Just then, a football bounces into our legs, interrupting our slow slide into public indecency. Ryder releases me with a reluctant groan before scooping the ball up and spiraling it back to a couple of snickering boys up the beach. I watch him eye them for an extra beat, and when he looks back at me, I know we’re both thinking the same thing.
“Can you imagine? We’d have a ten-year-old.” The quiet awe in his voice makes my heart squeeze in my chest.
“We would’ve been a couple of kids raising a kid.” It’s surreal to finally speak openly about this with him, to voice the thoughts that have ricocheted in my head for a decade.
He laces our fingers back together, resuming our ambling walk. “I know we were young, but I think we would’ve figured it out. I think I would’ve surprised you.”
I smile wistfully. “I like to think so too.”
“I would have asked you to marry me.”
My pulse misfires, and I stumble in the sand. “Or there would have been a Ryder-shaped hole in the door,” I deflect, masking my reaction with a joke.
He gives his head a firm shake. “No way. I would’ve immediately gone out and bought a ring.”
I laugh lightly, hoping I sound casual. “You think so, huh?”
His eyes dance, the shimmering tide reflected in the striations of his eyes. “I know so.”
“So confident,” I tease, nudging his shoulder with mine. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because Ididbuy one.”
That stops me dead in my tracks. I blink hard, thinking I must have misheard him. “You didwhat?”
He doesn’t answer right away, instead staring out at the ocean for a long moment before answering. “Not long after you left, I got it in my head that I’d win you back by showing up at your door and asking you to marry me. So I went out and bought a ring.”
I stare at him, too stunned to speak. My heart’s ready to beat out of my chest, but my brain can’t catch up. I’m short-circuiting. Actually, scratch that—this is a system-wide meltdown.
He clocks my reaction, letting out a quiet laugh. “Full disclosure, this plan may have beenslightlyalcohol fueled. And in the sober light of day, I felt…foolish, I guess. Pathetic, for clinging to something you’d clearly moved on from. So I shoved the ring in the back of a drawer, where it’s been ever since, and pretended to forget about it.” His eyes finally meet mine again, and the vulnerability in them makes my heart ache. “Until this week.”
He reaches into his pocket, and I gasp when he pulls out a small blue velvet box. “I’ve been carrying this around all week, and I wasn’t even sure why at first. I didn’t plan to show it to you, or even tell you about it. But now I think it was my way of reminding myself not to give up the way I did last time.”
I’m holding my breath, my heart in my throat. I don’t know what I’m expecting him to do—I don’t even know what Iwanthim to do—but his fingers stay curled around the box. He doesn’t snap it open, doesn’t drop to one knee, and I’m simultaneously terrified and hopeful that he will.
And then I catch myself.Don’t be ridiculous, Scarlett. While it may feel like a scene straight out ofThe Lost Letter, this isn’t a movie.You’re not Melody, and he’s not Holden.
Except…the man I love is standing in front of me, and he’s holding a ring. And for one exhilarating, impossible moment, it feels like we might get the happy ever after we missed out on ten years ago.
“Here’s the thing, Scarlett. I’m not asking you to marry me.”
I deserve an award for the way I manage to keep my face composed despite everything inside me deflating like a poppedballoon. It’s the strangest mix of disappointment and relief, a kaleidoscope of emotions I can’t even begin to make sense of. He must see something in my eyes, though, because a spark of satisfaction flares on his face, his lips quirking like he’s stifling a smile.
“To be clear, Icouldpropose. My feelings for you haven’t changed, and I don’t need more time to think about it. I know what I want.” He speaks with a quiet conviction that nearly undoes me. “But I also know you need to get to know me again, see if this version of me makes sense in your life. You said you wanted to go slow, and I intend to honor that. I want to get it right this time.” He holds my gaze, his hand tightening around the box. “So this isn’t a proposal.”
Each time he says it, the dagger digs in a little deeper, twisting through me like a corkscrew. I still haven’t spoken a word, too overwhelmed by his confession to form a coherent thought. A seagull circles overhead, like even it knows something dramatic is happening and doesn’t want to miss the fireworks.
He reaches out with his free hand and brushes a thumb along my jaw. “But I am going to give you this ring, because I got it for you, and I’ve always wanted you to have it. It’s totally up to you what you want to do with it.” He finally snaps open the box and my hand flies to my mouth.
It’s simple and elegant—a small, perfectly round diamond set on a thin silver band. It’s exactly the type of ring Ryder would have been able to afford back then, and somehow, that makes it even more precious to me. It feels like he’s giving me back a piece of our past. It’s tangible proof that what we hadwas real, that our story never ended. It’s more than a ring. It’s a symbol of everything we’ve lived through, a thread tying our past to our present.
“Maybe—and not that I’ve given this idea any thought—but maybe you could wear it on your right hand. And maybe one day you’ll want to wear it on your left. You could even do it quietly and see how long it takes me to notice.” He grins, eyes twinkling with mischief, and all I can see is the boy I fell in love with. “All you have to do is say yes.”
A giddy laugh tumbles out of me. I pluck the ring out of the box and hover it over my left hand, just to mess with him, before winking at him and sliding it onto my right ring finger. It looks perfect there, though it’s not hard to imagine a future where it’s living on my other hand, precisely where it was always meant to be.
I go up on my tiptoes and throw my arms around his shoulders, burying my face in his neck and the beard I love so much. He wraps his arms around me, and I melt into the contours of his body, my soft molding to his hard. I think I’d forgotten this type of happiness existed, the kind that lives in your bones and quiets the restlessness in your soul. Part of me is worried this is all a dream—except my dream smells like saltwater and Irish Spring, so I’m pretty sure he’s real.
“I love you so much,” I whisper into his ear, my voice thick with emotion. I want to imprint the words on his skin, stamp them on his heart, tattoo them on his soul. “I never stopped.”
