Page 23 of I Do, You Don’t (You Don’t #1)

Lara

T he afternoon sun warms my skin, the air thick with barbecue smoke, fresh-cut grass, and laughter.

I linger at the edge of the picnic area, scanning the sea of people spilling across the backyard.

My family is here, the usual mix of chaos and comfort.

The grill crackles with burgers and hot dogs, kids dart past with sticky fingers and louder voices, and everyone talks over one another, trading gossip like currency.

It’s a good day. No, it’s a great day.

I catch Calvin laughing with my dad, his easy grin contagious, and pride swells quietly in my chest. This is what I’ve worked for.

This business, this life. I built it from the ground up.

And while I’ve had endless support from friends and family, it was still my late nights, the endless meetings, the hard conversations with skeptical clients who left convinced once I showed them my plans.

This success, this confidence I’ve been shaping, it’s mine.

It feels good to finally be here—to feel like I’m becoming the woman I’ve always wanted to be.

And Calvin… Well, I’m getting to know him.

He’s been a surprising constant, his quiet support a balm I didn’t know I needed.

We’ve shared meals, traded ideas about business and life, and I’m beginning to see how much potential he carries.

There’s a strength in him that doesn’t need to shout.

I can tell he’s been through things , still healing, but it’s the kind of healing that makes space for others to grow with him.

Across the yard, Drew stands with a drink in hand, talking animatedly with some cousins.

She waves me over, but I shake my head. I’m content to linger here a moment, my mind buzzing with thoughts of my business and the future ahead: financial literacy, accessible services, teaching women to claim their futures. It’s more than a job. It’s my purpose.

I’m just turning to check on Rex, my cousin’s dog, when I spot a familiar figure at the edge of the yard, hands in his pockets, standing like he doesn’t quite belong.

Gideon.

My stomach does that annoying little flip when I see him. Even after everything, even after all the pain, I still feel something. The air around him seems to shift, heavier, warmer, though he stands so quietly.

Our eyes lock across the yard, and for a moment, the noise and movement fade.

Then he starts toward me, his steps hesitant, unsure, yet somehow deliberate.

The way he looks at me is different. Not like the time he showed up with flowers, expecting forgiveness.

Now he looks like a wounded animal, like a man who’s lost something vital and finally understands the cost.

I feel Drew’s eyes on me, but I don’t turn. My body is already moving toward Gideon before I can second-guess myself. Around us, the crowd keeps laughing and talking, oblivious to the shift tightening the air. It’s strange how life carries on, even when everything inside is in turmoil.

When I reach him, I stop, waiting. I don’t speak at first, because honestly, I don’t know what to say. He stands a little too straight, hands buried in his pockets, posture open yet guarded, like he’s bracing for a blow.

“Lara, ” he says softly. “Can we talk? In private?”

I nod. “Yeah. Let’s step over here.” I motion toward the side of the yard, where the old oak tree casts a pocket of shade.

We walk in silence, the hum of the crowd fading as we move farther away. Beneath the tree, I fold my arms across my chest. He stands opposite me, looking a little lost, his gaze skimming everywhere but mine.

“I’m sorry, Lara,” he says after a beat, the words rough, like they’ve been lodged in his throat for months. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I am. I’ve been working on myself. I don’t know how else to say it, but I know I was wrong. I messed up. You didn’t deserve any of it.”

My chest tightens, and before I can stop myself, the words slip out. “I forgive you.”

His eyes snap to mine, shock flickering across his face. He doesn’t speak right away, holding himself like a man bracing for rejection, like he’s waiting for me to slam the door shut on him again.

But I need to know if he’s truly changed, if he’s really learned.

I can’t just forgive him and pretend everything can snap back to normal.

Not like before. I need to see if he understands the weight of his actions.

I need to know if he’s still the man I once believed in, before he shattered everything.

His face softens. He takes a slow step forward, and I don’t move.

He’s hesitant, but his voice steadies. “I’ve been working on communication.

On how to trust. On facing my fear of abandonment.

I’m not asking for everything right now, Lara.

I just want to try again. To start over, not with expectations of marriage or promises I can’t keep, but by getting to know each other again.

The real us. I want you to see who I am now. ”

He breathes in again, slower this time, like bracing for impact. Then he lifts a hand and points upward.

I follow his gaze, uncertain, just as a distant hum breaks through the summer din. At first, it’s faint, no more than a whisper beneath the laughter and the sizzle of burgers. Then it swells, a low, pulsing roar curling through the sky like tension thickening in the air.

Heads tilt upward. Conversations falter. Kids shriek and point as a small plane cuts through the clouds, its silver body flashing in the sun. The engine rumbles like a slow drumbeat, vibrating through the ground and up into my chest.

I catch the scent before I see it clearly, a sharp tang of fuel slicing through the sweetness of barbecue smoke and fresh-cut grass. The breeze shifts, tugging at my hair, and I squint into the glare.

The plane draws closer, trailing a banner that ripples behind it like a ribbon. A shadow sweeps across the yard before the message comes into focus.

I’m sorry, Lara.

Big, bold letters. Stark against the cobalt sky. A statement you can’t ignore. One you can’t outrun.

A laugh bursts out of me, surprised, breathless, almost involuntary. It spills like relief cracking through the tension I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

“You big ol’ goof,” I say, half laughing, half stunned, shaking my head as the plane drones overhead and the yard erupts in cheers and laughter.

I look at Gideon, really look. Not just at the relief loosening his shoulders or the hope brightening his eyes, but at the quiet humility, the rawness he’s finally letting show. The old Gideon never would have done something so extravagant.

“You really did this?” I ask, grinning, though something inside me trembles with recognition.

“I had to. I tried to fix it quietly, with all my logic and spreadsheets. But you deserved something big. You deserved an apology as loud as the pain I caused.”

He steps closer, and that’s when I notice the papers clutched in his hand.

“I didn’t just want to apologize, Lara. I wanted to pay for my mistakes. The wedding bills, every last one, are settled. The florist, the caterer, the venue… they’ve all been paid in full. I didn’t want you carrying the wreckage, not financially and not emotionally.”

My gaze drops to the papers, my heart giving that annoying little flip.

When I look back at him, there’s a raw vulnerability etched into his face.

This isn’t just an apology, it’s accountability.

Not only for the hurt he caused me, but for the debts left behind.

It’s quiet. Humble. And it tells me more than words ever could: he’s truly changed.

“Clearly,” I laugh, lighter than I’ve felt in a long time. “Alright, alright. You’re forgiven. But don’t think for a second this will be easy.”

He lifts his hands in mock surrender, a smile stretching wider. “I’ll take it. Thank you.”

The banner ripples in the sky as the plane drifts into the distance. Around us, life continues, kids shouting, burgers sizzling, cousins clinking glasses, but inside me, something stills.

Not with certainty. With strength.

He’s changed. And I’m no longer the woman who trembled at an altar, hoping he’d fight for me. I’m the woman who built something from the wreckage, who knows her worth, who can forgive without forgetting, and love without losing herself.

I reach for his hand. Just briefly. Just long enough to feel the warmth of his palm against mine before I let go and smile.

Cheers rise around us, and the breeze catches the banner one last time, twisting the words in the sunlight.

“I’m sorry, Lara.”

I smile. I already know.