Page 107 of How to Say I Do
“We are,” I said. “We absolutely are.”
Wyatt opened up the Gran Cielo Viñedo’s tasting room—the old sunroom, remade into a gorgeous little boutique with french doors opening to the porch and a heart-stopping view of the vines—in early summer, when the bees were buzzing and the flowers were in full bloom. The grapes were coming in soft and sweet, budding beautifully on their vines, and the crop looked to be one of the best he’d had in years. The town was in fine form, preparing for their June street fair and big chili cook-off. Liam and Savannah were looking forward to the birth of their new little one, and Jason was helping to wallpaper his new sibling’s bedroom with crayon drawings taped to the wall at eight-year-old height. Savannah kept dropping hints—or, not hints, but bold declarative statements—that Wyatt and I could borrow this playpen or that crib or this highchair or stroller when the time came.
There was going to be time soon when Wyatt and I would sit down and talk through how we were going to grow our own family. I wanted a bunch more McKinleys to surround me.
But tonight, right now, we were enjoying the sunset. The air was warm and the breeze was soft, carrying the scent of our wind-ruffled grapes. Peanut and Pickle chased each other in the paddock. Wyatt and I had a glass of wine between us. It was his father’s wine, something he rarely brought out, and only for special occasions or nights where he wanted to step a little closer to his father’s memory.
Wyatt leaned in and kissed me. The taste of the wine mingled with the taste of him. I smiled into his kiss and chased him when he pulled back.
“Noël.” Wyatt set the wine glass behind us and took my hands in both of his. “Noël, I got something I want to talk to you about.”
A year ago, I would have shot off into a blind panic. But now? I knew better. My thumbs stroked the back of his hands. Was this about the tasting room, or his plans to expand distribution? He wanted to push a bit further, offer his wines in Houston and Dallas and New Orleans, and we were thinking maybe Chicago, too—
“I have three things left in this world that belong to my father.” His voice was clear and true, but started to wobble at the very end. He looked me right in my eyes. “My journal. My hat…”
The hat he was wearing. My eyes flicked up, smiling at that sweat-stained dove-gray felt. I’d met him in that hat, and had started falling in love with him, at least a little bit, the moment he’d tipped it toward me and said, “Howdy.”
“And I have this.”
Wyatt held out a ring, an old-fashioned and simple gold band, honey-colored and worn with scratches.
It was a shout from the past, and Wyatt's father was suddenlyhere, right beside the two of us and sharing our step. I never told Wyatt, but sometimes I talked to his father when I was all alone and out on the ranch, where I knew his dad could still hear me. I’d whisper promises to him that I’d love and cherish his son forever, and that I’d try my best to never, ever fuck up again. And if I did—because of course I would, I’m me—I swore I’d make things right every time.Abel, I’d murmur to the wind.I love your son, and I’m going to love him for all time. I promise, I swear. He’ll never be alone.I felt wind slip down the back of my neck.
Wyatt took my left hand.
“This belonged to my father, and to his father, and now I want you to wear it. Noël—” His voice died. He took a breath and tried again. “Noël, marry me?” His voice was nothing but a whisper. “Hitch your star to mine, and let’s spend the rest of this life in long certainty with each other. Let’s raise children and grapes and cattle together. Marry me, Noël?”
There was no possible way for me to speak. I couldn’t get any words out, not past the thundering of my heart. I nodded, frantic, desperate, ecstatic, gasping as I choked out, “Yes,Jesus, Wyatt,yes. Oh my fucking God,yes. Yes, I will marry you—”
He cut my rambles off with a kiss, slipping that ring onto my finger before taking my face in his two hands. He kissed me again, and then again, and I curled as close as I could get, drawn into the warmth of his embrace and the gentleness of his hold. A breeze slipped around us and rattled Wyatt’s wine glass like a celebratory bell.Abel, I thought.Abel.
All the moments we’d had, from the first one to now. From burgers in airport bars and orange juice and smuggled vodka on airplanes to hidden lagoons and steel drum bands and snorkeling with sea turtles, from finger painting starlight to our very first kiss. Those perfect days on the beach, and then all the terrible ones that followed. How hard we’d worked to build this life, our life, made up of devotion and gratitude and respect and, most of all, boundless and unconditional love. All of our moments, and now, this one: a new first step down the long and winding road ahead of us that led to the rest of our lives.
This was our happy beginning.
The End