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Chapter thirty-four

D amien

The rain had softened to a mist, like the sky had finally exhaled. The storm had come and gone, but everything felt cleaner, newer—like Cedar Springs had been washed and wrung out for something better.

Ruby stood beneath the garden arch, hair clinging to her cheeks, eyes shining like the first bloom of spring. The crowd around us buzzed in muddy joy, but I didn’t hear a thing past the sound of her quiet laugh and the echo of my own heart thudding in my chest.

I could’ve done this a thousand different ways. Flashier. Cleaner. Dry, for starters.

But none of those ways would’ve been us.

So, I did what felt right.

I dropped to one knee in the mud, right beneath the garden arch we built together from scratch. I felt my pant leg soak instantly, but I didn’t care. The rain had already claimed me—heart, soul, and wardrobe.

Ruby froze. Her hand flew to her mouth. “Damien…”

I didn’t give a speech. I’d said everything I needed to over the past months—in arguments about tulip placements and whispered kisses after midnight brainstorming sessions. In every fix-it task I took off her list. In every slow dance under the stars.

Instead, I gave her a promise.

“Let’s keep building,” I said. “Keep blooming. Through every storm, every surprise, every stubborn moment. Will you be my forever chaos?”

Her shoulders trembled. I couldn’t tell if she was crying or laughing or some fierce combination of both. Probably both.

She stepped closer, kneeling in the damp grass so we were eye to eye.

“Only,” she whispered, “if you’ll be my forever calm.”

Then she said the word I’d been waiting to hear since the first time I saw her trip over her own toolbox and sass me in the same breath.

“Yes.”

The moment burst like sunlight through fog.

Hazel let out a scream so loud birds scattered from nearby trees. Marge swayed once, dramatically, and dropped into a folding chair like she’d rehearsed a faint. Eleanor whipped out a fan that hadn’t been fashionable since 1952 and began waving it with theatrical flair.

Ruby kissed me, rain and laughter dripping off her lips. Around us, the crowd clapped and whistled, and someone shouted, “About time!”

I stood, pulling her with me, and wrapped my arms around her like I was never letting go.

“I love you,” I whispered, my voice cracking a little despite myself.

“I know,” she whispered back. “I love you more.”

She tucked her head against my shoulder, and I looked out over the garden—the center we built, the life we shaped, the people we fought beside. It wasn’t perfect.

It was better.

And as Ruby slipped the ring onto her own finger with trembling hands, I knew we weren’t just promising a future.

We were planting it.

One root at a time.

The garden buzzed long after the proposal, but eventually, Ruby and I made our way back inside the center, soaked and grinning like fools.

Someone had handed us towels—Hazel, probably—and now we sat side by side on a bench near the welcome station, trying to dry off and wrangle our emotions back into something resembling composure.

I lifted a glass of sparkling lemonade, condensation trailing down my fingers. "To rainstorms, chaos, and women who say yes anyway."

Ruby clinked her rosewater cocktail against mine, eyes still sparkling. "And to flower crowns on grumpy surgeons."

We laughed—loud and easy. The kind of laughter that comes only after you’ve been wrung out emotionally and realize you survived it, together.

“Do you realize how muddy our shoes are?” she asked, nudging mine with her own, both of which were now permanently stained Cedar Springs brown.

“Good,” I said. “Proof we were present.”

Just then, Eleanor—dry and composed, as always—called for everyone’s attention. “Now that the thunder has offered its applause and our future bride has finally said yes,” she said with a twinkle in her eye, “it’s time for the final surprise.”

Ruby and I exchanged a glance.

Hazel stood beside Eleanor and tugged at the linen curtain covering the north wall of the common room. “This,” she said, “is for both of you. But especially you, Ruby.”

The curtain dropped.

The crowd gasped. Ruby covered her mouth. I stared.

A mural, sprawling across the wall, bold and beautiful.

Vines twisted through anatomical hearts, each one slightly different in shape and color, blooming with wildflowers.

Sunflowers, poppies, daisies, roses—messy and radiant.

Painted by local kids, the strokes were uneven, but the soul behind it was unmistakable.

Across the top, in curling script, it read:

Where love heals every kind of wound.

Ruby stepped closer, fingers brushing over the textures.

“They worked on it in secret for weeks,” Hazel whispered beside me. “Right under your nose.”

I recognized Ava’s tiny initials near a bright yellow marigold. A scribbled heart labeled “NANA” in bold purple. And smack dab in the center—a red anatomical heart with a crown of wild daisies.

Ruby turned to me, teary again. “This is... too much.”

“It’s perfect,” I said. “It’s us.”

She turned back to the mural. “I always wanted to create something that would matter even when I didn’t feel like I did.”

“You’ve been doing that all along,” I told her. “This just puts it in paint.”

The room broke into spontaneous applause, and someone passed around more lemonade and cookies shaped like stethoscopes and tulips. I didn’t even ask.

Marge raised her glass. “To love, medicine, and miracles. And to Ruby and Damien—who proved you can be both a healer and a hurricane.”

Everyone cheered again, and this time, I didn’t flinch at the attention.

Ruby leaned into my shoulder, murmuring, “You know what Hazel said earlier? About chaos?”

“That it follows you like a lost puppy?”

She elbowed me. “No. That it’s necessary. That it clears the ground for something better.”

I glanced around the room. At kids twirling in the corners, volunteers passing out drinks, seniors comparing herb bundles in canvas totes.

“Then let’s make room,” I said. “For everything we haven’t dreamed up yet.”

And right there, with damp socks and hearts wide open, we made another silent vow—

To keep building. To keep blooming. Together.