Samuel
Raven steps into the kitchen wearing one of my T-shirts, the oversized fabric swallowing her tiny frame. The coffee machine purrs to life, and the plates from lunch sit in the sink. While she waits, she props a hip against the counter.
I’m halfway through a sip when she says, “Why are we waiting?”
I lower my mug, buying myself a second. “Waiting for what?”
She studies me for a moment, her expression quiet and contemplative. As though she's been turning the words over in her head, waiting for the right moment to say them.
“To get married,” she finally says.
I stare at her for a beat, my brain scrambling to catch up. “Raven,” I say carefully, “I’m not saying I don’t want that.” I meet her eyes. “I just don’t want to take anything away from you.”
Her brow furrows slightly. “Take what away?”
“A wedding,” I say. “The whole thing. A dress. Rings. All of it. You deserve to have it all. I don’t want you looking back and thinking we rushed this.”
She sets her now full mug on the table and steps close enough that my objections start losing their footing.
“I don’t want a big production,” she says quietly. “I don’t want to plan something for months just so it looks right to other people.” She reaches for my hand, threading her fingers through mine. “I want to be married to you.”
I swallow. “We don’t even have rings.”
She smiles small and sure. “Then we’ll get them later. Or we won’t. That isn’t the point.”
I search her face for doubt. For hesitation. For any sign of second thoughts that would tell me to slow this down.
“Are you sure?” I ask quietly. “Not about me. About doing it this way.”
“Yes.” She doesn’t hesitate. “I don’t want to wait. I want to be your wife, now.”
I think about probation. About Ridgeback, and Knox, and the fact that I’ve already crossed every line that mattered. And about how I want this woman more than life itself.
“Okay,” I say. “Let’s do it.”
Her smile widens. “Today?”
I nod once. “Today.”
She looks down at what she’s wearing.
“Do you mind bringing me back to my house first?” she asks. “I have the perfect dress.”
I hesitate. I haven't talked to anyone since I left her house last night. No calls. No texts. I have no idea what we're about to walk into. The only thing I know for certain is what I saw with my own eyes.
They were after her.
“We could stop somewhere else,” I say. “Grab you something new.”
She watches me closely. “You’re worried.”
I don’t answer.
“Is this about last night?” she asks.
Still nothing.
She exhales slowly. “Are you going to tell me?”
“No,” I say quietly.
Not because I don’t trust her. Because if something’s coming, I want it to hit me first.
Her voice stays steady when she speaks again. “I want to go home,” she says. “I’ll feel better if I have that dress.”
I hold her gaze, measuring, recalibrating, hating that I have to do either.
“All right,” I say. “We’ll go.”
She nods once, satisfied, then glances toward the bedroom. “I’m going to take a quick shower. Do you want to join me?”
“If I do, it won’t be quick,” I say with a faint smile.
Her mouth curves, eyes warming as she steps closer and presses a kiss to my jaw. “Good to know.”
I watch her turn toward the hallway, then smile. “I'll show you after you're my wife.”
She looks back over her shoulder, her smile softening. “I can live with that.”
I wait until I hear the shower start before heading to my bedroom.
Maybe they're still there.
I never opened the box after I packed it. I couldn't. Everything inside belonged to a life I'd already lost, and looking through it felt too much like saying goodbye all over again. But I remember putting the rings in there. I remember telling myself I'd know what to do with them someday.
Someday is now.
The box sits at the back of my closet, the cardboard worn thin at the corners.
My name is written across the side in thick black marker.
I don't know who wrote it. Whoever packed my parents' lives into this box couldn't have known they were handing me the last pieces of the people who taught me what forever looked like.
I carry it to the bed and carefully lift the lid.
The photographs are right on top. Dad's watch rests beside them, along with the letter Mom wrote that I never could bring myself to finish. I set each item aside with more care than necessary, my pulse quickening as I dig deeper.
The rings should be here.
Dad slipped Mom's engagement ring onto her finger when they were barely older than Raven and me.
They wore those bands through every ordinary day and every impossible one, never taking them off unless they absolutely had to.
When I buried them, I couldn't bear the thought of letting those rings disappear with them.
I told myself I'd keep them safe until I knew why I'd been the one left to carry them.
I search the box once, then again, slower this time, lifting every folded paper and every keepsake tucked into the corners. My fingers brush something cold beneath a stack of old photographs.
