Only Love

Page 55

We clinked glasses and took a sip, although I was barely able to swallow because of the lump in my throat. “Ryan, this is—this is …” I fought hard for composure. “The sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Thank you.”
He smiled. “I wanted it to be like something from one of your books.”
I laughed, wiping at a tear that had snuck from the corner of one eye. “It’s even better.”
But the best was yet to come.
After the salad, Ryan served the rest of dinner—all dishes that reminded me of when we met. Grams’s meatloaf with the whiskey sauce, the ginger-glazed carrots from the inn, the green bean casserole I’d brought him the very first night I’d knocked on his door.
I had to laugh. “You did not want me in your house.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted. “You scared me.”
“The next night when I brought you the pie was even worse. You flat out told me I couldn’t come in.”
He nodded. “Believe me, I remember.”
“But you wanted that pie,” I reminded him.
“I wanted you more,” he said.
My face flushed with warmth.
We ate and talked and laughed, remembering how devious Grams had been in getting us together. We vowed to get up there and see her more often. We chatted about Maren’s recent announcement that she and Dallas were expecting (they’d had a small, intimate wedding on their ranch over the summer), Mack’s struggles as a full-time single dad to his girls, my new group therapy program for combat veterans at the clinic (which Ryan attended and had been instrumental in giving me the confidence to implement), his online college classes. They suited him much better than on-campus classrooms had, and he was making good progress toward a degree. I told him every day how proud I was, and he said the same to me.
No relationship is easy, and we had our bad days like any other couple, days where we communicated poorly or reacted badly or forgot to take the other’s feelings into consideration. Sometimes he went a little too silent for my liking when he was struggling with something, and sometimes I poked at his psyche a little too often, but it was only because I loved him so much. We forgave easily and trusted deeply. We had many, many more good days than bad (and lots and lots of great sex).
“Ready for dessert?” he asked, picking up our empty plates.
“Of course. Can I help clear the table?” I started to get up.
“No.” Ryan pressed a hand to my shoulder. “Stay here. I’m doing all the work tonight.”
“If you insist,” I said, drinking the last of my wine. “But you’re spoiling me rotten, you know.”
“That’s my plan.”
When the table was clear, he called out from the kitchen. “Close your eyes, okay?”
I obeyed. “They’re closed!”
He came into the room and set something in front of me. “You can open them.”
When I looked down, I squealed. “A homemade apple crumble pie! Did you bake this up there?”
“Sort of. Grams and I made the dough up there for the crust, which I asked Emme to keep in her freezer so you wouldn’t find it. Then Emme helped me with the filling and topping this afternoon so it would be fresh.”
I shook my head. “And neither of you is a good liar! I can’t believe I didn’t sense something was going on.”
“In this case, I’m glad your intuition has the occasional off day.” He handed me Grams’s silver pie server. “Want to do the honors?”
“Sure.” I went to slice into the center of the pie, but the tip of the knife hit something hard. For a second, I thought maybe he and Emme had screwed something up. I tried a second time, and hit something again. “Um, something isn’t right.”
“It’s not? Let me try.” Pushing his chair back, he stood up and took the knife from me, poking around in the filling. “Hmm. You’re right. It’s like something is in there.”
Before I could register what was going on, he dug around the pie and scooped up whatever was in the middle. Then he put it on my plate.
I stared at it.
Covered in apple pie filling and brown-sugar-and-cinnamon topping was something made of wood.
“Is it … a present?” I wondered. I used my fork to clean it off a little and saw it was a shallow, heart-shaped object about three inches tall and three inches wide.
“I don’t know,” he said seriously. “Can you open it?”
I looked at up at him. Was there a smile playing on his lips?
Confused, I used the napkin from my lap to wipe it clean. Setting the napkin aside, I turned the heart over in my hands and studied it closer. There was a tiny gold hinge between the two rounded curves at the top of the heart, which was split by a seam down the center. I opened it up from the bottom.
And gasped.
One side of the heart was hollow, but the other side hid a little pocket lined in black velvet, into which was nestled a gorgeous diamond ring.
I looked up at Ryan, and he got down on one knee at my side.
My vision blurred.
Taking the heart-shaped box from my hands, Ryan held it open toward me. “Stella,” he said, and his voice didn’t waver one bit. “There were many days in my life when I thought I would die. Mornings I’d wake up knowing it could be my last. And I wasn’t scared. I knew what was expected of me, and I’d have given my life.”
My throat was tight. “I know.”
“And I can’t tell you how many times I lay awake at night wondering why I was spared when so many other guys, better guys, stronger guys, guys with wives and kids and a million more reasons to live, were not. Just like my mother’s death, it never made any sense.”
“Ryan,” I whispered.
“It never made any sense,” he went on, “until I met you.”
I swallowed hard as tears dripped from my eyes.
“I don’t pretend to understand God. I’ve seen too much for that.” He brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, wiping away the tears. “But someone must have been looking out for me. Someone must have known I had a reason all along. And that reason was you.”
I began to sob openly, and it wasn’t pretty like the movies. It was a gut-wrenching, heart-clenching ugly cry.
“I hope those are happy tears, because I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life making you happy. Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” I managed to squeak, nodding as tears splashed down my cheeks. “Yes!”
He pulled the ring from its cushion—a beautiful, sparkling round solitaire in a platinum band that suited my classic, understated style perfectly—and slipped it on my finger.
We stood up together, and I continued to weep into his chest. He held me tight, rocking me gently, his lips resting on the top of my head.
All I could think of was how lucky I was to have a man like him, a love like this, and a future as beautiful as anything I’d ever dreamed.
When I finally calmed down, I had to get another look at my ring. Leaning back at the waist, I put my palm on Ryan’s mascara-stained shirt and studied it in disbelief. “It fits perfectly,” I sniffled. “How did you know?”
“I stole a ring I’ve seen you wearing on that finger from your jewelry box and had this one sized to match.”
I laughed even as more tears fell. “It’s so Grams of you.”
“I know,” he said, chuckling. “She definitely approved.”
“She knows?” I gasped. “You told her before you asked me?”
“Who do you think had the idea to put the ring in the pie? She said you were guaranteed to say yes if I did that. I couldn’t take any chances.”
I looked up at him. “You know I’d have said yes no matter where you put the ring. I’d have said yes without a ring at all.”
“I know.” He pressed his lips to mine. “But when we tell this story to our grandkids, we’ll be glad about the magic pie.”
I smiled, my heart beating hard against his. “Best. Story. Ever.”