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OLIVIA

T he smell of grilled burgers hangs in the air, mixing with cut grass and charcoal.

My elbows rest on the picnic table, wood warm under my skin.

The grass is cool beneath my feet, soft and a little damp.

Someone’s playing Noah Kahanthrough a Bluetooth speaker that keeps cutting out, but no one bothers to fix it.

It’s the first real team get-together since the season wrapped. No press. No schedule. Just burgers, lawn chairs, and a lot of sunscreen.

Kiley’s fanning herself with a paper plate, cheeks flushed, belly full and beautiful under a striped sundress. She groans dramatically about the heat.

Across from us, Brynne cracks open a can of sparkling water and points it at Kiley like a gavel. “I swear, if you name this kid something like Maverick or Diesel , I’m staging an intervention.”

Kiley snorts. “Diesel? Please. You think Blake would let me name a baby after a truck engine?”

I laugh. Unforced. Unfiltered. One of those low, open sounds that escapes before I can even think about holding it back.

And God, it’s been a long time since I laughed like that.

Out on the lawn, Sebastian’s standing with Kane, who has his youngest asleep on one shoulder—her curls stuck to his neck, thumb in her mouth. But Sebastian’s not really listening to him.

He’s looking at me.

Not intensely. Not possessively.

Just that quiet, certain kind of awareness I’ve come to recognize.

I see you. I’m here. I want this.

He says something to Kane, then steps away from the group, slipping past the edge of the yard and into the path toward the lake. Like he needs space.

Like he needs me.

I touch Brynne’s shoulder lightly. “Just a minute,” I murmur, and rise.

The grass gives under my steps, flattened in places where kids ran barefoot earlier, still damp in the shadows. The trees thin as I follow the slope down to the lake, sunlight flickering between the leaves, bright enough to sting.

He’s standing at the shoreline when I find him. Hands in his pockets. Shoulders relaxed, but not at ease.

I don’t speak right away. Just slide my hand into his, slow and certain.

“Hey,” I say, voice soft. “You okay?”

He doesn’t answer at first. Just laces his fingers with mine. His thumb moves, tracing the edge of my knuckle. When he finally turns his head, something in his face has shifted.

“I used to think I didn’t deserve this,” he says. His voice is low, but there’s no armor in it. Just truth. “You. A future. Any of it.”

I don’t speak. Just listen. Let him unravel.

“But I do,” he says, like he’s testing it aloud for the first time. “Or—I want to. I want it with you. All of it. Every damn day.”

My chest pulls tight. But I hold his gaze.

He swallows hard. “Not to erase what came before. Not to replace Ethan. Just...to walk forward. With you.”

The breeze shifts, brushing past us like a whisper. Sunlight catches the water, glints off the edge of his jaw. Everything feels suspended. Still.

“What are you saying?” I ask, barely above a whisper.

He turns toward me fully then, his free hand lifting to settle gently at my shoulder.

“I want to marry you, Olivia. I want a life with you. Kids, if you want them. Mornings, holidays, the boring shit. The hard stuff. All of it. With you.”

My breath catches.

Not from fear. Not from guilt.

From certainty.

From grace.

“Yes,” I say, the word trembling but true. “To all of it.”

There was a time I couldn’t imagine feeling this way again. Not without guilt. Not without fear. But here I am. And here he is. And somehow, it’s enough.

More than enough.

We stay like that for a long moment—hands tangled, breath shared, the world quiet around us.

Then, from somewhere up the hill, laughter rises. A burst of it. Kiley’s, I think. Blake’s voice layered under it, dry and amused. Brynne yelling something about overcooked hot dogs. Kane’s soft hush as he shifts his daughter.

It feels like something sacred.

Not perfect. Not polished.

But real.

We didn’t get a clean slate. We got something braver.

And somehow, that’s what makes it beautiful.