Fallon
Chapter sixty-three
I’ll Take Forever
Two months later.
The sound of Billy and Liam’s laughter spill through Lani’s open windows like sunlight, bright and unstoppable.
Cyrus’s mother is inside with them, turning the living room into a blanket fort kingdom, their giggles mixing with the clink of blocks and her warm encouragement.
I stand on the porch, heart full, as Cyrus wheels his old red Schwinn out of the garage.
The bicycle looks exactly as it had the summer we were seventeen—faded paint, that familiar dent in the frame from his failed creek jump behind the mill.
Seeing it makes something tender and nostalgic bloom in my chest.
“You’re really making me do this?” I ask, smiling despite the flutter of nerves.
Cyrus looks up with that crooked grin that still makes my knees weak. “Come on, Fallon. For old times’ sake. The kids are terrorizing Mom. Let’s steal a few minutes, just us.”
I step down from the porch. He holds the bike steady as I climb onto the pegs behind him, my hands resting on his broad shoulders.
The worn flannel under my palms feeling familiar, a typical accessory of his.
My body presses lightly against his back, and I breathed in the clean scent of his soap mixed with the evening air.
“Ready?” he asks, voice low.
“Terrified, actually,” I admit, laughing softly. “Don’t drop me.”
“Have some faith, woman.”
He pushes off, and we roll forward down the quiet street. The wind lifting my hair as the old bike creaks beneath us in its familiar rhythm. I balance on the pegs, feeling weightless and young again. Jonah’s low whistle follows us from the porch, and I wave back over Cyrus’s shoulder.
Bluestone City unfolds around us in the soft glow of twilight.
We pass Mrs. Trotter first as she waters her sunflowers and watches us with a delighted smile.
“Well, look at you two! Just like old times!” she calls.
We wave enthusiastically, her laughter trailing behind us on the breeze.
It sure does feel like we’re seventeen again.
I tighten my grip on Cyrus’s shoulders and give him a quick, fleeting kiss on the cheek.
His answering smile is everything to me.
Further down the block, Mr. Hargrove sits on his porch swing with his evening paper.
He lowers it, giving us a nod, raising his hand in greeting.
“Evening, Chief! Evening, Fallon!” Cyrus lifts one hand from the handlebars in response while I waved with both arms, careful to keep my balance.
The simple joy of it—the way the whole town seems to root for us—warms me from the inside.
We turned onto Main Street, the bike picking up gentle speed on the slight downhill.
Streetlights flicker on one by one, casting warm pools of soft orange on the sidewalk.
People wave from their porches and front yards.
Old Mrs. Langley, sweeping her steps, pauses to clap her hands together.
“You two look perfect up there!” she shouts.
I laugh, the sound carrying on the wind.
As we approached the police department, my heart gives a little squeeze of pride.
The brick building sits proudly on the corner, an American flag waving gently out front.
A couple of officers, just finishing their shift, step outside as we ride by.
One of them—Deputy Reyes—grins wide and lets out a whistle.
“Looking good, Chief!” he calls. Cyrus slows the bike just enough for us to wave properly.
The other officer, a younger woman I recognized from community events, laughs and tosses us a thumbs-up.
“Don’t let him go too fast, Fallon! We need you both in one piece! ”
Cyrus chuckles, the sound rumbling through his back into me. “See? The whole town’s got eyes on us tonight.”
“And that’s different from any other day, how?” I tease.
“Touche, my love.”
We continue on, passing the Holy Rollers ice cream parlor where teenagers linger with cones dripping in the warm evening.
They crack up as we ride by, and I don’t mind the dinosaur jokes.
I’m too busy feeling ridiculously happy.
The air smells of fresh-cut grass, blooming honeysuckle from backyard fences, and distant charcoal from someone’s grill.
Every familiar landmark carries memories: the white church where we once traded notes during sermons, the wooden bridge behind the mill where my heart had pounded waiting for our first ‘I love you’.
The road begins to climb toward the overlook.
Cyrus’s pedaling grows steadier, more determined.
I shift my weight on the pegs, trusting him completely as the town melts away below us.
My legs tingle from the ride, but I don’t want it to end.
The houses grow smaller, porch lights twinkling like fireflies scattered across the valley.
The mountains rise, dark and majestic, against the deepening purple sky, their silhouettes steady and eternal.
When we reach the crest, Cyrus eases the bike to a stop beneath an ancient oak tree that has watched over Bluestone City for generations.
He helps me down from the pegs, my legs shaky.
We left the Schwinn leaning against the tree and walk to the wooden railing hand in hand.
The towns spread out beneath us like a living patchwork quilt—lights glowing warmly, the faint sound of laughter and radios drifting up on the breeze.
From this height, everything looks peaceful and full of promise.
I leaned into Cyrus’s side, my shoulder brushing his chest. “It’s beautiful. I never get tired of seeing our town from up here.”
He turns to face me, taking both my hands in his. His palms are warm, slightly calloused, and I feel the faint tremor in his fingers. The evening air cools my flushed skin as he looks at me with those eyes that have always seen straight through to my heart.
“Fallon,” he begins, voice low and thick with emotion. “I’ve loved you since we were kids sneaking cookies off Mom’s porch and riding this same bike through town, you leaning over the bars like you’re on the Titanic. Me choking on your hair.
I loved you when I left, and I loved you every day I was gone. These last few months, I’ve realized—it has shown me what I’ve known all along. I don’t want a half-life anymore.”
My throat tightens. A tear slipping down my cheek, he brushes it away with his thumb before lifting it to his lips, tasting the salt just like he had so many times before. The gesture undid me.
“I want to wake up every morning with you,” he continues. “I want our kids—Billy and Liam—running through the house. I want my boots by our door and your tea in our fridge. I want everyone in this town to know that you are mine.”
He drops to one knee on the leaf-strewn ground, pulling a small velvet box from his pocket. The ring catches the last light of sunset and the first emerging stars—a beautiful princess-cut onyx that shimmers with deep, unique fire. It’s bold and perfect, just like us.
“Fallon Monroe Lawson, will you marry me? Will you let me build a life under one roof and make every ordinary night feel like this?”
Time seems to pause. The wind whispering through the oak leaves overhead. Fireflies began dancing in the meadow below, tiny sparks of gold against the coming night. My chest swells with so much love I can barely breathe.
“Yes,” I whisper, laughing through happy tears. “Yes, Cyrus. A thousand times yes!”
He rises and slips the ring onto my finger.
It feels cool at first, before warming against my skin.
He lifts me off the ground, spinning me once beneath the oak as I bury my face in his neck, breathing him in.
When he sets me down, our foreheads rest together, breaths mingling in the cool evening air.
“I’m still a little terrified,” I admit, smiling.
“Good,” he murmurs, his own smile soft and sure. “Means we’re doing it right. We’ve got this town. We’ve got our family. And now we’ve got forever.”
We stand wrapped in each other at the railing for a long while, neither in a rush to leave, my back against his chest, his arms secure around my waist. The old bike leaned against the oak tree behind us, a silent witness to another chapter in our story.
Below, Bluestone City twinkles on; our children waiting back at Lani’s house.
Eventually, we’ll ride back down. The town will know our news by morning, and the challenges ahead—pressing charges, blending our lives fully—will come. But tonight, under this sky full of stars and shared memories, none of that can touch us.
We are home. We were whole. And we were finally beginning the rest of our lives.