Page 23 of Fake Lemons Love and Luxury

WREN

T he late California sun hangs low in the sky, casting long golden shadows across the lemon orchard. The orchard smells like summer—sweet, tart, alive.

I lean into Eric as we walk along the narrow path between the trees. My dress sways as a breeze rushes past, and I catch his eyes flickering to my six months baby bump.

Up ahead, Eric darts between rows of trees, his laughter breaking through the quiet as he chases after butterflies.

“Careful, buddy!” Sean calls out. “Don’t go too far.”

“I won’t!” Eric shouts over his shoulder, already off chasing another one.

“He listens to you more than he listens to me these days.”

“That’s because I’m still the novelty,” he says with a soft laugh. “Wait until I’m the one nagging him about cleaning his room every day.”

His tone is light, but the casual way he talks about our future still makes my chest ache in the best way. After so many years of people walking out or slipping through my fingers, his steadiness feels like a miracle I don’t fully know how to hold. But I’m learning.

We reach a small clearing where a wooden bench rests beneath the shade of a gnarled lemon tree. I remember the real estate agent saying this tree is over fifty years old. When Sean asked for my opinion in buying the property, I told him everything about the house calls to me.

“Want to sit for a minute?” Sean asks, noticing my breath catching.

I nod and lower myself onto the bench. I expect him to sit beside me, but instead, he stays standing. He steps in front of me, and that’s when I notice the shift. Something’s coming.

“I love this view,” I say, looking out toward the hills rolling toward the ocean. “This house is breathtaking. I can’t believe it’s yours now.”

“About that,” he says. His voice has a nervous edge I don’t hear often. “This is not just my house, Wren. It’s ours.”

My pulse quickens as he reaches into his pocket and then, to my absolute shock, drops to one knee in front of me. My hand flies to my belly.

“Sean?”

“I had a whole speech prepared,” he says, voice rough. “About how you changed everything for me. How I didn’t think I’d ever feel this way again. How you and Eric reminded me of pieces of myself I thought I’d lost for good.”

He opens his palm. It’s not a ring box. It’s something delicate and gold—a pendant in the shape of a lemon. Small. Perfect.

“But it’s pretty simple. I love you, Wren. I love your fire and your patience. I love how you fight for what you believe in. I love watching you with Eric. I love that you don’t need me to protect you but you let me anyway.”

Tears are streaming down my face before I can stop them.

“Wren, I want to be your husband.” He lifts the pendant. “Will you marry me?”

I let out a teary laugh as I touch the little lemon charm. “A lemon instead of a diamond? You really do know me.”

He raises his eyebrows, waiting.

“Yes,” I breathe. “Of course, yes. Yes, I’ll marry you, Sean Langston!”

His whole face transforms with his smile as he stands and helps me up. He fastens the necklace around my neck with a tenderness that undoes me.

“I have a ring too,” he says, pulling a small box from his other pocket. “But this felt more… us.”

Inside the box is a cushion-cut diamond set in yellow gold. Understated and timeless just like I prefer. He slips it onto my finger, and I slide my arms around his neck.

“I never thought I’d say this,” I whisper into his ear, “but you’re the softest bodyguard I’ve ever met.”

He laughs, holding me close. “Many people would disagree.”

“Many people don’t know you like I do.”

I pull back and look at him, warmth spreading through my chest. This man who once showed up at my door with a job to do, and who’s now my home.

“Mom! Uncle Sean! Look what I found!”

Eric runs toward us, his hands cupped.

Sean keeps one arm around me as we both turn to look. Eric opens his hands slowly, revealing a perfect butterfly. Its wings flutter like it’s catching its breath.

“It’s beautiful,” I say in a soft voice. “But you should let it go, sweetheart. It needs to be free.”

Eric nods like he understands. He raises his hands and gently blows on the butterfly. We all watch it spiral into the golden light, rising higher and higher.

Something about the moment knocks the wind out of me. Eric’s joy. The butterfly. The way Sean’s hand is steady at my back.

I lean into him. “When I was little… in foster care,” I say, “I used to say a kind of prayer every night before bed. I’d close my eyes and ask for two things. Love and luxury.”

“I thought if I could build something valuable enough, make enough money, I could for once feel safe. I didn’t realize… I was always chasing the wrong thing.”

Sean plucks a lemon from a low-hanging branch and hands it to me. It’s cool and firm in my palm.

“Who knew a fruit would be the way in?” he murmurs.

I laugh, a real, unguarded laugh. The kind that shakes something loose inside.

“Lemons, love, and luxury,” he says, brushing a finger across the charm now resting against my collarbone. “You got all three.”

I nod, still smiling through my tears. “Maybe I’ll write a memoir someday. Use that as the title.”

“I’d read it,” he says, pressing a kiss to my temple. “But your story’s not over yet.”

“No,” I whisper, watching Eric chase another butterfly through the orchard, his curls bouncing in the sunlight. I feel the soft flutter of movement in my belly—our daughter. I glance down at the ring on my finger. The lemon pendant. The broad-shouldered man at my side.

“It’s just beginning.”

Above us, the lemon tree’s branches sway to the rhythm of the breeze, scattering golden light across our skin. The sun dips toward the horizon, turning the sky rose and gold and endless.

Once, I thought happiness was something reserved for other people. People with mothers who stayed, and fathers who called, and childhoods that didn’t leave scars. But Sean’s arm is solid around me. Eric’s laughter fills the air. And the butterfly my son set free dances upward on the wind.

Free. Happy.

Just like me.