39. Magnolia Steel
Alex steps off the plane. No crutches. No limp. Only that easy, confident walk I haven’t seen in in a long time.
He’s wearing jeans, a fitted black T-shirt that hugs the muscles he’s fought like hell to build, and a soft grin that hits me dead center. My heart does this slow, twisting ache thing in my chest as I watch him close the distance. Because I know what it took to get here. Every painful stretch. Every night icing down his ankle, frustrated and quiet.
When he reaches me, he doesn’t say a word. Just pulls me into his arms like he can’t help it. One hand curves around the back of my neck. The other fists in the fabric at my waist. And he kisses me—slow, deep, and purposeful. Like we’re not in a public place with people milling around us. Like it’s just us.
I melt into it.
When we pull apart, I whisper against his mouth, “Well, look at you. Graduated and everything.”
“Top of my class. Straight A’s in range-of-motion exercise.”
I laugh, my hands still resting on his chest. “I’m proud of you, big guy.”
His mouth curves. “Yeah, well… you’re my reward.”
Alex tosses his suitcase into the back of my car and slides into the passenger seat like he’s been doing it forever. The sight of it—the casualness, the comfort—makes me smile.
I slide into the driver’s seat and glance over at him. “So. What’s the plan, graduate? You want to eat in or grab some pizza or go out?”
He leans his head back against the seat, eyes closed for a second like he’s soaking it all in. Then he turns his head toward me, grin lazy and a little too charming.
“Let’s go out and celebrate the end of PT. Get back to normal. Move on with our lives.”
My heart tugs a little, but I keep it light. “Okay. Where do you want to go?”
He lifts a brow. “What about that French place you love—the one with the champagne risotto and the waitlist from hell?”
“Le Rue?” I laugh. “Alex, I don’t think we can walk in. It takes weeks to get a reservation there.”
He smirks and shrugs. “Leave it to me. I’ll take care of it.”
That wink he throws in shouldn’t work—but on him, it does.
I shake my head as I pull out of the airport lot. “What are you gonna do? Slip the host some money?”
“Maybe,” he says, grinning.
There’s something simmering beneath his surface. Something electric. And though he has said nothing, a question rises in the back of my mind, unshakable and quiet: What are you up to, Sebring?
His phone buzzes twice. He checks it both times. Thumbs out a reply.
“Everything okay?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Yeah. Elias is checking in.”
I nod, trying not to overthink it. But my brain, being my brain, runs with it anyway—because I know this man. And something is off. Not bad, but different. And I can’t help but wonder what the hell he’s not telling me.
Dinner at Le Rue is perfect in every kind of way. The food is rich and ridiculous and full of things I can’t pronounce, let alone order with confidence. I fumble with the food on the menu and Alex leans over, taps the corner of the page. “You’ll love this one—trust me.”
I do. And of course he’s right. Somehow, he orders all my favorites. He’s good like that—quietly observant, always three steps ahead, a man who listens.
He pours the wine, calm and unhurried. At one point, he slides a fork across the table, offering me a bite of something from his plate. I don’t even ask what it is—I open my mouth and let him feed it to me, slow and deliberate, his eyes locked on mine.
I swallow, arch a brow, and murmur, “Careful, Sebring. Keep this up and I’m gonna think you’re trying to seduce me over duck confit.”
He grins like he is. “Is it working?”
His thumb brushes over the back of my hand, soft and possessive, like he can’t help reaching for me. And all of it is making me crazy.
But I want more. And lately, I’ve been waiting for the big question. Hoping for it. Craving it.
I want to bring it up—our future, what we said we wanted, what we promised each other that night in Dallas. But I can’t quite find the nerve.
Not here. Not now. Not when I’ve told myself he’ll ask when he’s ready.
Alex watches me for a beat. “You’re quiet tonight. Is everything okay? You feeling all right?”
I smile, probably a little too quickly. “Yeah. I’m good.”
He doesn’t push. Just gives my hand a light squeeze and flags down the check with a nod.
A few minutes later, we’re stepping out into the golden spill of early evening. The air is thick with the scent of salt and honeysuckle, and Alex slips his hand into mine again.
“Take a walk with me? I enjoy using my new ankle every chance I get since it doesn’t hurt anymore.”
