1. One Month
One Month
I always thought women who accepted marriage proposals after thirty-two days were completely out of their minds. Apparently, I was one of them.
The diamond sparkled beneath the candlelight as Mark knelt in front of me in the middle of an upscale Italian restaurant. Conversations had stopped. Forks hovered halfway to mouths. Every eye in the room was on me.
No pressure.
"Jennifer," Mark said, his voice warm and steady. "I know this is fast."
A nervous laugh escaped me.
Fast was buying a car after one test drive.
Fast was changing careers on a whim.
Fast was agreeing to spend the rest of your life with another human after one month.
Yet there he was. Still kneeling, smiling, holding a ring that cost more than my first car.
At forty-three, proposals came with a checklist.
Did he have debt?
Did he snore?
Did he secretly hate pets?
The terrifying thing was that I couldn't think of a single reason to say no.
Mark remembered everything: my favorite coffee order, my birthday, and that I preferred paperbacks to hardcovers when I read in bed. The bird feeder in my backyard that had hung crooked for months? He'd fixed it without being asked.
Do you know how attractive competence becomes after forty?
Very.
My ex-husband once ignored a beeping smoke detector for three weeks because he didn't want to buy a battery.
Mark looked at me like I was the most fascinating woman he'd ever met. I honestly wasn't sure why. I was a librarian. I spent Friday nights reading murder mysteries in fuzzy socks. But somehow, he looked at me like I hung the moon.
"Jennifer."
The room waited.
The waiter waited.
The elderly couple by the window waited.
I glanced at the ring.
Then at Mark.
Then back again.
You barely know him, a tiny voice whispered.
Unfortunately, another voice answered.
Maybe that's because nobody ever stays long enough for you to know them.
That one hurt.
After my divorce ten years ago, dating had become an endless parade of disappointment. Too old. Too independent. Too much. There was always a reason people left.
Mark never gave me one.
He simply wanted me.
The realization squeezed something deep inside my chest.
At forty-three, being chosen felt different than it had at twenty-three. It wasn't about butterflies. It wasn't about obsession. It was about someone seeing every scar, insecurity, and piece of baggage, and staying anyway.
Before I could talk myself out of it, the word escaped. "Yes."
The restaurant erupted in applause. Mark slipped the ring onto my finger and stood, then he kissed me sweetly. The kind of kiss that should have made me feel like the luckiest woman in the world.
So why did I suddenly feel like I was standing at the edge of a cliff?
My sister's reaction was considerably less romantic. "You're out of your damn mind."
I stared across my kitchen table. "Hello to you too."
Claire looked from me to the ring and back again. "Tell me this is a joke."
"It's not."
"A prank?"
"No."
She rubbed both hands over her face. "Oh, my God."
"That's a little dramatic."
"Jennifer." The way she said my name told me she was about to become very annoying. "How long have you been dating him?"
I already knew where this was going. "Thirty-two days."
Claire closed her eyes. When she opened them again, she pointed at me. "Thirty-two days."
"Yes."
"One month."
"Technically a little more."
Her jaw dropped. "Do you hear yourself?"
I crossed my arms. "People get engaged quickly all the time."
"People also join cults all the time."
"There it is."
"What?"
"The cult comparison."
Claire pointed at my ring.
"You accepted a proposal from a man you've known for a month."
I looked down at the diamond. A small part of me was freaking out too.
I just wasn't admitting it. Not to her. Not to Mark. Definitely not to myself.
"He's a good man," I said quietly.
Claire's expression softened. "I know he is."
"Then what's the problem?"
"The problem is you don't know if he's a good husband."
I hated when she made valid points. It was incredibly inconvenient.
I carried my coffee mug to the sink and stared out the window.
The bird feeder Mark had fixed last weekend swayed gently from the oak tree. Before him, it had hung crooked for six months. He'd noticed it immediately. Ten minutes later, it was repaired.
No complaints.
No excuses.
Just fixed.
"You've got that look."
I glanced over my shoulder. "What look?"
"The one where you're trying to convince yourself."
"I'm not convincing myself of anything."
Claire snorted. "I'm worried."
The honesty caught me off guard. I leaned against the counter. "I'm forty-three."
"So?"
"So maybe I'm tired." The words slipped out before I could stop them. "I'm tired of dating. Tired of first dates. Tired of wondering if someone's going to text back. Tired of wasting months getting to know someone only to find out we're completely wrong for each other."
Claire stayed quiet; that meant she was actually listening.
"I'm tired of sleeping alone in a house that's too quiet."
There, I'd said it, the ugly truth. Loneliness.
Claire crossed the room and hugged me. "You should've told me."
"And said what? Hey, Claire, remember how independent I pretend to be? Turns out I'd like someone to watch terrible television with."
She laughed softly. "That sounds perfectly reasonable."
"It sounds pathetic."
"It sounds human."
I swallowed hard.
Claire squeezed my shoulder. "There's nothing wrong with wanting someone."
I looked down at the ring. "Mark wants me." The words came out quieter than I intended.
Claire noticed immediately. "Do you love him?"
The question landed like a stone. I opened my mouth, then closed it. Because the answer wasn't simple.
I cared about him.
Trusted him.
Respected him.
Could see a future with him.
But love?
The kind people wrote songs about? I wasn't sure.
"I don't know."
The truth hung between us.
Uncomfortable and real.
Claire didn't look surprised.
"I think I could love him."
She tilted her head. "Could?"
"What's wrong with could?"
"It sounds like you're applying for a mortgage."
Despite myself, I laughed.
Then my phone buzzed.
MARK
I opened the message.
Can't stop smiling. Looking at venues this afternoon. Love you.
My stomach flipped.
Someone was thinking about me. Planning a future with me. The idea still felt strange.
Claire peered over my shoulder. "He said he loves you."
"Yes."
"You've known him a month."
I pointed toward the door. "You can leave now."
She laughed, then suddenly her eyes lit up.
"What?"
"I have an idea."
"No."
"You don't even know what it is."
"I know your face."
Her grin widened.
"We're taking a trip."
I blinked. "What?"
"A girls' trip."
"Absolutely not."
"Why?"
"I'm engaged."
"Exactly."
"I have wedding planning."
"You have anxiety."
I narrowed my eyes. She wasn't wrong.
"One long weekend," she said.
"No."
"Beach."
"No."
"Wine."
I hesitated.
Claire gasped dramatically. "I saw that."
"You saw nothing."
"I saw weakness."
I groaned.
"One weekend," she repeated.
I stared at her, then sighed.
Her grin became victorious. Damn it.
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"Where would we even go?"
Claire squealed loud enough to scare the cat from the room.
And just like that, the trip that would change everything began.