My pulse jumps. The room seems to stretch even farther over the lake, the glass underfoot humming faintly with the wind. I take a breath, then another. The ground is solid. The math works. I trust the foundation.
She steps forward until she’s standing at the very edge, nothing beneath her but air and water and the illusion of falling.
I kneel behind her. “Robyn,” I say.
She turns and eyes me up and down, teasing threading through her smile. “Nate?”
I open the box in my pocket and slide the ring into my palm, impossibly small for how much weight it carries. For a second, I just hold it there, fingers curled, because I need to say this right.
“I used to think love was all about making yourself indispensable.” My voice is steadier than I expected. “That if I could just find what’s the thing only I could provide, then I’d be loved, never be left. I was so wrong.”
Her expression softens, and she doesn’t interrupt. She never does when it matters.
“I learned that from you. You helped rebuild things I was never supposed to break, and from the rubble I caused—through truth, fear, and vulnerability.” The glass floor is cold even through my jeans. “We became better versions of ourselves, learned how to love each other well, and still chose care.” My heart is loud in my ears. “Still chose each other.”
I open my hand, and even though I can see in her eyes she knows what’s coming, her breath still catches.
“This ring belonged to my grandmother. At one point, my mom trusted me to give it not to anyone but toyou. She trustsuswith it. I trustyouwithme.” I swallow. “I don’t want to rush you or make you smaller. I want to build a life that can hold happiness for both of us.”
Her eyes are shining now, wet but not spilling. She presses one hand to her mouth, and the other reaches for me as if she’s afraid I might tip over the edge and disappear.
“Robyn,” I say, and this time my voice does shake. “Will you marry me?”
For half a second, the world holds its breath.
Then she laughs, broken and bright at the same time, and drops to her knees in front of me, hands on my face, thumbs brushing under my eyes.
“Yes. Yes, Nate. Of course, yes.”
The word hits me in the chest and detonates. Relief, joy, disbelief. I slide the ring onto her finger, a perfect fit that’s been waiting for her—because, with the mistakes I made, Rebecca Leighton wasn’t going to risk getting the fit wrong. She pulls me up by the collar and kisses me, hard and sure, the lake and the sky and the impossible room bearing witness.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket.
Mom:???
I grin into Robyn’s mouth.
“Don’t tell her yet,” Robyn murmurs when we break apart, forehead resting against mine.
“Oh, I’m telling her. I’m telling the whole fucking world about it.”
Then I play “Electric Love,” and we make out to the tune of lightning in a bottle. The familiar song syncs with her fingers—my ring on one of them—digging into my beard. When she laughs, leaning back to look at the ring and then at me, I stop the recording and add the caption:Can you believe she said yes?Then I post the video for everyone I know to see. I got the girl back.
“We’re standing over a thousand feet of nothing,” Robyn says, peeking at the drop behind us.
“Yeah.” I squeeze her hip. “Turns out, the foundation holds.”