My breath catches.
I ease them free, my parents' wedding bands nestled together with my mother's engagement ring, just like I remembered.
The gold has dulled over the years, but the moment I close my hand around them, I can almost see my parents wearing these every day of my childhood.
My dad reaching for my mom's hand. The quiet kiss he'd steal before leaving for work.
The way they never seemed to question that forever meant forever.
I swallow around the lump in my throat.
"I hope these fit," I whisper to the empty room.
Because I can't imagine giving her anything that means more than this.
The water shuts off down the hall, pulling me back to the present. I slip everything else back into the box, careful to leave it exactly as I found it. Once it's tucked away in the back of the closet, I pull on my dress shirt and jacket before reaching for the rings again.
For a moment, I simply hold them. Then I slip them into the inside pocket of my jacket, close enough to feel their weight against my chest.
The tie is another story. I frown down at the knot. "I hate these things."
"You know I can hear you, right?"
I look up to find Raven leaning against the bedroom doorway. Her hair is still damp from her shower, and she's smiling like she already knows exactly what's wrong.
"I've been fighting with this thing for five minutes."
"I can tell."
She crosses the room, her fingers brushing mine aside before taking over. "Honestly, Samuel."
"I've been doing it longer than you've been alive."
"And yet," She gives the knot one quick tug, then smooths my collar. "Here we are."
“You’re very smug for someone who’s supposed to be helping,” I say, pulling her against me.
"I am helping," she murmurs, her fingers never leaving the knot, even as I brush my mouth against her jaw.
"This feels like judging."
"There." She smooths the front of my shirt as a laugh escapes her. Then she steps back to admire her work. "Much better."
"Ready?"
I slip my hand into my jacket pocket, my fingertips brushing the rings hidden inside.
"Yeah," I say, smiling back at her. "I am."
I reach for my keys, already thinking about the drive to the courthouse.
"I want to take the bike."
“You’ll be in a dress,” I say.
She smiles, easy and certain. “I know.”
I hesitate, then look at her properly, the way she isn’t asking permission so much as saying what feels right.
“The bike is part of you,” she says. “Part of us. I don’t want to start our forever any other way.”
Something in my chest shifts at that. I glance down at my hand, then set the truck keys back on the counter.
“Okay,” I say.
Her smile widens.
When she climbs on behind me a few minutes later, her arms settle around my waist, exactly where they belong. I kick the engine to life, the vibration steady beneath us.
The rings rest inside my jacket, over my heart.
In a few minutes, one of them will belong to her.
Her house is quiet when we pull in. There are no cars in the driveway. No lights on inside. I kill the engine and listen anyway. After last night, I don't trust silence anymore.
Nothing.
Raven slips off the bike first. I follow her inside, closing the door behind us, my eyes tracking corners out of habit.
“Looks like they’re out,” she says.
“Good,” I reply and mean it.
Once inside, Raven doesn't head upstairs.
Instead, she walks into the kitchen, pulls a scrap of paper from the drawer, and sits at the table.
She writes without hesitation, the pen gliding steadily across the page as though she's known exactly what she wanted to say all along.
When she's finished, she folds the note in half and leaves it where no one could possibly miss it.
“It’s for my dad,” she says, answering the question I didn’t ask. “I’ll call him after.”
I give her a small smile. “I figured.”
She takes a breath that almost sounds like a laugh. "Don't go anywhere."
Then she heads upstairs.
I stay where I am, my hands braced on the back of a chair, listening as the house settles around me. A drawer opens. A closet door slides. Soft footsteps cross the floor, then stop.
The first glimpse of her steals my next breath. She’s the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.
Raven's wearing a long white sundress, the fabric brushing softly against her legs as she walks toward me. It's simple enough that most people wouldn't call it a wedding dress.
They're wrong.
She's never looked more beautiful. All I can think is this woman is about to become my wife.
She pauses on the last step, searching my face like she's trying to read my reaction.
"Is this one okay?" she asks, suddenly sounding far less certain than she did a few minutes ago.
A laugh catches in my throat, equal parts disbelief and awe.
I cross the room before I even realize I'm moving. Taking her hands in mine, I shake my head.
"Raven..." My voice comes out rough. "You could've walked down those stairs wearing a paper bag, and I'd still think you were the most beautiful woman in the world."
Her eyes glisten.