Page 124 of Once Upon A Second Chance

Which tells me more about him than it ever could about her.

I sit back down at the table, open my calendar, and pull up the weather for tomorrow. Still clear. Still perfect.

My mind settles with new certainty. I’m not proposing because of the baby, or because I need to prove something, or because of what anyone else thinks Ishoulddo.

I’m proposing because I love her. Because every minute I’ve spent with her has led me here. Because the life I want is the one we’re building—quietly, imperfectly, fiercely—together.

I pick up my phone again, but this time I don’t hesitate. I text her:

Richard:Hey. Want to go to the park after work tomorrow? Just the two of us. I’ll bring dinner.

There’s a pause.

Penny:That sounds really nice. Everything okay?

I look at her message for a long moment, then type:

Richard:Even better than okay.

Because it is. Or it will be.

Because now, it’s our future.

And I don’t need anyone else’s permission to step into it.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Penny

The clinic smells like autumn and bleach.

Someone must’ve brought in one of those cinnamon broomsticks and tucked it behind the supply cabinet, because every time I walk down the hallway, it’s like being politely assaulted by a haunted craft store.

I don’t mind it, really. It’s comforting in a strange way—like the scent is trying to remind me we’re all still moving forward through seasons, even when everything else feels like it’s holding its breath.

Lena leans against the doorframe of the break room, sipping her iced coffee with the kind of slow dramatic flair that says she’s gearing up for a conversation I’m not going to enjoy.

“So,” she starts, stretching the word into three syllables. “You’re going to the park with Richard after work?”

I nod, digging through the fridge for the yogurt I keep forgetting to eat.

“Just the two of you?”

“Yes.”

“Picnic basket involved?”

“...Yes.”

She raises her eyebrows over the rim of her straw. “And you don’t think he’s going to propose?”

I freeze, hand halfway to the drawer for a spoon. “Of course not. That’s not—no. We have rules.”

Lena snorts. “You’ve had rules since college. Half of which you’ve broken already. No more than two sleepovers a week? Out the window. No saying ‘I love you’ unless you mean it long-term? You both said it before week six.”

“Those are good rules,” I mutter, yanking open the drawertoo hard.

“They were,” she says gently. “Back when you were scared of him breaking your heart again. But now… Penny, you’re having a baby with him.”