Chapter 15 #2
She flips to a page showing a much younger version of us, with gap-toothed grins and matching braids, our arms thrown around each other's shoulders at what looks like the Founder's Day Festival circa 2000.
“Oh, my goodness,” I laugh, taking the album from her. “Look at us. Those overalls were a choice.”
“Hey, we were fashion icons,” she protests, giggling. “Keep going. There's more.”
I turn the page, and my breath is sucked out of me.
There's Luke, maybe nineteen or twenty, leaning against a tree at the park.
His hair is longer, falling into his eyes, and he's got that cocky half-grin that used to thrill me as a teenager.
But what stops me is how he's looking at something, or someone, off camera.
There's a softness in his expression that contrasts sharply with his tough guy pose.
“I took that,” Harper says quietly. “He was watching you. You were helping set up the archery contest with our dad, and Luke couldn't take his eyes off you.”
I stare at the photo, feeling a lump form in my throat. “I had no idea.”
“He was always watching you,” she says without a hint of animosity. “At first, it was nothing, his baby sister’s little friend, we were pests, and he was being protective. But later, when we were older, it changed.”
I glance up at her, surprised by her candidness.
“I'm sorry I made you choose,” she continues. “I was young and selfish and scared of losing my best friend to my brother.”
“Harper—”
“No, let me finish,” she insists. “I see the way he looks at you now. It's the same way he looked at you then, only... more. Deeper. And I want you to know that I'm happy for you both.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes. “Thank you, that means everything to me.”
She pulls me in for an emotional hug, and for a moment, I'm transported back to all those sleepovers, all those secrets shared, all those years of friendship before everything got complicated.
“Now,” she says, stepping back and wiping discreetly at her eyes, “let's find more embarrassing photos of Luke to show everyone.”
We spend the next half hour flipping through old memories, laughing until our sides hurt. Ruby joins in with stories from when we were all kids running wild through the Bluebonnet Café, and Mrs. Caldwell adds her own recollections.
It's during one particularly hilarious story about Luke's brief and disastrous attempt at joining the high school choir that I feel his hand on my shoulder. There’s this odd mix of embarrassment and affection in his expression.
“I see my reputation is being thoroughly destroyed,” he says dryly.
“Only a little,” I tease, reaching up to cover his hand with mine.
He leans down, placing his lips next to my ear. “Can I steal you away for a bit? There's something I want to show you.”
Curiosity piqued, I excuse myself from the group and follow Luke through the crowded bakery.
He leads me to the back door, which opens onto a small garden area Anna has been cultivating.
The space is quiet, secluded from the bustling party inside, with white fairy lights strung through the branches of a large oak tree that must be at least a hundred years old.
In the distance, I can hear music and other people from town as they start filling Main Street, ready to celebrate a Texas small town holiday.
“This is beautiful,” I breathe, taking in the peaceful oasis. “I had no idea this was back here.”
“Anna showed it to me last week,” Luke says, guiding me to a small wrought-iron bench beneath the oak. “She's been working on it since she took over the bakery. Says it reminds her of the garden our grandmother had.”
We sit side by side, our thighs touching, looking up at the twinkling lights in the branches above. The evening air is warm but not uncomfortable, carrying the scent of jasmine and freshly baked bread.
“Are you enjoying the party?” he asks, his thumb tracing patterns on the back of my hand.
“I am. It feels good being here, with everyone.”
“With me?” There's a hint of vulnerability in his question that tugs at my heart.
I turn to face him, cupping his cheek in my palm.
“Especially with you.” I used to think that happily ever after was for storybooks.
For Anne Shirley or Elizabeth Bennet, not for me.
But sitting here beneath these lights, with Luke's hands warm around mine, I realize something I should’ve known all along: love isn't perfect.
It's not about getting it right the first time.
It's about finding your way back, finding each other even when the path has been anything but easy.
He turns his head to press a kiss to my palm, his eyes never leaving mine. There's a special intensity in his gaze tonight that makes my pulse race.
