Chapter 31 Constant
Constant
Claire
Iglanced sideways at Liam. He was slouched in the passenger seat, one leg stretched out, thumb tapping absently against his knee, the other hand curled around his coffee. His eyes were half-lidded, tracking the trees as they blurred past.
“You’re really not going to ask?” I said.
He didn’t move.
“Not even a guess?”
He took a slow sip. “You’ll tell me when you want to.”
I gripped the wheel tighter. “I asked a million questions before my trip, and you don’t have a single question?”
“Nope.”
He didn't even look at me, but I saw the telltale crinkle at the corner of his eye. He is loving every second of this.
I let out a breath through my nose. “You’re impossible.”
He smiled into his cup. “You love that about me.”
I did. Unfortunately.
The road curved gently, climbing into hills that were just starting to turn. Not full-on fall yet, but the edges of the leaves were flirting with red. The air had shifted too, less city, more dirt and pine. I cracked the window and let it in.
Liam hadn’t commented on much since we left the city. Just quiet hums when I pointed out a view, or a nod when I asked if he wanted to stop. He wasn’t bored. He was… off. The easy slouch was still there, but the thumb tapping against the knee was new. And his eyes seemed distant.
I didn’t push. Not yet.
We passed a sign for a farmstand. Then another. The kind with hand-painted letters and crooked arrows. I turned off the main road and followed a gravel path that wound through a stretch of open fields. No buildings in sight. Just rows of green, a few scattered trees, and a wide sky.
Liam sat up straighter.
The driveway seemed to go on forever, a ribbon of gravel cutting through a sun-dappled tunnel of trees. Every now and then, a break in the foliage revealed another cabin tucked deep in the woods, each one far from the next and shielded from view.
At the end of it stood a small guest house, white clapboard, wide porch, herb boxes lining the railings.
Beyond it, a barn. A real one. Weathered wood, rusted roof, and a garden that looked like it had been planted with care, not symmetry.
And between them, a stone patio held a rustic outdoor kitchen, a sturdy picnic table, and strings of lights looped overhead, just waiting for nightfall.
I parked.
Liam didn’t get out right away. He stared at the barn, then at the rows of vegetables, then back at the house.
“This is it?” he asked.
I nodded. “We’re staying here.”
He opened the door slowly. His feet hit the gravel with a crunch.
He walked toward the porch, not saying anything, just looking.
At the herb boxes. At the baskets stacked by the door.
At the chalkboard sign that read: Pick what you need.
Cook what you love. He touched the wood with two fingers and smiled.
I followed him up the steps.
We stepped inside. The kitchen was clearly the heart of the place. A big island dominated the room, with a gas stove and copper pans hanging from hooks above it. A bowl of fresh eggs sat on the counter. The windows looked out over the garden.
Liam didn’t speak. He ran a hand over the edge of the counter, then over the handle of the oven. His fingers lingered there.
“I know cooking is important to you,” I said, leaning against the island. “And we both know fresh ingredients are important to you.” I couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at my lips.
A low chuckle escaped him, the memory of our basil argument hanging unspoken in the air between us.
He looked back out the window. The garden was quiet. A few bees hovered near the lavender. The barn door was open just a crack.
“So,” I continued, gesturing toward the window and the garden beyond.
“I thought this way, you could go out there. Pick whatever you want. There’s a farmer’s market up the road for anything we can’t find here.
You could… I don’t know. Try it on. See what it’s like, living in a place like this. Growing and picking your own stuff.”
Liam finally looked over at me. A thought crystallized in my mind, so clear and certain it stole my breath.
I can’t possibly love this man any more than I do at this moment.
“But I also did this to honor Nora.”
His eyes widened, but he didn’t flinch. He just nodded once, giving me the courage to go on. My voice was shaky, but I pushed through.
“Well, really to thank her.” I took a steadying breath.
“I know she lived on a farm,” I said, voice low. “I know that’s where it started for you. She started you on the path to the man you’ve become.” I looked right at him, my vision blurring with tears. “To the man I love.”
I swallowed hard as I wiped the tear from my eye. “I guess I just wanted to let her know that you found someone who loves you so much that she wanted to bring you back to the beginning. To the part of you that she loved first.”
A single tear traced a path down his cheek. Then another.
My 6'3" hot goalie. Thanks Brooke. A beautiful mix of strength and tenderness, and so handsome, it hurt to breathe.
“Happy birthday, sweetheart,” I whispered.
He didn’t speak. He just pulled me into a crushing hug. I felt his shoulders shake, so I held him tighter, my hand cradling the back of his head.
After a long moment, he pulled back just enough to look at me, his eyes red-rimmed but clear. “Okay,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “I concede. You win. This is the best birthday trip.”
I laughed, a wet, happy sound against his chest.
He cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away my tears. “I love you, Dr. Claire Bennett.”
I laughed softly at the use of my full name, feeling a joy so profound it was almost painful. “And I am one hundred percent, absolutely, totally in love with you, Liam Callahan.”
The sun was low, casting long shadows from the trees across the stone patio. The light was warm and golden. The heat of the day had begun to fade. I focused on the carrot on the cutting board, my grip awkward on the knife handle.
The crunch of gravel under boots came from behind me. I didn't turn around. A moment later, his arms circled my waist. His chest was warm against my back. He bent his head and pressed his lips against the side of my neck, just below my ear. Once. Then again. A small, quiet kiss.
I forced my attention back to the carrot. I lined up the knife. His lips moved to a new spot, and a shiver went straight down my spine. My next chop was more of a thud.
“You’re distracting me,” I managed, giving a weak elbow nudge against his side.
He chuckled.
