“I feel that way about Holden too.” Reese leans her head on my shoulder, her blonde locks spilling across my polo shirt. “When you find the right person, you just know.”

  “Truer words.”

  Reese lifts her head, and we lock eyes. “Look at us, Grant—at how far we’ve come. Remember when we were younger? Hanging out, listening to music, being all emo and trying to figure out life—why my dad had left and why your parents were so messed up.”

  “I can picture it well.” But I don’t feel the same sadness or angst. Our childhoods weren’t the best, but Reese and I both made it to the other side. “I especially remember you and me.” I set my hand on her shoulder. “I remember that we got each other through the hard times.”

  “And here we are. Living on our own, meeting great men, falling in love.”

  “Hell, we’re lucky,” I agree.

  She arches a brow. “Is it luck? Or was it being open to the right person at the right time?”

  What Reese says rings true with me. I was open to Declan Steele from the day I met him, but the timing was all wrong. We weren’t ready for real love then. But, five years later, when we found our way back to each other, I was so ready for him. For big love, for forever love. Maybe everything has fallen into place because I’m open to everything, as long as it’s with him.

  Watching Declan through the window, a new sense of rightness settles over me. I’ve had so many questions over the last few months. But the answer I’m holding onto as I leave the kitchen is one I didn’t know I needed until now.

  I make my way to the back door, head down the hill, and stop a foot away from the man I cherish.

  “Whew. I survived that,” Declan says lightly, wiping a hand across his brow. “And it wasn’t as terrifying as I thought it would be.”

  I grin, but my smile isn’t for Declan and Pearl. It’s all for him.

  He’s relaxed, content, and . . . happy. He’s smiling at me. With me. For me.

  All at once, the picture of the rest of my life snaps into place.

  The second we arrive at my grandparents’ home, Grandma spins me around and sends me back to my car. “We need whipped cream. Can you get some, my favorite grandson?”

  “Since you asked so nicely,” I say as I trudge back down the steps. “Also, it’s a grandma food rule.”

  Her smile is full of pride. “I taught you well.”

  “Can’t have peach pie without whipped cream,” I say as I pass Declan on the porch. When I reach the sidewalk to the street, I realize he’s not following, and I turn to ask, “You’re not coming with me?”

  He shakes his head. “I see enough of you. I don’t get as much of Kim and Trevor.”

  I roll my eyes. “See if I believe you next time you say you miss me.”

  “Absence makes the heart grow fonder, sweetheart,” he calls playfully as I slide behind the wheel and set off through my hometown.

  Along the way to the store, I pass the park where my Little League team won and lost all those games in middle school. My high school looms off to the right, the site of good and bad times. I leave them in the rearview mirror and cruise through downtown, passing Ink Lore, the place where I’ve gotten all my tattoos.

  When I turn on the next block, I absently note the window display on one of the shops across from the grocery store. I park and trot inside to grab the whipped cream. At the checkout I pause, feeling like I’m forgetting something. By the time I pay for the whipped cream, that feeling has become a steady drumbeat in my head.

  It’s a powerful sound, demanding I listen. There’s something I have to do.

  Something I want to do.

  I make my way to my car and peer across the way to the shop windows. To the display that caught my eye.

  It’s a jewelry store.

  I can just about make out a slogan on the glass.

  When you find the one you love . . .

  The calligraphy leaves the sentiment unfinished, but I know how it should go.

  When you find the one you love, nothing should stop you from being together.

  Even if . . .

  I drop the whipped cream in the car, lock the doors, and jog through the lot and across the street.

  The sign on the door says the store closes in fifteen minutes. A bell tinkles softly as I go inside, and a man who looks like Andy Garcia from Ocean’s Eleven looks up from the counter. “Good evening. Can I help you?”

  “Hey, there.” I take a deep, steadying breath. But the words unspool with ease. “I want to propose to my boyfriend and I don’t want to wait much longer. Well, not this second but really soon, but I don’t know a thing about rings.”

  “How exciting! And no worries. I know lots about them. We have a few options. Gold, white gold, and platinum.” He hurries me over to the counter and shows me some bands. “Do you know what size he is?”

  I shrug, then hold up my left hand. “About the same size?”

  With practiced efficiency, he measures my finger then taps his chin, peering into the display cases. He selects a few rings and sets them in a velvet-lined tray on the counter.

  “Do I try them on?” I ask.

  With a smile, he says, “Yes, since you’re the model for him.”

  My heart is beating outside my body as I try on rings for the man I want to become my husband. The last one is perfect—strong, solid platinum. I can’t stop staring at the metal, and I swear I’m a neon sign. I’m fireworks flashing across the summer sky as I imagine sliding this ring on Declan’s finger.

  I want to ask him now.

  But I want the moment to be magic.

  I flashback to the words he breathed in my ear one night when our bodies were tangled together.

  I see the only man for me.

  Same, Deck. Same.

  The platinum band fits like a dream, so I say, “I’ll take it.”

  29

  Declan

  This is one of my new favorite pastimes—checking out photos of Grant growing up.

