18. Mike
Chapter eighteen
Mike
T he world is silent.
I’m still on one knee, the ring glinting in the golden light of the town square. The crowd is waiting, holding their breath, the hush stretching long and thin between Becky and me.
She hasn’t answered.
My heart pounds, the weight of everything settling deep in my chest. I meant every word I said. I would give her my whole world, this town, a lifetime of safety and love. But I can see the whirlwind of emotions in her eyes—love, fear, disbelief.
She’s afraid.
I tighten my grip on the small velvet box, willing myself to be patient, to let her come to me in her own time.
The town square feels frozen in time, lit by twinkling lights and the glow of the setting sun. Flower beds overflowing with roses, tulips, and marigolds add bright bursts of color against the quaint storefronts that line the square, each shop painted in warm, inviting tones with hanging flower baskets by their doors. Everything is quiet, waiting in anticipation.
My sister, Lulu, is in the front row of the crowd, clutching Maggie Ann’s hand, her eyes wide with excitement. Ellie is next to them, nodding like she knew this was coming all along.
I see it, the quiet support, the unspoken encouragement from the people Becky loves.
I don’t care that everyone is watching. All that matters is her. Actually, I want to profess my love for her from the mountaintop.
Finally, she takes a deep breath.
And everything changes.
Tears spill down her cheeks, and for a second, I think my heart might shatter right here in this gazebo. But then, she nods—just barely—before whispering the word that turns my whole world inside out.
“Yes.”
The single word that Becky answers rings in my ears, reverberating in my soul.
Then she laughs—a breathless, almost disbelieving sound, as if the decision just knocked the wind out of her. “Yes, Mike. I’ll marry you.”
The crowd erupts into cheers, claps, and whistles, the entire town coming alive around us.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, standing and slipping the ring onto her finger, watching as it catches the glow of the lanterns overhead.
She looks down at it, swiping at her tears with the back of her hand, her face lighting up in a way that sears itself into my memory.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” she murmurs, almost to herself.
I cup her cheek, forcing her to look at me, to really see me. “Believe it,” I say, my voice gravelly with emotion. “Because I’m never letting you go.”
She lets out a shaky laugh before throwing her arms around my neck, burying her face in my shoulder.
And then I exhale, knowing she’s mine.
The moment I pull away, Becky is immediately surrounded. Lulu practically tackles her in a hug, Maggie Ann wipes her own tears away before pulling her in, and Ellie beams like she’s already planning the wedding. The town loves her.
Even the mayor claps me on the shoulder with a booming, “You did good, son.” I glance around, taking it all in.
This town—my town—has become ours, too.
And that? That’s something I didn’t even know I wanted until now.
She belongs here.
With me.
With us.
When the celebration dies down and the crowd disperses, I take Becky’s hand and lead her toward the flower shop, our steps slow and easy.
She’s been hugged within an inch of her life by nearly everyone in town. I gently tug her toward me.
“You wanna get out of here for a bit?” I murmur.
She nods with a sense of relief. We need some quiet and some time to let this moment sink in before the reality of wedding planning and congratulations fully sets in.
We weave through the town square, hand in hand, the fairy lights strung above casting everything in a golden glow. Couples chat near the gazebo, families laugh near the fountain, and kids chase each other.
Junction Falls has always felt magical at night, but tonight? It feels like a dream.
Halfway down the street, we pass by Giovanni’s Gelato Cart, the small vendor stand run by old Mr. Giovanni, who moved here from Italy years ago and never left. His hand-painted wooden cart, parked at its usual spot near the café, is stacked with rows of colorful gelato tubs, the scent of fresh waffle cones drifting into the air.
I stop in my tracks. “I think this calls for a celebration.”
She laughs. “We just had a whole town square cheering for us, and you think gelato is the real celebration?”
“Sweetheart,” I grin, “every big moment in life should involve dessert.”
Rolling her big eyes, she lets me pull her toward the cart, where Mr. Giovanni greets us with a wide, knowing smile.
“Ahh, amore,” he says in his thick accent, clapping his hands together. “I heard the news! Magnifico!”
She flushes as I laugh. “Guess word travels fast.”
“In a town like this? Of course.” Mr. Giovanni winks, then gestures toward the array of flavors. “Tonight, for the happy couple, my treat.”
Letting her choose first, I watch as she scans the tubs—lavender honey, dark chocolate, fresh peach, salted caramel. They all look incredible. Her gaze lands on one in particular.
“I’ll have the strawberry basil,” Becky says excitedly. “I remember how my grandmother used to make strawberry jam with fresh basil in the summer.”
Raising an eyebrow, I don’t comment. Instead, I turn to Mr. Giovanni. “I’ll take two scoops of the espresso.”
We take our cones and continue our walk down the quiet streets, the familiar warmth of Junction Falls wrapping around us. Shops have dimmed their lights for the night, but the window displays still glow softly.
“Are you happy?” I ask.
Her expression softens, her eyes searching mine, and then she exhales slowly, her lips curling into a smile that feels like home.
“I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy,” she whispers.
I wrap my arms around her, holding her against me, letting the night settle around us like a promise.
Because I know now, without a doubt—we were always meant to end up here.