Declan
The late afternoon sun slants through the bookstore windows, turning dust motes into gold.
I push through the front door and spot Zola behind the counter, braids swept up in a messy knot, pen stuck behind her ear while she tallies something in the ledger.
She looks up at the sound of the bell and smiles—that real smile I thought I'd never see again, the one that makes her whole face light up.
"Dada!" The shriek comes from somewhere near the children's section, followed by the rapid thump-thump-thump of unsteady feet.
Maeve rounds the corner at full speed, arms outstretched, dark curls bouncing with each wobbling step. She's gotten steadier over the past few weeks since she started walking, but she still moves like she's perpetually drunk—all momentum and optimism with very little balance.
I drop into a crouch just as she reaches me, catching her against my chest. She smells like baby shampoo and the strawberries Zola probably let her have as a snack.
Her sticky hands immediately grab my face, patting my cheeks with the kind of enthusiasm that suggests she hasn't seen me in days instead of this morning.
"There's my girl." I press a kiss to her forehead, standing up with her on my hip. "You been good for your mama?"
"Mama!" Maeve points at Zola for emphasis, like I might have forgotten who that is.
"I see her." I walk over to the counter, Maeve still in my arms. "She causing trouble?"
"Only a little." Zola's watching us with that soft expression she gets sometimes, the one that makes my chest feel too tight. "Knocked over a display of board books earlier. Very proud of herself."
"That's my girl." I bounce Maeve gently. "Taking after her Uncle Stellan already."
Zola snorts. "God help us all if that's true."
Maeve babbles something that might be words or might just be enthusiastic sounds, grabbing at my collar.
I let her, adjusting my grip to keep her secure.
She's gotten heavier these past few months—more solid, more real, more like an actual person instead of the tiny fragile thing I was terrified to hold wrong.
I watch her try to chew on my shirt collar and something warm expands in my chest. This kid isn't mine by blood, but she's mine in every way that matters. Has been since the moment Zola let me back into her life and I realized what I'd been missing.
"I want to take you somewhere." I look at Zola over Maeve's head. "Both of you. Right now."
She glances at the clock. "I was just about to close up anyway. Where are we going?"
"It's a surprise." I shift Maeve to my other hip. "Trust me?"
Her expression softens. "Yeah. I trust you."
Those three words hit me harder than they should. Trust hasn't been easy for either of us—not after everything we've been through, all the ways we've hurt each other. But she's trying. We both are. And slowly, carefully, we're building something that might actually last.
"Give me five minutes to close out the register." Zola's already moving, her hands efficient as she handles the cash drawer. "Can you get Maeve's bag from the back?"
"On it."
I carry Maeve through the small hallway behind the desk, finding her diaper bag exactly where Zola always leaves it—hanging on a hook beside the storage room door. I grab it one-handed, Maeve still clutched against my chest, and she makes a happy sound that might be "dada."
My chest tightens hearing it.
By the time we get back to the front, Zola's locking the register and flipping off lights. She grabs her jacket from behind the counter, shrugs it on, and looks at me with raised eyebrows.
"Ready when you are."
The park is still open when we arrive, the evening crowd sparse but present—joggers on the paths, a few families with young kids making the most of the remaining daylight. The park where I brought Zola for our date weeks ago and Zola glances at me with recognition.
"This is where we came before."
"Yeah." I cut the engine, looking at her across the console. "That okay?"
"More than okay." She's smiling that soft smile again. "This is... nice."
I grab the basket from the trunk—because I've already planned all of this out perfectly. Maeve immediately reaches for it, making grabby hands, and I shift it away from her curious fingers.
"Not yet, baby. Soon."
Zola takes Maeve from me so I can manage the basket and blanket, and we walk into the park together. The familiar paths wind through manicured lawns and flower beds, past the playground where kids shriek with laughter, toward the more secluded areas by the water.
I know exactly where I'm going. The small clearing near the lake, mostly hidden by trees, quiet enough for privacy.
The place that I came to try and find a bit of peace and calm when I was missing her.
The grass is soft here, dotted with wildflowers, and the water laps gently at the shore maybe twenty feet away.
Perfect.
I spread the blanket out and Zola sets Maeve down immediately. The kid takes off at her drunken toddler pace, heading straight for the water's edge with zero sense of self-preservation.
"Oh no you don't." I scoop her up before she can reach the lake, redirecting her back to the blanket. "Stay where I can see you, troublemaker."
Maeve protests with an indignant squawk but gets distracted when I pull out the containers of food. Her eyes go wide at the sight of strawberries and she makes that demanding sound that means gimme.
"Say please." Zola settles beside her, already reaching for the container.
"Pease!" Maeve bounces on her butt. "Pease pease!"
"Good girl." Zola hands her a strawberry and Maeve shoves the entire thing in her mouth, juice running down her chin.
I pull out the rest of it—sandwiches from that deli Zola loves, pasta salad, fruit, sparkling water because she mentioned last week that she missed having fancy drinks. Everything carefully chosen because I know what she likes, what makes her happy.
She notices. Of course she does. Her eyes go soft as she takes it all in.
"You planned this."
"Yeah." I hand her a plate. "Wanted to do something nice."
We eat while Maeve alternates between demanding more strawberries and trying to escape toward the water. Zola looks more relaxed than I've seen her in weeks—shoulders loose, that tension she always carries eased away by the evening air and the quiet.
This is what I've been waiting for. This moment where she's soft and open and maybe ready to hear what I've been trying to say for months.
I watch her laugh at something Maeve does—the kid's trying to share her strawberry with a bee that's landed nearby—and my chest aches with how much I love them both. How much I want this to be permanent. Real. Forever.