  With the scent of peach pie filling the house, his grandparents show me pictures of Grant as a kid. In the silver frame Trevor grabs from the mantel, Grant can’t be more than eleven. He’s on a baseball diamond. He’s dug in at the plate, gripping the bat, poised to swing, his brow etched with concentration.

  “This is when he won the Little League championship,” Trevor says, and I take the picture, studying it.

  “His stance is a little different now, but you can see he had the basics down,” I say.

  Trevor’s blue eyes twinkle with delight. “Right? He was a natural from the first time he played.”

  Kim pats my shoulder. “No doubt you were the same way, honey.” I smile at the endearment and the fact that she thinks I need the reassurance. “Trevor, show Declan the one where we all went bowling for Grant’s thirteenth birthday. I love that picture.”

  I sigh wistfully. “I haven’t gone bowling in years,” I say. “Contract forbids it. Bowling and ‘all other sports with the substantial risk of personal injury.’”

  “And with good reason,” Trevor says. “Can you imagine explaining to the team you blew out your shoulder throwing a spare?” He roots around through the framed pictures till he finds a shot of Grant holding a bowling ball at the end of a lane, the same intensity in his brow that he gets when he swings a bat. The companion shot is of Grant grinning, his arms in the air, confident as an eagle having caught a fish.

  “He threw a strike. What a shock,” Trevor says, deadpan.

  “He was good at all sports,” Kim says, then lowers her voice. “And a show-off too.”

  I smile. “Understandable. All that talent.” I take the frame, unable to look away from how happy Grant was. “But he’s having fun.”

  Grant didn’t have a perfect childhood. He’s told me what he went through with his parents not wanting him. How much their rejection forged who he is and how he wants to be loved.

  The way I love him.

  But he also had this life in this picture, and I’m so damn glad. He still has these tremendous people in Kim and Trevor.

  “Oh, you have to see this,” Kim says, as she locates a picture on a coffee table. “He’s seventeen here. This is Grant and Reese going to a concert.”

  A laugh bursts out as I view the shot. “He wore a navy-blue polo shirt to a concert?” I ask, incredulous.

  They chuckle too. “His fashion tastes haven’t changed much,” Kim says.

  “He’s so . . . preppy,” I remark, still chuckling. “What was the concert? Do you remember?”

  Kim hums and Trevor strokes his chin. They both shrug at the same time. “Something loud and poppy,” Trevor says.

  “Guess his music tastes haven’t changed much either,” I say as Kim reaches for a graduation picture. Grant’s wearing a black gown and cap. His grandfather stands with his arm around his much taller grandson. His grandmother has her arm around Grant’s waist.

  My throat tightens as emotions churn inside me—happy ones, though. Grateful ones. “You really did raise him.”

  “We did,” Kim says with pride. “We sure didn’t plan it, but Grant and Sierra are the best things we’ve ever done. Right, Trev?”

  Trevor smiles and nods. “No question.”

  And that brings me to why I stayed behind.

  I have something to share with these two people who helped shape the man I love—something I’ve been pretty damn sure since Grant came home from Seattle and I opened up to him about how I felt about us having a family. That night, he eased my nerves, and I realized what I had needed all along—to talk to my person.

  Hanging out with Pearl today simply affirmed to me that I’m not the mess I thought I was. I might not be a wiz with kids. I might still have a shitty dad, but that’s all okay because I’ll figure the rest out with Grant someday down the road.

  I want all the somedays with him. Every single one of them.

  But first things first.

  I clear my throat, lock eyes with Grant’s grandparents, take a breath. “There’s something I’d like to tell you both.”

  Kim tilts her head and waits patiently. “Yes?”

  Trevor stands taller. “What’s on your mind?”

  There’s a reason I’ve been carrying a ring around since the day Holden and I went to Pepper’s store. I hoped I’d get here eventually.

  Now, here I am on the doorstep of my future—the one I want to have with the man these two raised.

  I straighten my shoulders, then smile, unable to hold back a grin. I try again, though, because this is serious. “I’m going to ask Grant to marry me. I wanted you both to know. That’s why I stayed behind when he went to the store—to tell you.”

  Kim gasps then grabs her husband’s arm. “I was hoping this would happen.”

  Trevor laughs softly, kisses her hair. “Me too.”

  This is family.

  This is part of the package deal. This unexpected family that I hope will become a permanent part of my life soon too.

  “Thank you. For . . . everything,” I say, with immeasurable gratitude for their choices.

  Outside, a car engine rumbles then goes silent, and my heart jackhammers.

  Even though I’m not asking him to marry me now, there’s still something I need to tell him.

  This is as good a time as any.

  “Excuse me,” I say, and head to the porch, shutting the door behind me.

  30

  Grant

  The ring is safely in my wallet as I bound up the path to the porch. I’ll pop inside and ask for a minute alone. I can’t wait any longer to tell Declan, not even through peach pie and whipped cream.

  This is mission-critical.

  Like I’m running out a double to the right field corner, I race up the steps.

  All focus.

  All speed.

  Before I hit the top step, the door creaks open, and I lock eyes with Declan. He shuts the door, I stop on the porch, and holy hell, it’s like looking in a mirror.

