Page 125 of The Storyteller's Secret

‘Don’t worry,’ said Damien, though he wished he could listen to his own advice, for what swirled in his stomach was much less simple than fear – it was a concoction of a thousand different things, and it seemed to only grow stronger as they mounted the stone steps towards the door. ‘He’s sure to love you as much as I do.’

Ava’s smile was like a sunbeam. ‘And how much is that?’

He reached for her hand – wishing he could kiss her, and settling for pressing a kiss to her glove, instead. ‘More than I ever thought possible.’

‘If you had to put it intoamounts, though. A sea’s worth? An ocean’s worth?’

‘A lifetime’s worth,’ he said, eyes lifting to hers. ‘If you’ll have me.’

She looked like her heart had stuttered to a stop in her ribcage, for her face paled, and he felt something in his stomach clench. And then she flushed red as a beetroot, from her neck all the way up to her hairline, and began to smile. ‘Was that a proposal, Mr Carter?’

‘Not yet. Not without a ring – although Ava, if you don’t wish to be married – Christ, if you never even wished to beengagedever again – I would understand. I’ll be happy, so long as I am with you.’

She paused, biting a little at her lip. ‘Do you think your father would approve?’

He felt something in his chest soar. ‘Is that an answer?’

‘Technically, it’s a question,’ said Ava, taking a step closer. ‘My answer is simpler. Yes.’

‘Yes?’

‘Yes.’ She lifted her chin up then, pressing a soft kiss to his lips despite the people walking past them, despite the fact they were in full view of his father’s house, and he felt all of the worry, all of the needling thoughts that had stalked himhere begin to melt away. He could do this. So long as she was by his side – he could do anything.

He drew back the brass knocker.

‘I’m with you,’ she said, her voice low between them. ‘Every step of the way.’

He heard the footsteps first. Slower, slightly more unsteady than he remembered – and then the door opened.

And there, standing in the doorway, was his father. Older – so much older than Damien remembered – and stooping. His black hair was peppered now with grey, and though he’d never worn spectacles when Damien was a boy, there was a pair around his neck, which he brought to his face as he smiled, and said: ‘Damien. You’re finally home.’

‘I’m home,’ said Damien, squeezing Ava’s hand, and feeling her squeeze it right back as they stepped through the door he’d thought had been closed to him forever, and now was opened wide.

Together.