us? Absolutely.” He pulls me closer. “About my proposal timing interrupting your perfectly organized quarterly review? That was a calculated risk.”

I pull him down for another kiss. “You knew what you were signing up for.”

“Yes,” he murmurs against my lips. “Yes, I did.”

Because some things are worth betting everything on.

Like proposals that interrupt quarterly reviews because when you know, you know.

And we’ve known since that first moment.

We just needed time to be brave enough to choose it.

Every single day.

Forever.

***

Later, surrounded by family and team members at O’Sullivan’s - because where else would we celebrate - I can’t stop staring atmy ring. The way it catches the light reminds me of the reflection patterns I use in my sustainability visualization models. Perfect for the analyst who sees patterns everywhere.

“It was Grandma Walker’s,” Sophie tells me, sliding into our booth with fresh drinks. The familiar pub is crowded with well-wishers, and most of the company has gotten wind of the engagement within hours. “Mom had it redesigned to match your style. Modern vintage, just like your sustainability approach.”

“Just like us,” Lucas agrees, his arm warm around my shoulders. He hasn’t stopped touching me since the proposal, as if making sure I’m real, that this is happening.

The pub feels different tonight, transformed by the occasion just like the boardroom was. Maggie, the manager, has stuck small fairy lights around our usual booth, and there’s a cake on the bar with “Congratulations to the CEO and the Innovation Queen” written in frosting that exactly matches our division’s color scheme. I suspect Sophie’s influence there.

My parents are deep in conversation with Elizabeth, their longtime friendship evident in how they finish each other’s sentences. Dad’s already discussing how to incorporate sustainable practices into the ceremony, while Mom and Elizabeth debate flower arrangements with the ease of women who’ve imagined this day for years.

“You know,” Natalie muses, raising her glass, “this technically makes me the most successful matchmaker in the office. I’m the one who scheduled all those ‘accidental’ meeting overlaps.”

“Excuse me?” Sophie looks deeply offended. “I’ve been plotting this since high school! Who do you think made sure they were always paired for study groups?”

“Ladies,” Garrett interrupts, raising his glass with surprisingly good humor, “I think we can all agree that my antagonistic rolecreated the perfect narrative tension for their eventual reunion. Without obstacles, where’s the satisfaction in triumph?”

The debate about who deserves credit for our relationship devolves into increasingly ridiculous claims, with even the board members joining in. The chairwoman insists her strategic meeting scheduling played a crucial role, while Raymond from IT claims his timely computer issues forced us to share workstations on multiple occasions.

“They’re all wrong, you know,” Lucas murmurs in my ear, his voice low enough that only I can hear. “We would have found our way here, eventually. Some things are just meant to be.”