CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE
NORA
One Year, One Day
We announce the engagement with a photograph I take myself.
Two hands on scratched rink boards. Two rings. No faces.
The caption is joint.
One year ago, our marriage ended in public before it ended in law. Over the past year, we divorced, changed, dated, learned, failed better, and chose each other again. We are engaged. The wedding will be private. The life will not be hidden. — Nora Bennett and Rhett Callahan
Tessa edits one comma and declares it the happiest day of her career.
Our families react predictably.
My mother cries and asks about wool for a winter ceremony. June cries and tells Rhett not to ruin it. Maren demands a prenuptial agreement before champagne. Lucas sends a message containing only:
SLOANE OWES ME FIFTY DOLLARS.
Apparently they bet on which of us would propose.
At the foundation rink that evening, children notice the rings immediately.
Theo says, "Finally," with the exhaustion of a board chairman.
The little goalie from the first equipment drive asks whether Rhett worked on treating the ring carefully.
"Every day," he says.
She nods. "Good."
I photograph them again.
Same crouch. Same serious conversation. Different man, not because his face changed, but because the work continued after the camera left.
At home—my apartment, tonight—Rhett places his toothbrush beside mine.
"Temporary," I say.
"We are house hunting Saturday."
"Correct."
He kisses my shoulder. "Future wife."
"Former husband."
"Current fiancé."
"Technically."
We laugh.
The first marriage taught us that love can be true and still be practiced badly.
The year after taught us something better.
Love is not the promise never to fail.
It is the refusal to hide the failure, the repair, or the person standing beside you.