Chapter 41
Theo
My hands were shaking so badly I could barely button my shirt.
My third shirt.
In the past hour.
The first one—my favorite blue button-down—had somehow looked too formal when I caught my reflection in the bedroom mirror.
The second, a casual polo, felt too ordinary for what was supposed to be a life-changing moment.
But shit, we were headed to the park. It was spring, but Atlanta humidity had already kicked it. What was I thinking?
I tossed those aside in favor of a royal blue T-shirt, the one that brought out my eyes according to Debbie, who was currently sitting on my bed providing color commentary on my nervous breakdown.
“Daddy, you’re being weird,” she announced, swinging her legs over the edge of the mattress.
The plastic tiara perched on her head caught the morning light, its faux diamonds sparkling alongside the tiny dragon head that roared from its center—a custom addition she’d insisted on after our conversation about “Operation Dragon Wedding.”
“I’m not being weird, Button. I’m just . . . making sure I look nice for Willie Wee.”
“You always look nice. He thinks you’re beautiful even when you have bedhead and morning breath.”
“Thank you for that touching assessment of my romantic appeal,” I said dryly, though my heart was hammering so hard I was surprised she couldn’t hear it from where she sat.
The box sitting on the nightstand felt like it weighed forty pounds as I lifted it to examine the wrapping for the twentieth time.
I’d been carrying it around for two weeks, ever since I’d finally worked up the courage to walk into the jewelry store downtown and explain to the bemused salesperson I needed something that would make a delivery man who collected people’s hearts cry happy tears.
The ring itself was perfect—a simple white gold band with a small but brilliant diamond, classic enough to wear every day but special enough to represent forever.
The box, however, was wrapped in brown shipping paper with a printed label that read “Jeremiah Mikel” and my home address—because if I was going to propose to the man who’d literally delivered love to my doorstep, I was going to do it right.
I wanted to clearly communicate, “You’re moving in whether you like it or not. ”
My phone buzzed with a text, making me jump like I’d been electrocuted.
Postie: Heading to my apartment to grab the soccer ball. See you and Princess in an hour at the park. Meet at our bench?
Perfect.
Just like I’d planned.
Though calling it a plan was generous—it was more like a carefully orchestrated series of white lies designed to get Jeremiah away from us while I had my nervous breakdown in private and tried to remember how to breathe normally.
The soccer ball excuse was particularly weak, considering we had at least two in our garage, but Jeremiah had agreed without question—probably because he was used to my occasionally inexplicable requests and had learned not to ask too many follow-up questions when I got that particular tone in my voice.
“Are you ready, Button?” I asked, checking my reflection one more time and immediately regretting it. My hair was doing that thing where it stuck up at odd angles despite my best efforts with gel, and my face looked pale and slightly green around the edges.
“I’ve been ready forever, Daddy. You’re the one who keeps changing shirts like this is a fashion show.” She hopped off the bed and struck a pose. “Do I look fancy enough for Willie Wee’s special day?”
She was wearing her favorite sundress—the purple one with tiny unicorns and gold thread embroidered around the hem—paired with white sandals that lit up when she walked and the ridiculous dragon tiara that had become her signature accessory.
She looked absolutely perfect, like a tiny fairy-tale princess ready to ascend her throne for the very first time.
“You look beautiful, sweetheart. Willie Wee is going to be so happy you dressed up for him.”
“When he says yes, can I be the one to tell him about the wedding plans? I have so many ideas, and Mrs. H said she’d help me make a list of all the Scottish traditions we need to include. She, um, also said she’d cook for the reception—”
“Oh, no,” I groaned.
Debbie nodded. “Oh, yes.”
“Wait . . . when he says yes?” My voice cracked slightly. “Not if?”
Debbie rolled her eyes with the exasperated patience of someone explaining something obvious to a slow adult. “Daddy, Willie Wee looks at you like you’re made of ice cream and he hasn’t eaten in a week. Of course he’s going to say yes.”
Her confidence should have been reassuring.
Instead, it made my anxiety spike even higher.
What if she was wrong?
What if I’d misread all the signals?
