Page 118 of Until the Storm Breaks

I catch her eye across the room and she smiles, that private smile just for me even in this crowded space. Later tonight I’ll ask her to marry me, but right now I just watch her shine, feeling like the luckiest man alive. This woman who poursdrinks and writes poetry, who sees through everyone’s bullshit including mine, who made me want to be better than I was.

She’s everything. And if she’ll have me, I get to spend the rest of my life watching her light up rooms just like this.

MAREN

The path home is familiar under our feet. Calvin’s hand is warm in mine, and I’m still buzzing from the party and from seeing my actual book in people’s hands.

“I can’t believe the whole Romance Raiders book club came,” I say, swinging our joined hands between us. “Eleanor never cries. Ever.”

“She’s proud of you,” Calvin says, squeezing my hand. “We all are. You wrote something beautiful and true.”

“Eddie tried to pitch me his life story for my next book,” I laugh. “Apparently it involves three ex-wives, a fishing boat named Destiny, and what he calls ‘the great lobster incident of ’98.’”

“Bestseller material,” Calvin says, and I laugh again.

We round the last bend and our house comes into view, the porch light we always leave on glowing warm against the darkness. Then I notice something else. “Calvin, why is the sunroom all lit up?”

The addition glows from within, warm light spilling through all those windows he spent months repairing. My stomach flutters.

“Come see,” he says, leading me up the porch steps and around to the sunroom’s separate entrance. He pauses with his hand on the door handle. “Close your eyes.”

“Calvin...”

“Trust me.”

I close them. I hear the door open, feel the warmth from inside touch my face.

“Step forward,” he says, his hand on my elbow guiding me. “One more. Okay.” His voice is soft. “Open them.”

I do, and stop breathing.

The entire sunroom is transformed. Fairy lights are strung everywhere, creating a canopy of soft light. Pink and white peonies overflow from every surface, arranged in mason jars on the window sills, clustered in vintage vases on the shelves, even woven through the rafters with the lights. Petals are scattered across the floor like snow. He must have bought out every florist in three towns. The old wooden floors gleam in the glow.

“What is this?” I whisper, stepping inside, turning in a slow circle to take it all in.

“Maren,” Calvin says, and something in his voice makes me turn.

He’s dropping to one knee, a small velvet box already in his hand.

My hands fly to my mouth. Oh my god. This is happening.

He opens the box, revealing a beautiful vintage ring with delicate filigree work, the diamond catching all the fairy lights.

“Maren Strand, you’re brilliant and funny and fierce. I want everything with you. Morning coffee on the porch. Reading your drafts before anyone else gets to. Lazy Sundays with Laila taking up the whole bed. I want to wake up next to you every day, build this house into exactly what we want it to be, and come home to you every night.”

His voice is steady and sure, his eyes never leaving mine. The tears are falling from my eyes now, streaming down my face as he continues.

“We found each other in the middle of grief and chose to build something beautiful from it. I choose you, Maren. Every day, forever. Will you marry me?”

“Yes,” I say, my voice breaking. “Yes, of course, yes.”

He stands then, sliding the ring onto my finger before pulling me into his arms, kissing me deeply while tears run down my face. When he pulls back just enough for me to look at the ring on my hand, I gasp again, really seeing it now.

“It was my mom’s,” he says. “My brothers agreed you should be the one to have it.”

“It’s perfect,” I breathe, looking at this piece of Susan on my hand, this connection to the woman who brought us together.

He kisses me again, lifting me off my feet slightly, and I’m laughing against his mouth.