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There’s a tiny shift in her energy suddenly, a softness appears around her eyes. I feel it in the way her fingers move from my shoulders to the back of my neck.

“I can’t believe we’re having Thanksgiving together,” she says. “Like, together together.”

“Technically, we’re having coffee together. Thanksgiving arrives when everyone else does.” I tug her closer to me. “Lucy will be here soon.”

“I know, she’s already texted asking me about the oven situation.”

“And you still have potatoes to make.”

“Mmmm,” she moans. “You’re very romantic when you remind me of my to-do list.”

“I’ve been told,” I say with a laugh.

She leans closer. “By whom?”

“You.”

“I don’t remember saying that.”

I slide one hand beneath her hair and draw her mouth to mine. She’s still smiling when I kiss her.

The house is quiet around us. Sunlight stretches across the hardwood floor while Thomas sits on the deck grooming his tail with great concentration, and the first traces of sage and butter from the turkey drift through the house.

In a few hours, this peace and quiet will be forgotten. Every chair in this place will be taken. There will be too much food, three conversations happening at once, and at least one argument over whether the book-club playlist should be played during dinner. Lucy will open the wine I told her not to bring, and Owen will complain that the rolls are cold even though he’s in charge of them. Tripp will say that wouldn’t have happened if I’d given him control of the kitchen.

But right now, it’s only us.

Exactly as I planned.

Eva pulls back, brushing her thumb across my cheek. “Okay. I should finish setting up the dining room before your sister arrives and informs me I’ve done it wrong.”

“She won’t.”

“She’s already threatened to move all my place cards.”

“Lucy wants to create a conversational balance.”

“I’m not taking hosting advice from a woman who once served an entire Thanksgiving dinner on paper plates.” Eva kisses me once more before sliding off my lap. “I’m going to finish setting the table. Pretty sure I have some tiny pumpkins around here I can add to it…”

“Wait.”

She turns toward me.

The ring has been in my pocket since six-thirty this morning.

I had a plan for it. There was supposed to be a speech after coffee. Maybe music. I considered lighting the fireplace, but it’s not cold enough, and Eva would immediately ask why I was trying to heat the entire house with the patio doors in full sunlight.

But, the best laid plans get laughed at right? The turkey took longer than expected, Thomas launched his campaign to be included in dinner, and my team began debating the moral responsibilities of a fictional man who has been dead for two hundred years.

I’ve spent the entire morning waiting for the perfect moment.

It turns out the perfect moment looks exactly like this.

“Come here for a second.”

Something in my voice makes her expression change. “Liam?”

I stand and take her hand. For most of my life, I thought being chosen would look a certain way. A coach calling my name. A team offering a contract. A letter stitched onto the front of my jersey.