“When I came back to Texas,” he begins, “I wasn't sure I was making the right choice. I thought I was running away again. From Chicago. From what happened with Stu.”
I nod, giving him the space to continue, sensing that whatever he's trying to say is important.
“But then I saw you,” he continues, taking both my hands in his, “on my first day back in Cupid’s Creek, standing in that library doorway, looking at me like you couldn't believe I was real. And something clicked into place.”
I swallow past the ball of emotion caught in my throat as I watch him struggle to find the right words.
“I've been thinking a lot about destiny lately,” he says, brushing over my knuckles.
“About whether things happen for a reason, or if we make our own fate.
And I've decided it doesn't really matter. What matters is that we're here, now. That somehow, after fifteen years and all the mistakes and wrong turns, we found our way back to each other. We’ve been given a second chance.”
“Luke.” I want to say more, but I don’t trust my voice.
“I love you, Callie Cooper,” he says, his voice steady despite the vulnerability in his eyes. “I think I've loved you since the day I realized you weren’t just a pesky kid anymore.”
Did he overhear my conversation with Harper? Did he see the photo?
“I know we've only been back in each other's lives for a short time,” he continues. “And I know this might seem fast. But nothing about us has ever been conventional. We started with a fake relationship that became the most real thing in my life.”
He releases one of my hands to reach into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.
My heart hammers against my ribs as he opens it, revealing a delicate gold ring with a single teardrop diamond and two smaller round sapphires, one on each side.
“It was my grandmother's,” he explains, his quiet words filled with reverence. “The sapphires reminded me of your eyes.”
“It’s beautiful.” Tears gather in my eyes and my throat, and my heart feels like it’s going to burst.
“I don't want to waste another second pretending.” His eyes are filled with so much emotion, I can’t even describe it. “I don't want to waste another second without you. Callie Cooper, will you marry me?”
Tears spill down my cheeks as I stare at the ring, then at his face—so open, so hopeful, so full of love that it steals my breath. “Yes,” I whisper, then louder, “Yes.”
His smile is so radiant it rivals the stars overhead as he slides the ring onto my finger.
It fits perfectly, as if it were always meant to be there.
He waits long enough for me to recognize the significance of this moment, for the world around us to go quiet except for the drum of my heart.
Then his mouth is on mine, his kiss fierce and affectionate all at once, sealing our promise beneath the oak tree.
When we finally break apart, we’re both breathless. “I've been carrying that ring around for days, waiting for the right moment.”
“Tonight, right here, was perfect,” I assure him, glancing down at my hand where the ring catches the lights from above. “I guess we should go back inside and tell everyone?”
He stands and hauls me gently to my feet. “In a minute.” He wraps his arms around my waist. “I want one more moment with just us. Before Martha’s gossip train leaves the station.”
When we return to the party, hand in hand, my ring catches the light, and, of course, Martha spots it immediately. Her gasp alerts Gloria, and within seconds, the news ripples through the bakery like wildfire.
“I knew it!” Martha exclaims, hugging us fiercely, considering her age. “Didn't I tell you, Gloria? Didn't I say they were meant for each other?”
Harper and Nikki approach. Harper hugs me and then her brother, while Nikki embraces me tightly. “Mom and Dad would be so happy.”
As congratulations flow around us, Luke keeps me anchored at his side, his thumb brushing over my ring as if reassuring himself it's really there. I lean into him, thinking about motorcycle rides on beautiful Sunday afternoons and quiet evenings reading together.
“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” Luke murmurs against my hair as we accept another round of well-wishes.
“Our story,” I tell him, looking up into his eyes. “How it's just beginning. The real version this time.”
His smile is tender, private. “No more pretending.”
The festival begins in earnest outside with the sounds of music and laughter spilling down Main Street. It strikes me then that sometimes the best stories aren't found in books. Sometimes they're written in small towns with big hearts, and in second chances that were worth every minute of the wait.