Page 57 of Until the Storm Breaks (The Midnight Men #1)

ONE YEAR LATER

CALVIN

The morning light hits the water just right, turning the bluff silver and gold. I sit on the porch of what used to be my mother’s house, now ours, watching Laila race around the yard with her favorite rope toy, doing victory laps every time she successfully “kills” it by shaking it violently.

“She’s got so much energy,” Maren says from beside me, her feet tucked under her on the porch swing I installed last month.

“Remember when we thought she’d calm down after the first year?” I laugh, watching Laila pounce on the rope again.

Maren laughs too, that bright sound that still makes my chest tight with how much I love her. She’s wearing one of my old sweaters and holding her coffee mug.

“I still can’t believe tonight is real,” she says softly, running her finger over the cover of the book beside her.

The book of poetry has her name on the cover.

Storms and Surviving: Poems. A collection about resilient women, inspired by all the incredible women in her life.

Susan. Eleanor with her romance novels and fierce spirit.

Lark. The regulars at the bar who trust her with their stories.

She’s the best writer I’ve ever read, and I’ve read everyone.

“Nervous about the party?” I ask.

“Terrified,” she admits, leaning into me. “What if no one shows up?”

“The entire town is coming,” I assure her. “Lark’s been talking about it for weeks. People keep asking me what time they should arrive and if you’re signing copies.”

We bought the property last year after I sold my Seattle apartment.

That sale, plus a loan, gave us just enough.

The house needed months of work, but we’ve brought it almost back to its former glory.

New paint, repaired floors, the kitchen Susan would have loved.

Every weekend we fixed something else, our hands creating a home together.

“Did Dominic mind you rescheduling the boxing class?” Maren asks suddenly.

“Not at all,” I say, pulling her closer. “He was actually excited about the party. He actually asked me for a copy the other day. Said he’s going to read it.”

“Really?”

“He’s happy for you, even if he’ll never say it quite right.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “That’s so Dominic.”

The boxing classes at the community center have become part of my routine now, along with teaching writing at the community college. Working with kids learning to channel their energy, young adults finding their voices. It fits me better than the university ever did.

“We should probably get off this porch swing soon,” she says, looking up at me with those eyes that still get me every time. “Be productive. We still need to work on the guest bedroom today like we talked about.”

“Or,” I counter, grinning down at her, “we could skip it.”

She smiles, a slow smile that means she agrees. “You really think so?”

“Definitely. The guest bedroom can wait.” I turn her face toward me and kiss her deeply, thoroughly. When I pull back, she’s flushed and breathless. “Though I can think of a few things that need doing in our bedroom.”

She blinks up at me with mock innocence, her lips still parted from the kiss. “Oh? What kind of things?”

“The kind that definitely can’t wait,” I say, pulling her closer. Fuck, the things we did last night. It started with her in that little silk thing she knows drives me crazy. Ended with both of us breathless, tangled in sheets.

“Well then,” she says, her voice low and promising, her eyes heavy-lidded and full of heat. “We should definitely prioritize.”

Just then Laila bounds up the porch steps and vigorously shakes her rope toy, sending it flying across the porch. Her ears are flipped backward from the force of her head shake, giving her that goofy look that always cracks us up.

We both burst out laughing.

“Perfect timing as always,” I say, scratching behind her ears.

Laila’s tail is wagging proudly at her toy-shaking skills, and the morning sun is warm through the trees. I look at my life—this woman I love, this goofy dog we both adore, this house we’ve made ours—and feel completely content.

I’ve even started writing again. Finally, after so many years. My first book was about grief, written when everything was falling apart. This one’s about love, about finding home in another person. About the life we build when we stop running.

I can even look at that first book with fondness now. All that raw pain that brought me literary success, it led me here somehow. To this porch, this woman, this life.

This is it. This is everything I want.

The Black Lantern has been completely transformed for Maren’s book launch. Lark and I spent the afternoon stringing fairy lights across the ceiling and arranging copies of the book on every available surface. The place is packed, busier than I’ve seen it outside of the summer tourist season.