Not just stolen evenings and borrowed time, but an actual life together.
The ring's been burning a hole in my pocket for nine years.
I had it that day—the day everything fell apart.
Had it in my jacket when I got the call about Zola's accident, carried it through every terrible moment after, kept it when she left because some part of me refused to believe it was really over.
Stellan found it a few months ago when we were moving my stuff back to the original house. Held it up with raised eyebrows and asked if I was ever going to actually use the damn thing or if it was just going to sit in a box collecting dust.
I'd taken it from him, turned it over in my palm, and realized I was done waiting. Done letting fear or timing or circumstance dictate when I got to have what I wanted.
I want her. I want Maeve. I want the family we've been building in the spaces between fear and hope.
I want forever.
Maeve finally wears herself out chasing after a butterfly, collapsing against Zola's side with a dramatic sigh. Zola strokes her curls absently, watching the water, and I shift closer.
"I need to tell you something." My voice comes out rougher than intended.
She looks at me, those amber eyes catching the fading sunlight. "Okay."
"I've wanted forever with you for a long time.
" The words feel monumental, reshaping everything around them.
"Since before the accident. Since before everything went wrong.
I've known for nine years—maybe even longer, maybe since I saw you and couldn't walk away—that you're it for me.
That there's never going to be anyone else. "
Her breath catches but she doesn't interrupt, just watches me with an intensity that makes my pulse kick up.
I reach into my pocket, fingers closing around the small velvet box. Pull it out slowly and watch her eyes go wide with recognition—she knows what this is, what it means.
"I bought this ring nine years ago." I flip the box open and her hand flies to her mouth. "It was actually the day you got hit. I was planning to propose. Take you somewhere nice, get down on one knee, do it properly."
The alexandrite catches the light, shifting from deep green to purple-red, exactly like I remembered. Exactly like her—changeable, striking, impossible to look away from.
"Then everything fell apart." My throat's tight but I push through. "And you left. And I kept it anyway because some part of me refused to believe I'd lost you for good. Kept hoping maybe someday you'd come back. That I'd get another chance."
"Declan—" Her voice breaks on my name.
"You did come back." I slide off the blanket, dropping to one knee on the grass beside it.
"And I'm not wasting another second. I love you.
I love Maeve. I want to marry you and build a life together and give that kid more siblings if you want them or just spoil her rotten if you don't. I want everything, Zola. With you. Forever."
I hold the ring up between us, heart hammering against my ribs.
"Will you marry me?"
For a second she just stares, tears streaming down her face, and my chest constricts with fear that maybe I've pushed too fast, asked for too much—
Then she launches herself at me with a shriek that startles Maeve into wide-eyed silence.
"Yes!" She's sobbing and laughing at the same time, arms around my neck, nearly knocking me over. "Yes, yes, of course yes!"
I catch her against me, relief flooding through my veins like adrenaline. She pulls back enough to look at me and I slide the ring onto her finger with shaking hands. It fits perfectly—it always did, I made sure of that nine years ago.
She holds her hand up, watching the stone change colors in the dying light, and makes a sound that's half laugh, half sob.
"You kept it all this time."
"I'd have kept it forever." I cup her face, wiping away tears with my thumbs. "Because you're forever. You've always been forever."
She kisses me then, fierce and desperate and full of promise, and I taste salt from her tears and sweetness from the strawberries and everything I've been wanting for nine years.
Maeve makes an indignant sound—probably feeling left out—and we break apart laughing. Zola scoops her up and Maeve immediately grabs at the ring on her finger, trying to put it in her mouth.
"No, baby, that's mama's." Zola redirects her hand. "That stays on mama's finger."
"Mama!" Maeve agrees enthusiastically, bouncing in Zola's arms.
I watch them together and something slots into place in my chest—this is what I've been fighting for, what I've been waiting for. This exact moment where the three of us are together and happy and building something real.
"I've also been thinking." I run my hand through my hair, suddenly nervous again. "About the house."
Zola looks at me, Maeve still squirming in her arms. "What about it?"
"I think we should move back in. All three of us." I gesture vaguely toward where I know the house sits, a few miles from here. "The apartment above the bookstore is fine for now but Maeve's getting bigger. She needs more space. A yard to play in. Her own room."
"A real home." Zola's voice is soft.
"Yeah." I reach out to stroke Maeve's cheek. "You know there's plenty of space. She could have a playroom. We could build that garden you always wanted. The library we can actually fill with books from the store."
"The kitchen where you can cook elaborate meals and I can pretend I'm helping." She's smiling through her tears.
"Exactly." I pull them both closer. "I want us there. Want to fill that house with actual life instead of ghosts. Make it ours."
"Ours." She tests the word, rolling it around on her tongue. "That sounds... good. Really good."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah." She kisses me again, softer this time. "Let's do it. Let's go home."
Maeve shrieks—probably just excited by the energy in the air—and reaches for me. I take her automatically and she pats my face with sticky hands, babbling something that sounds almost like words.
"You hear that, baby?" I bounce her gently. "We're going home. All three of us."
She babbles in excitement.
I look at Zola—my fiancée, fuck, that's going to take some getting used to—and see my entire future written in her expression. The fear's still there, probably always will be, but it's tempered now by something stronger.
Hope. Trust. Love.
The three of us sit on the blanket as the sun sinks lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. Maeve's between us, playing with Zola's ring, completely oblivious to the magnitude of this moment.
But I'm not oblivious. I feel every second of it, let it sink into my bones—this moment where I finally have everything I've ever wanted.
My girls. My family. My future.
Nine years I've been waiting for this. Nine years of mistakes and heartbreak and slowly finding my way back to what matters.
Worth every second.