“Instead of distracting me,” I said, setting the knife down and turning in his arms just enough to look at him, “teach me the right way to julienne these things. I’m massacring them.”
A slow smile spread across his face. “Gladly.” He leaned down and pressed a quick, soft kiss to my lips before turning me back to face the counter.
His hands slid from my waist and picked up the knife and the other carrot.
“Like this,” he said, his voice low. He demonstrated the quick, precise cuts, turning the carrot into neat, matchstick-sized pieces. He set the knife down and picked up my half-chopped carrot. His hands covered mine, one on the carrot, one over my fingers on the knife handle.
“Guide the blade with your knuckles,” he murmured, his voice close to my ear. He moved our hands together. The knife made a clean, sharp sound against the wood with each slice. I could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing. I could smell the sun and fresh herbs on his skin from the garden.
I stopped trying to chop and just let my hands rest in his. For a long moment, we just stood there, his chest against my back, his chin resting on my shoulder, our hands together on the counter. The only sound was the distant buzz of a bee in the lavender.
“So, what are we cooking tonight?” I asked, not looking up.
He grabbed a towel and dried his hands. “Actually, I don’t know.”
I paused mid-slice. “You don’t know?”
“I ran into Maggie at the main house earlier,” he said, walking over to the picnic table. “She told me we’ll get whatever her butcher has that’s fresh.”
He smiled and shook his head. “She said he’d be here by five. So… any minute now.”
I set the knife down and glanced toward the garden. “Wow. This feels like one of those cooking shows Sophie and Emma like to watch. You know, where the chef gets handed a box of mystery ingredients and has to make dinner out of it."
“Exactly.” He nudged my hip with his. “Let’s take a break. Come sit with me. We can watch the sunset.”
I started to sit, but Liam caught my hand.
“Claire, wait,” he said.
His voice was different. Softer. The playful tone from a second ago was gone. All the ease had vanished from his face.
“There really was one thing I was hoping for my birthday,” he said.
I turned to face him.
His hand went to the pocket of his jeans. When it came back out, he was holding a small, square, dark-blue velvet box.
This isn’t happening.
My hands flew to my mouth. A single tear escaped down my cheek.
He opened the box. One perfect diamond sat on a platinum band. On either side, two smaller sapphires were set lower into the band.
He lifted the ring from its velvet bed. “Three stones. Just like the three stars in Orion’s Belt.”
My favorite constellation. The one that reminds me of him.
“I wanted the ring to look like the nighttime sky.”
“Oh, Liam.”
He took a slow breath, his eyes never leaving mine.
“Claire,” he whispered. “Please tell me you will marry me?”
“Say yes, Aunt Claire!”
My head snapped toward the barn. Another voice, her sister’s, followed. “Sophie!”
I turned away from Liam, my hand falling from my mouth.
Our families emerged from the barn. My brother, Nolan, had a wriggling Sophie perched on his shoulders, her little hands clapped over her grinning mouth.
Behind them, Brooke and Maeve were high-fiving, their laughter echoing in the quiet yard.
Emma walked beside them, solemnly waving a tiny bunch of thyme like a magic wand.
I just stared. My brain couldn’t piece it together. The ring, Liam, now this.
My mouth opened, then closed. All that came out was a hollow, breathy sound. “What?”
Liam’s fingers found mine. A slow, warm smile spread across his face as he looked from me to our families and back again.
“Um, Claire?” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Don’t leave me hanging here.”
I reached up and cupped his face in my hands. “Liam, I never thought I could love someone as much as I love you. Of course I will marry you.”
Then I stepped back and put my left hand out. “Now get that ring on my finger so I can kiss you already.”
A slow, relieved smile broke across his face. His hand was steady as he took mine and slid the cool platinum of the band down my finger. I stared at it there, on my finger, for a single heartbeat.
Then his arms were around me, pulling me tight against his chest. His mouth found mine in a kiss that stole the air from my lungs. My feet left the ground as he lifted me, spinning us once before setting me down, both of us breathless and laughing.
I placed my hands on his chest, “You planned all this… on your birthday?”
He leaned in, resting his forehead against mine. “Best gift I’ve ever gotten.”
"But… how did they even find us? I planned this.”
He smiled. “I figured you’d tell Brooke. I asked her not to tell me where you were taking me, but to tell Maeve. Once we got here, I looped Maggie in, and she hid everyone in the barn.”
The pop of a champagne cork echoed off the barn. A cheer went up, and someone’s phone started playing music.
Suddenly, we were surrounded. Nolan pulled me into a bear hug. Over his shoulder, I saw Maeve throw her arms around Liam’s neck. Brooke and the girls swarmed me next, a tangle of arms and giggles and happy squeals.
Through it all, my hand found his. Our fingers laced together. The cool metal of the ring pressed into my skin, a solid, real weight amidst the happy chaos.
Through the whirl of bodies, my gaze locked with his. A slow, quiet smile spread over his face. The music and laughter faded into a distant hum. For one more second, it was just us. Just our hands, holding on.
****
The last of the cabin doors clicked shut, leaving the patio quiet except for the hum of insects. The string lights glowed above us, casting a soft, golden light.
We had settled on the wide porch steps, my back leaning against Liam’s chest. His arms were wrapped around me, his hand gently holding my left. His thumb brushed slowly back and forth over my knuckles, pausing every so often to trace the new, cool metal of the engagement ring.
His thumb stilled, resting on the band. He bent his head, his voice a soft murmur near my ear.
“I never got to show you the inscription on the inside.”
I shifted slightly, twisting the ring off carefully. I held it up, turning it under the string lights until the platinum gleamed. I angled the band to see inside.
One word.
Constant.