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Mabel nodded, not trusting herself to speak.
“You softened my heart,” George continued, his voice thick with emotion. “I’d spent decades keeping the idea of love at arm’s length, convincing myself I was fine alone, that I didn’t need anyone. Not even you, even though you were always there with your pranks and your optimism and your stubborn refusal to let me get away with just being the grumpy tree farm owner… until I finally realized what I’d been missing out on all this time.”
He squeezed her hands gently. “You made me want to be better. You made me want to open up and give the whole ‘being-in-love’ thing a shot. And I have never—not for one single second—regretted that decision.”
A tear rolled down Mabel’s cheek. This time she didn’t bother to wipe it away.
“There is no one else in the world for me besides you,” George said calmly. “Not Eda Leopold, not anyone. You’re it for me, Mabel Stewart. You’re the only one I want to spend my Christmases with for the rest of my life.”
He paused, and something shifted in his expression. “Actually,” George said slowly, “this is ridiculous.”
Mabel blinked, confused and suddenly very worried. “What’s ridiculous?” she asked, her voice wavering slightly. Had he just realized that her jealousy meant they weren’t a good fit at all? That if she couldn’t trust him implicitly, he didn’t want to do this any longer?
“This. Us, not being married.” George shook his head. “We’re not kids, Mabel. We know what we want, and we’ve wasted enough time dancing around our feelings. Why should we waste any more?”
“George, what are you—”
Before Mabel could fully comprehend what was happening, George was lowering himself to one knee right there on the sidewalk next to Holly and Ivy Market, still holding one of her hands, looking up at her with kind, weathered eyes full of love.
“Mabel Stewart,” he said, “will you marry me?”
Mabel’s free hand flew to her mouth. Her heart was hammering so hard she thought it might burst right out of her chest. She was shocked—completely, utterly shocked—but underneath the shock was a wave of pure, bubbling joy that threatened to lift her right off the ground.
“George,” she managed, her voice muffled behind her hand. “George, are you serious?”
“Never been more serious about anything in my life,” he said. “I don’t have a ring on me right now—didn’t exactly plan this—but we can figure all that out. We can have whatever kind of wedding you want, big or small, church or gazebo or at your toy shop for all I care. I don’t care about the details. I just want you to be my wife.”
Mabel felt laughter bubbling up alongside her tears. “You know,” she said, lowering her hand from her mouth, “you might not have changed as much as I thought.”
George looked momentarily stricken. “What do you mean?”
“No fancy proposal,” Mabel said, gesturing to their surroundings—the side of a grocery store, the dumpster visible just behind them, George’s shopping bag with her Christmas present sitting on the cold pavement. “And you’re holding my Christmas gift in a bag right there, so there go all my surprises.”
For a moment, George’s face fell, and Mabel immediately regretted her teasing. But then she saw his lips twitch, saw the humor spark in his eyes as he realized she was joking.
“Well,” he said, pushing himself to his feet and pulling her into his arms, “I suppose you’ll just have to spend our whole marriage continuing to change me for the better, won’t you?”
Mabel’s arms came up around his neck, and she looked up at him through her tears and laughter.
“Is that a yes?” George asked. “You still haven’t actually answered my question.”
“Yes,” Mabel said, and the word came out as half-laugh, half-sob. “Yes, George Lowery, I will absolutely marry you. Even if you did propose to me next to an alleyway while holding my practical, unromantic Christmas present.”
George’s eyes danced with joy as he leaned in to give her a sweet, long kiss full of all the love Mabel knew he felt for her in that moment. Everything else faded away, her jealousy vanished, the widow utterly meaningless. This was her George, and she knew she’d never doubt him again.
When they finally pulled apart, Mabel noticed that a small crowd had gathered at the corner of the building. Apparently, their proposal hadn’t been quite as private as she’d thought. Several people were clapping, and Cindy had poked her head out, grinning widely.
“We’ve got an audience,” Mabel murmured against George’s chest.
“Let them watch,” George said, but he waved good-naturedly at their impromptu spectators. “Might as well let the whole town know. You know how Fir Tree Grove loves a good love story.”
“We’re going to be the talk of the town,” Mabel said, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She was engaged. She was getting married. She was going to spend the rest of her life with this wonderful, gruff, practical man who deliberated seriously over cooking pan colors and proposed to her next to a grocery store.
It was perfect. He was perfect. They were perfect together.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Henry stood behind the counter of his shop, organizing a set of invoice forms that didn’t really need organizing. He glanced at the clock on the wall for what had to be the fourth time in as many minutes.