“A walk sounds perfect.”
It’s warm as we stroll through Waterfront Park, the breeze carrying salt and laughter and something else I can’t name. Golden light spills across the harbor, soft and honeyed, wrapping the world in that kind of glow that makes everything look like it has a filter on it—too perfect to be real, too beautiful to capture in a photo.
We walk in silence for a bit, the good kind that only happens with people who know you to your bones. As we near the Pineapple Fountain, it glistens in the day’s last light, water spilling in soft, steady arcs that catch the fading sun like strands of gold.
A street musician nearby starts playing something familiar and low—a string cover of “Can’t Help Falling in Love.”
I pause, eyes drifting toward the sound. “God,” I whisper, the notes tugging at something deep in my chest. “That’s beautiful.”
Alex squeezes my hand and slows.
Right there in front of the Pineapple Fountain, he stops walking altogether. The music floats around us—haunting, gentle, familiar—but everything else falls quiet.
Alex turns to face me, still holding my hand, and something in his eyes makes my breath catch.
He stops in front of the fountain and turns to face me, both of my hands held in his like they’re something sacred.
“Two strangers. A wall between us. No names. No faces. Only voices. A connection that made no sense while making complete sense at the same time.”
My lips curve, even as my heart thuds harder in my chest.
He lifts my other hand, holding both of mine in his, his thumbs brushing over my skin.
“We spent three months chasing something neither of us could say out loud. And when you left, it felt like someone cracked my ribs open. Every version of life without you felt hollow—off, like the world was tilted sideways. But as awful as it was… I think we needed that time apart. Because it gave you the space to see what you wanted.”
He draws in a breath, eyes locked on mine like I’m the only thing that exists in this entire city.
“I’ll never part from you again. No walls. No distance. No maybes. I don’t know where life will take us, where we’ll end up, but I know one thing without a doubt…” He lets go of one hand and lowers himself to one knee, pulling a ring from his jacket pocket. I gasp—quiet, breathless. “…wherever it is, we’ll be there together. Always.”
“Magnolia Elizabeth Steel. Favorite.” He looks up at me, eyes shining. “Will you marry me?”
For a second, the world blurs. The fountain, the music, the golden light—it all sways around me like a dream I don’t want to wake up from. One hand flies to my mouth, covering the tremble in my lips. My heart is thudding so loudly I can barely think.
Tears fill my eyes, and my voice shakes.
“Yes,” I whisper, then louder. “Yes. Yes, Alex. I want to be your wife more than anything.”
He exhales, a shaky breath that sounds like relief and joy all at once. He slides the ring onto my finger, and when he stands, I throw my arms around him like I’ll never let go again.
And then—I hear it. Applause.
I pull back, blinking, and turn to find people clapping. And not just people. Alex’s parents and all of his siblings.
And then my person. Violet.
They step out from the edges of the park where they’d been hiding in plain sight, beaming.
Violet rushes in, laughing, teary-eyed, and wraps me in a hug. “My bestie is getting married.”
I glance to the side and spot a man holding a video camera, a woman snapping photos—and it hits me. A videographer. A photographer.
I look back at Alex, shaking my head in disbelief. “I cannot believe you pulled this off.”
He smiles, that lazy, pleased-with-himself grin that always wrecks me. His arms slide around my waist again, pulling me in.
“Well, I had help from Violet.”
I laugh through the lingering tears. “Of course you did.”
He leans back enough to look me in the eye, his tone gentling. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about who was here tonight. Things with Robin and Charlene are… complicated. But I didn’t want you to have my whole family here and none of yours. I invited them. They said they had other plans.”
“Story of my life. So yeah. That sounds about right.”
“I’m sorry, babe.”
“I’m not.” I reach up, brushing my fingers along his jaw. “It’s okay because your family is now my family.”
As if on cue, the Sebrings make their way over—Elias leading the charge with that big, goofy grin of his. Malie crying, arms already open for a hug. His father gives me a smile that makes me feel safe. Like I belong.
And maybe for the first time in my life… I do.
They surround me in a bubble of laughter, warmth, and welcome—no performance, no show. Just love. The kind that doesn’t ask for anything in return.
I look over at Alex—my fiancé—and something in my chest settles. This isn’t just a special moment.
This is our beginning.