Chapter 34 Nate
Nate
Three months later
The stars came out early, soft and steady over Honeybrook Hollow like they were waiting for us.
I parked the truck on the hilltop that overlooked the town, a place Tilly called the “twinkle spot” when she came with me once to watch the fireworks in July. Eliza had never seen it. It felt right to do this here—something just for us.
The bed of the truck was packed with every blanket I owned, a mess of quilts and pillows that probably looked like a fort or a sleepover gone rogue.
Tilly and Lois were headed to the Honeybrook Inn for a giant sleepover with Eliza’s sisters, Paige’s daughters, my grandmother, and theirs. Mabel was calling it a welcome-to-the-family party. We were also invited to the next weenie roast, and I couldn’t wait to see what that was all about.
Graham’s restaurant was still hanging on, though it was not the smashing success he’d been expecting. From what I heard, he’d lowered his prices, increased his serving sizes, and dialed down his pretentious bull crap in an attempt to fit back into town. The jury was still out on how long he’d last.
The Pennywhistle, on the other hand, was thriving.
Friday nights had become something of an event, thanks to a rotating series of specials Eliza planned and cooked herself—comfort-forward, thoughtful dishes that felt like they belonged to this town.
People came in asking for her food by name, lingering longer, laughing louder, treating the place like exactly what it was meant to be.
The Coffee Cabin was flourishing too. Eliza had expanded the space and added a real kitchen, turning it into more than just a stop for coffee.
Her breakfast menu had Honeybrook Hollow lining up early, eager for whatever she was creating that day.
Watching her step fully into that role—confident, capable, joyful—felt like witnessing something bloom right in front of all of us.
Back to the moment at hand…
The town sparkled from the stars above and the town below—string lights at The Honeybrook Inn, the soft glow from the Coffee Cabin, the quiet flicker of porches and streetlamps.
She turned to me as we lay back on the pile of blankets, her head on my chest, our fingers tangled between us. “This is amazing,” she whispered.
I kissed the top of her head. “Thought it was time you saw where I go when I need to breathe.”
“I love it here,” she said quietly. “I love you.”
God, I would never get used to the way those words landed in my chest.
“I love you too.” I sat up a little, shifted to reach behind me, my heart thudding. I’d carried the ring in my coat pocket for weeks, waiting for the right night, the right breath, the right stars. “Eliza.”
She sat up too, her dark eyes blinking, her hair a little wild from the wind.
“I built a life here hoping I’d find someone who felt like home.” My voice shook, but I didn’t care. “Then I met you and realized I didn’t have to keep looking.”
She stared at me, already teary. “Nate…”
I pulled out the ring box and flipped it open. The band was simple and elegant—rose gold with a bezel-set diamond and "Meant for you" engraved inside.
“Yes,” she whispered as she read the words on the band. The sound breaking me wide open.
“I want forever,” I said. “I want all your moods and your mornings and your coffee and your fire. I want you with Tilly and Lois, your cats, spaghetti, late nights, and everything in between. I don’t care about anything else. Just you.”
She was crying, laughing and crying.
I cupped her cheek, my thumb sweeping under her eye. “Will you marry me, Eliza? No more waiting. No more almost. I want forever with you.”
Her breath hitched. Tears spilled, bright and beautiful. “Yes,” she whispered, like she was afraid the word might break if she said it too loud. Then she smiled, radiant and sure. “Yes. God, yes.”
I pulled the ring from the box with shaking fingers and slid it onto her finger. It fit like it had been waiting for her all along.
She stared at it, then at me, and made this soft, broken sound that wrecked me.
I kissed her then—slow at first, like I was savoring the truth of it, the taste of her, the feel of her hands fisting in my jacket.
Then deeper, harder, like every second we’d held back was finally catching up with us.
She climbed into my lap, curling against me, and I held her there like I might never let go.
We laughed breathlessly between kisses, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing, the cold night forgotten as warmth built between us. Blankets shifted, the truck bed creaked softly, and the world narrowed to the two of us and the stars burning bright overhead.
And there, wrapped in blankets and moonlight and the steady beat of each other’s hearts, we loved each other—slow, reverent, aching with all the feeling we’d been carrying. The kind of love that isn’t just heat, but home. The kind that says stay.
When we finally lay tangled together, breath evening out, she rested her hand—ring gleaming—over my heart.
“You’re my home,” she whispered.
I kissed her hair, her temple, her mouth, over and over, like I couldn’t get enough. “And you’re mine. Always.”
Above us, the stars kept watch. Around us, the night held still.
And I knew, without a doubt, I’d never stop loving her. Love doesn’t always come easy. But when it’s meant for you, it finds you. And it never lets go.