“Look at you,” I tell Maren, watching her chat with a group of readers near the bar. She’s wearing a deep green dress that makes her eyes impossible to look away from, and she’s glowing with a mixture of pride and disbelief. “Local literary sensation.”

“Stop,” she says, but she’s beaming, her hand finding mine and squeezing.

Alex arrives carrying a tray of what I recognize as Maren’s favorite dessert from Harbor & Ash, the chocolate lava cakes she orders every time we eat there.

“Couldn’t have a party without these,” he says, setting them on the bar.

Maren immediately hugs him so hard he laughs and has to catch his balance.

The whole town really has turned out. Eddie holds court at his usual stool, telling anyone who’ll listen that he always knew Maren was special.

Jayson has outdone himself with food, the tables groaning under platters of everything from fancy canapés to his famous wings.

Even Dolores is here, clutching her copy like it’s precious.

But it’s Eleanor and the Romance Raiders who make Maren really tear up. The entire book club is here, all five of them in their seventies and dressed to the nines. Eleanor’s eyes are wet as she approaches Maren with her copy.

“We’re so proud of you, sweetheart,” Eleanor says, her voice thick with emotion. “Susan would be over the moon. A real published author in our little town, and writing about women like us.”

Maren hugs all of them fiercely and then has to excuse herself to the bathroom after that, and I know she’s going to fix her makeup and pull herself together.

Theo arrives with Chloe, who immediately runs to show Maren her dress when she returns.

She’s decorated it herself with glitter glue, writing “My Aunt Maren Writes Books!” in careful five-year-old handwriting.

“This is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen,” Maren tells her seriously, and Chloe beams.

The evening continues, the bar full of laughter and conversation.

Everyone’s having a good time, drinks flowing, people taking turns congratulating Maren.

Dominic’s by the bar with Alex, both of them holding copies of the book they picked up earlier.

Theo and Jayson are discussing something about flavor profiles, gesturing animatedly with their drinks.

“Calvin,” Lark appears at my elbow while Maren’s signing books. “Everything’s set for later at the house.”

“Perfect,” I tell her quietly. “Thank you for helping with this.”

“Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for you to propose to her for months.” She grins and disappears back into the crowd.

The party continues, and I find myself just watching Maren work the room.

She signs book after book, talking to each person like they’re the only one there, making everyone feel special the way she always has.

She laughs at something one of the Romance Raiders says, her head thrown back, completely in her element.

This is where she belongs, surrounded by people who love her, celebrating something she created. She’s radiant, confident, entirely herself.

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 pours drinks 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.

We stay there holding each other for a long moment, just breathing each other in. When I finally pull back to look at my ring again, turning my hand to catch the light, Calvin watches me with this expression of complete contentment.

“We’re getting married,” I say, testing the words.

“We’re getting married.” He spins me in a slow circle, the fairy lights blurring around us.

Through the windows, I can see the path to the cabins, the glimpse of water beyond. This place where we found each other, lost each other, and found each other again. Tomorrow we’ll tell everyone. Tonight is just ours.

“I love you,” I tell him, meaning it with everything I have.

His hands come up to frame my face, thumbs brushing over my cheekbones as he studies me like I’m something precious.

“I love you too.” He pulls me flush against him, one hand sliding to the small of my back while the other stays cupped around my jaw.

The way he holds me, firm and sure like he’ll never let go, makes my heart race. “Forever, Maren. You and me.”

“Forever,” I agree, and he seals it with another kiss that leaves me dizzy.

And here, surrounded by fairy lights and pink and white peonies in the room he rebuilt with his own hands, in the house that holds so much history and so much future, I believe in our forever completely.

This is our next chapter. And it’s absolutely perfect.

—The End—

If you enjoyed this book and want to get to know Lark and Jack a little more, check out Until You Say Stay,

book two in the Midnight Men series.