Page 198 of Stranger to Love

Carrie’s smile was soft, the kind she only saved for when we were alone, even if the rest of our world was just on the other side of the glass. "I love you too."

For a second, we just stood there, anchored to each other in the quiet of our kitchen. Then, a loud, indignant shout from my Dad echoed from the lawn—something about a dog and a very expensive burger—and the spell finally broke.

"We should probably go save your father's dinner," Carrie murmured, though she made no move to let go of me just yet.

"In a minute," I said, pulling her back in for one more kiss. "Let them wait. I'm busy being a graduate."

As we stepped back out onto the lawn, the fairy lights twinkled against the darkening sky, casting a warm glow over the party. The transition from the quiet kitchen to the party was seamless because, the moment we appeared, the "chaos" had a target.

Barnaby, who had been mid-heist near the buffet, spotted Carrie immediately. He abandoned his pursuit of a rogue chicken wing and trotted over, his tail doing a slow, rhythmic wag of pure devotion. He didn't even wait for a command; he just sat obediently by Carrie’s heels, looking up at her with those big, soulful eyes as if she was the literal sun in his universe. I couldn't blame him.

I chuckled, shaking my head at the sheer power she had over that animal. "See? Total discipline."

Dad huffed, clutching his paper plate like a battle shield. "He never listens to me," he grumbled, though he was already surreptitiously tearing off a piece of steak to 'accidentally' drop. "I tell him to sit, and he looks at me like I’m speaking Latin.”

I laughed, leaning into Carrie’s side. "That’s because you always give in to him, Dad! He knows exactly who the soft touch is."

My Mum, perched in a nearby garden chair with a glass of wine, let out a knowing hum. "She’s not wrong, love. If he even looks at you with those puppy eyes, you start carving him the best meat we have to offer. You’re his favourite vending machine."

"He was starving!" Dad defended, though he was fooling nobody.

"Yeah, right," I joked, grinning at the memory of our last holiday. "Last time we went away and left him with you, he put on so much weight we had to put him on a 'No-Grandpa' diet for a month. He came back looking like a golden beach ball."

Carrie let out a soft, elegant laugh, her hand dropping to rest briefly on Barnaby’s head. The dog practically swooned under the touch. "He is a Carter," she said, her eyes meeting mine with a secret, beautiful warmth. "He knows exactly how to get what he wants. He clearly takes after his mother."

I blushed, realising she was definitely talking about me, and the whole table erupted into laughter.

I felt a sudden, cheeky surge of confidence—the kind you only get when you’ve got a First-class degree in one hand and a glass of expensive champagne in the other. I leaned into her, my shoulder bumping hers as I gave her a playful, knowing look.

"Well," I said, my voice just loud enough for the table to hear, "I’m not a Carter yet."

I was pretty sure the entire lawn went dead silent. Either that, or my own heart was just beating so loud it had drowned out the music. The way Carrie was looking at me changed instantly—that cool, professional composure wasn't just cracked; it was gone. She reached down, giving Barnaby a final pat on the head and a sharp tap on the back to release him. Freed from his orders, he happily bounced off toward Holly’s parents, who immediately lifted their plates a few inches higher in a desperate defensive manoeuvre.

Carrie ignored the dog. She ignored my parents. She stepped into my space, closing the gap until I could feel the heat radiating off her. She reached up, her fingers steady as she tucked a stray hair behind my ear, her gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that made my knees weak.

Fuck me, I thought I was actually having a heart attack.

The air between us was thick, charged with the kind of weight that only comes when a "one day" joke suddenly feels like a "right now" reality. Her hand lingered at my jaw, her thumb tracing my cheekbone, and for a second, the party, the marquee, and the degree didn't matter. It was just her.

"No," she murmured, her voice low and dangerous in a way that made my skin prickle. "You aren't. Not yet."

Carrie winked—a slow, deliberate movement that felt like a physical jolt to my system. I stayed rooted to the spot, frozen like a statue as I watched her glide toward the table where the graduation cake sat surrounded by a small pile of wrapped gifts.

My heart wasn't just racing; it was hammering against my ribs with enough force to make my vision blur at the edges. No. No way. No fucking way was this happening right now. The champagne glass in my hand felt like it weighed fifty pounds.

Every conversation on the lawn died a sudden, violent death. My Dad’s mouth was hanging open, and I could see Holly in the corner of my eye, clutching her own glass so hard I was worried it might shatter. Carrie didn’t look at any of them. She reached for a small, velvet-covered box tucked behind a bouquet of lilies.

"Carrie," I managed to choke out, the word barely a whisper that caught in my throat. "Carrie, what are you doing?"

She didn't answer immediately. Instead, she turned back to me, the small box held firmly in her hand. The flickering fairy lights caught the gold of her watch and the depth of her eyes, making her look like some ethereal, devastating dream. She walked back to me with that effortless grace, stopping just inches away.

She didn't look nervous—Carrie Carter didn't do nervous—but there was a rawness in her expression, a vulnerability that made my breath hitch.

I barely registered Mia stepping over to me. She was trying to hold back a massive, knowing grin as she gently took the champagne and my diploma out of my hands. I almost wished she hadn't, because my hands were shaking so violently I didn't know what to do with them. I bit my lip, trying to stay grounded as Carrie—my Caroline, Dr. Carter, Caroline fucking Carter—dropped to one knee in front of me.

The silence was absolute now, broken only by the distant rustle of the wind in the trees and the frantic thud of my heart. I’d spent years looking up to her, but seeing her down there, looking up at me like I was the only person in the universe, was the most powerful thing I’d ever seen.

Carrie’s smile was soft, but her eyes were burning with an intensity that pinned me to the spot. "You're right, darling," she said, her voice steady and rich, carrying across the silent lawn. "You don't have my last name yet. And I think it is about time you do."