Chapter 24
Chapter Twenty-Four
We Had Chosen It
Easton
Morning light seeped in gently, warming the room as I opened my eyes and found Emma still asleep beside me.
She lay on her side, hair sprawled across the pillow, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting temptingly near my own.
In that quiet moment, I traced the curve of her shoulder with my eyes, a sense of calm washing over me.
“You’re staring,” she murmured, voice rough with sleep, cracking the early morning stillness.
“Not staring,” I replied, a grin tugging at my lips. “Taking inventory.”
She smiled, the corners of her mouth lifting in a way that sent warmth through me. “And?”
“Everything’s where it belongs.”
That earned me a soft laugh as she rolled onto her back and stretched, the sheet slipping just enough to send a jolt of desire coursing through me. She caught me looking, arching an eyebrow playfully.
“We’re supposed to be getting dressed,” she reminded me. “Biscuits and sausage gravy and shopping for rings.”
“I can multitask,” I said, leaning in to kiss her neck, inhaling the familiar scent of her shampoo.
She made a sound that suggested I was pushing my luck, then kissed me slowly, lingering just long enough to remind me how easily she could unsettle me. I watched her move around the room, pulling on jeans and a sweater, unaware of how permanently she’d changed my life.
The ride into town was comfortable—the truck’s windows cracked, the morning air crisp and carrying the scent of pine mingled with the promise of fresh bread from the bakery we’d pass.
The Lovelace Diner buzzed with activity—boots on tile, coffee pouring, voices rising and falling in an easy rhythm.
It felt like home—a small-town sanctuary that didn’t ask questions.
Emma sat across from me, scanning the menu even though she’d ordered the same breakfast here for years. Her habitual pretense at choice mirrored my own, and I couldn’t help but smile.
“You’re nervous,” I said quietly, noticing the slight tension in her shoulders.
She glanced up, one corner of her mouth lifting. “So are you.”
I smiled. “Fair enough.”
We ordered breakfast—scrambled eggs, biscuits, and gravy—anchoring ourselves in routine before a change. Emma stirred cream into her coffee, thoughtful. “After this, we should take a walk,” she said, glancing up with a spark of determination. “The jewelry store’s only a block away.”
I nodded, reaching across the table to take her hand. “Lead the way.”
The storefront window of Kauffman’s Jewelry caught her attention immediately.
She slowed, then stopped altogether, her breath catching just enough for me to notice.
Inside the glass, nestled among velvet and warm gold tones, was a ring set that didn’t shout for attention.
It was elegant without being flashy—simple. Timeless.
She lifted her hand, fingers hovering near the glass as if she didn’t quite want to touch it yet. “That one,” she said softly.
I followed her gaze. The diamond was modest, understated in a way that felt intentional rather than lacking. “It’s beautiful,” I said, and I meant it. Then, because honesty had always been my reflex, I added, “But it’s… small.”
She turned to face me fully, one eyebrow lifting—not annoyed, just amused and resolute. “Easton.”
I raised my hands in surrender. “I’m just saying—”
“No,” she cut in gently, smiling even as her tone stayed firm. “You’re not saying anything wrong. You’re just forgetting something.”
“And what’s that?”
She stepped closer, lowering her voice. “Just because you’re a millionaire doesn’t mean I want a diamond that announces it before I open my mouth.”
I laughed. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant,” she said softly. “And I’m telling you this is exactly what I want.”
The certainty in her voice settled something in me. Not excitement—alignment. “Okay,” I said. “Then let’s go inside.”
The jeweler was discreet, kind, and efficient. Emma tried the ring on without ceremony, holding her hand up to the light like she was checking how it fit into her life—not how it looked. The fit was perfect.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t gasp. She just smiled.
For me, she chose something simple—a narrow gold band with a subtle rope pattern etched into it, strong, understated, deliberate. “This one,” she said. “It suits you.”
I slipped it on and felt the weight of it settle—not heavy, not symbolic. Just right.
As we stepped back onto the sidewalk, Emma exhaled slowly. “There’s something else,” she said.
I waited. “What is it?”
“I don’t want to wait,” she continued. “I don’t want a big venue or an expectation or a performance. Everyone will assume Sawyer and Lilly’s Bloom we’d chosen it. And tonight, in a booth at Roper’s with people who loved us, that felt like exactly enough.