Page 16 of The Hang Up (Lilac Harbor #3)

SIXTEEN

Holden

“Damn, you sound like you’ve been hit by a truck,” Wade says, voice heavy with amusement.

I drop onto the couch like I’ve run a marathon. “More like a storm,” I mutter. “An emotional, beautiful, life-altering storm.”

A pause. Then, “Oh shit. What happened now?”

I rub a hand over my face, still reeling from everything that’s gone down over the last twenty-four hours. Lena moving in. Her mom showing her true colors. The tears. The hope. The sheer gravity of it all.

“Lena moved out of her mom’s place,” I say quietly. “For good.”

Wade whistles. “About damn time.”

“Everything was a lie. The severity of her mom’s condition. The way she manipulated Lena into staying. All of it.”

“Holy hell,” he mutters. “Is Lena okay?”

I nod, even though he can’t see me. “Yeah. I mean, she cried. A lot. But she’s here. With me. And I think… I think she’s starting to believe she can have more. That she deserves more.”

“She always deserved more,” Wade says firmly. “She just needed someone to remind her.”

“I’m trying,” I whisper. “God, I’m trying.”

He’s quiet for a second. “You love her.”

It’s not a question.

“Always have,” I admit. “I’ve been in love with her since she looked at me across a homeroom desk and handed me a purple pen because mine exploded.”

Wade chuckles. “Romantic beginnings.”

“I’m thinking about asking her to marry me,” I say before I can talk myself out of it.

Another beat of silence. “About damn time,” he repeats.

I laugh. “Thanks for the support.”

“Anytime. You going to use that ring you carved?”

My heart squeezes. “Yeah. I think it’s finally time.”

He clears his throat, suddenly serious. “She’s going to say yes.”

“I hope so.”

“She will.”

I hang up a few minutes later, my chest tight with nerves and anticipation.

I find Lena in the kitchen, barefoot in one of my sweatshirts, humming quietly as she leans against the counter and eats a spoonful of peanut butter straight from the jar.

She looks up when I walk in, and the sight of her in my space, her presence softening every hard edge, knocks the breath from my lungs.

“Hey,” she says, smiling. “I was wondering where you went.”

“Just needed to talk to Wade.”

She nods and holds out the jar. “Want some?”

I take the spoon and set it aside before wrapping my arms around her and lifting her onto the counter.

She giggles as I step between her legs, her arms winding around my neck.

“What are you doing?” she asks, eyes gleaming.

“Kissing you like you’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.”

And I do. I kiss her like I’ve been starving for years, because in some ways, I have.

She tastes like peanut butter and something sweeter, something only she could ever give me.

When I finally pull back, we’re both breathless.

Her forehead rests against mine, our noses brushing.

“Are you okay?” I ask softly.

“I am now,” she whispers. “It’s still a lot. I feel like I’m walking out of a fog.”

“You are.”

She swallows hard. “I’m scared, Holden.”

“I know,” I say gently. “But I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever again.”

Tears well in her eyes, and I pull her into my chest, holding her like I can shield her from everything that’s ever hurt her.

We move to the couch and curl up together, her legs tangled with mine, her head resting on my shoulder.

We talk. About nothing. About everything. Where she might want to go back to school someday. How she wants to take a ceramics class with Arlowe to try something new. How she loves the way my house smells like cedar and coffee.

She laughs at my stories. I tease her about her inability to fold fitted sheets.

It feels like we’re building something permanent, one conversation at a time.

When the stars are bright outside and the house is still, I press a kiss to her temple.

“Come with me.”

She looks up, curious. “Where?”

“I want to show you something.”

She lets me pull her up, and we pad barefoot through the back door into the cool night air. The lake shimmers beyond the trees, and my workshop glows in the distance, soft yellow light leaking from the windows.

She smiles. “Your second home.”

I grin. “Something like that.”

I open the door and let her step inside first. She moves slowly, reverently, her eyes scanning the space.

And then she sees them.

Two rocking chairs, side by side. Smooth wood, curved arms, hand-carved slats. They match, but hers has a small heart carved into the top rail. Inside the heart are our initials: H + L.

Her hands fly to her mouth. “Holden…”

“I made them for us,” I say, stepping beside her. “Thought maybe we could sit out on the porch and grow old in these.”

Her fingers trace the carved heart. “They’re beautiful.”

“I wanted them to be.”

She turns toward me, eyes shining. “You always do things like this. Things that make me feel like I’m the only person in the world.”

“You are.”

She starts to cry, and I wrap my arms around her, holding her tight.

“Wait,” I say, reaching into the pocket of my hoodie.

She sniffles. “What are you?—”

I pull out a small velvet pouch and press it into her palm.

She opens it slowly, and her breath catches.

Inside is a delicate wooden ring, sanded smooth, the grain rich and dark. Set into the top is a small heart, carved carefully by hand.

“I made it from the first tree I ever cut down on this property,” I say quietly. “I was sixteen. The same week I met you.”

Her eyes widen.

“I knew then,” I continue. “I knew you were it for me. So I carved this ring and kept it. I told myself if I ever became the man worthy of you, I’d give it to you.”

Tears spill freely now, and she clutches the pouch like it’s the most precious thing she’s ever held.

“I don’t have a fancy diamond,” I say, falling to one knee. “But I’ll buy you one, Lena. I swear. I’ll get you anything you want. Just… marry me. Say you’ll be mine forever.”

She stares at me, her chest rising and falling with shaky breaths.

Then she whispers, “Yes.”

And my heart nearly explodes.

I slide the wooden ring onto her finger.

She laughs through her tears. “It’s a little big.”

“I can fix that.”

She drops to her knees and throws her arms around me. I hold her there, in the middle of the workshop, surrounded by sawdust and memories and the scent of pine.

“I love you,” she whispers. “I love you so much it hurts.”

I bury my face in her neck and hold her tighter. “Good,” I murmur. “Because you’re stuck with me now.”