  His brown eyes are full of determination. Purpose. Passion. “I want to talk to you. Just you,” Declan says.

  I have a feeling what he’s going to say. I shake my head, hold up a stop-sign hand. “No. I have to talk to you.” No matter what, I’m batting first.

  I can’t let him think there is a single deal-breaker for me with him. Ever.

  There isn’t.

  Not. One.

  When you find the one you love, nothing should stop you from being together.

  Even if the other person isn’t sure about having a family.

  Even if you never do have kids.

  If my immediate family is only Declan, I’m so good with that. Family means so many things, but it means this first—him.

  “Okay,” he says with a curious laugh.

  I grab his hand and tug him with me as I sit on the top step and face him, gripping his fingers tight.

  What I have to say now is more important than asking him to marry me in a few more days.

  This is why I want to ask him to marry me.

  A shudder rolls over me, but it’s not from nerves. It’s from the intensity of my feelings for him. “I’m all in with you, Declan,” I say, holding his hand tight. “No matter what. I love you more than anything. If you decide you don’t want kids, I am fine with that. I want a family, but I need you to be happy. There is no deal-breaker for me. Not a one.” I link fingers even tighter with him, and his eyes shine with joy. “You’re the one I can’t live without. You’re my family. You’re enough, and you will always be enough.”

  Saying that was hard and easy at the same time.

  But necessary.

  Whatever he has to tell me, I had to say that first.

  With Declan, all times are the right time, no matter who else comes into our life.

  Declan Steele is what I see when I look down the road at the rest of my life.

  31

  Declan

  A smile spreads across my face, radiates through my body, lights up my very soul.

  How is it possible to have everything and then, impossibly, to have even more?

  To have a man who wants me, just me, no matter what?

  I’m amazed. Awestruck. I grab the back of Grant’s head with my free hand, curling my palm over his hair.

  I am desperate to touch him. I can’t keep my hands off him, but it’s not sexual, this deep need. It’s emotional. Hell, it’s goddamn spiritual.

  I keep my gaze locked on Grant. “I need you too. I love you. I want a life with you. Only you. Always you.” My voice trembles with emotion, but there’s certainty too. My fingers play with the ends of his hair. Touching him is everything good in the world. “And I’m all in with you too, Grant Blackwood. And my answer to kids is yes. Someday, down the road, I want to have kids with you. I want to have a family with you.”

  Before I can ask him to be my husband, I need him to know that he’s getting a partner who’s all in. Who wants the same things he does.

  Who wants a life, and love, and a family someday.

  I want it all with Grant, and I want him to know I’ll be by his side no matter what.

  Grant’s blue eyes spark with happiness and joy. He parts his lips, takes a shaky breath. “For real? You do?” His voice pitches with so much hope and wonder.

  I nod, barely able to contain all these emotions. All of this . . . everything. My heart beats harder, trying to make more room for itself in my chest. “I do. I want it all with you. You’re my person; you’re my home. You are my happily ever after.”

  Grant sways closer to me, his forehead pressing against mine. “You and me.”

  “Me and you,” I whisper, then I brush my lips to his.

  He sighs happily, humming as I give him a tender kiss, one of the many kinds of kisses he likes and deserves.

  When we separate, Grant’s breath comes out shaky, and he pulls back, blinking. “Did you really just say you want a family with me someday?”

  I laugh from deep within my heart. “I did.” I run my fingers through his hair. “And did you really just say you want a life with me no matter what?”

  “I sure as fuck did,” he says, beaming.

  “Then I’ll say this”—I stroke his jaw with my thumb—“I am never letting you go.”

  With a sexy groan, he hauls me close, plants a needy kiss on my lips, then murmurs, “Same, Deck. Same.”

  We kiss again, sealing this fresh promise to each other. That this is the start of the rest of our lives.

  Then, we go inside and eat pie.

  It tastes delicious.

  32

  Grant

  The flight attendant sets down a white ceramic dish of warm nuts for me, then one for Declan.

  “Thank you,” I say as she moves to the couple behind us. I pop a pecan in my mouth, moaning in pleasure. “Here’s the thing about mixed nuts. They just taste better on planes.”

  My travel companion bites into a cashew. “I call it the first-class effect,” Declan says.

  “Right? These are the same mixed nuts we could get at Trader Joe’s,” I point out. “But they’re just better on planes.”

  Declan laughs. “Because they’re warm.”

  I can’t not go there. “You know that’s low-hanging fruit, right?”

  “I do know that.”

  “And I’m going to pluck it,” I continue.

  He ruffles my hair. “Of course you are.”

  I wiggle my brows. “I’ve got your warm nuts, right here,” I whisper, my eyes traveling to my crotch.

  “You couldn’t resist that.”

  I toss a peanut in the air, catch it on my tongue, yank it into my mouth. “Nope. Also, did you know I could do that?”

  “Catch peanuts in your mouth like a dog?”

  “Yep.”

  “I did not know that,” he says, taking a macadamia from the dish. “So much still to learn about you and all your special skills.” He eats the macadamia, then drops his voice to a smoky whisper. “Your special skills with your tongue.”