What if Jeremiah’s casual comments about “when we get married” had just been hypothetical daydreaming and he wasn’t actually ready for this level of commitment?
What if I was about to make a complete fool of myself in front of my daughter and a mariachi band?
Yes, there was an actual mariachi band waiting for us. Don’t judge. Jeremiah loved Taco Tuesdays.
“Daddy, you’re making the panic face, and your hands are twitching worse than the pasta stirrer.”
I took a deep breath, trying to channel some of Debbie’s unshakeable optimism and ignoring her reference to the unmentionable that brought us all together. “You’re right, Button. Willie Wee loves us. This is going to be perfect.”
In the car, Debbie chattered excitedly about her role in the proposal—she was, according to her detailed planning, going to be my “assistant” and make sure everything went according to plan. She’d even practiced her lines.
“Remember, when Willie Wee looks confused, I’m supposed to say, ‘Open it, dummy,’ in my sassiest voice,” she recited. “But not the really bad words you’re not supposed to say, just the fun ones.”
“That’s right. And what do you do if he starts crying?”
“Give him my sparkly tissues!” She patted the tiny purse slung over her shoulder, which contained a pack of tissues she’d decorated with glitter and unicorn stickers specifically for this occasion.
We found Jeremiah already seated on our bench, the same one where we’d had our first real conversation about Debbie’s adoption, where he’d held my hand and promised to be there no matter what.
He was wearing jeans and a green T-shirt, and he looked so perfectly, completely himself that my heart did that fluttery thing it had been doing since the day I met him.
“There’s my favorite girl,” he said, standing to give us both hugs.
Debbie launched herself at him with typical enthusiasm, while I tried to act natural despite the fact that I was pretty sure I was sweating through my carefully chosen shirt.
“Willie Wee, do you like my tiara? The dragon is new!”
“It’s magnificent, princess. You look amazing.”
“Daddy picked it out special for today because today is special and we’re going somewhere special to do special things.”
Jeremiah’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Special things?”
“Just, you know, regular park stuff. Mateo’s wedding sort of cemented the park as a ‘special place’ in her mind,” I said quickly, totally making shit up on the fly. “Why don’t we take a walk, get some of her energy out before lunch. She’s been wound up all day.”
We started walking, Debbie skipping between us and chattering about everything she saw—squirrels that looked suspicious, clouds that were shaped like various animals, a jogger whose bright pink outfit reminded her of flamingos.
His “beak” flopped so wildly in his silky shorts I had to grab her pointing finger and speed past him to avoid a very uncomfortable moment.
We passed by the softball fields, and the botanical gardens came into view.
I felt my heart rate spike even higher.
Spring had been good to Atlanta this year. Trees and flowers, ordinarily a highlight in the city’s preeminent garden, were even more lush and colorful than I’d remembered.
The wedding arch was exactly where it was supposed to be, decorated with spring blooms of the deepest reds, yellows, and golds. The mariachi band was set up off to the side, playing something soft and romantic.
“Huh,” Jeremiah said, looking around. “There’s music. Are we having tacos later?”
Debbie giggled. “Willie Wee, you’re so silly. Mariachi bands don’t always mean tacos.”
“They don’t? Then what’s the point? Weren’t they invented as a sort of Mexican dinner bell?”
I had to smother a laugh. Debbie couldn’t hold back.
“They mean—” Debbie started, then caught my warning look. “They mean . . . music. For listening to and helping flowers grow.”
Jeremiah was looking around with growing curiosity, clearly trying to figure out why we’d wandered into what appeared to be a very elaborate coincidence.
The gardens were mostly empty except for the musicians and us—and the late morning light filtering through the trees that made everything shimmer like something out of a romantic movie.
Now I just had to find the courage to speak words my heart had been screaming for months.
“Should we sit down for a minute?” I suggested, gesturing toward a bench near the flower arch. “Maybe let Debbie run around a bit?”
“Sure, but—”
“Actually,” Debbie interrupted, suddenly grabbing Jeremiah’s hand and tugging him backward, “I think we should stand right here. This is the best spot. Right here.”
She positioned him exactly where I needed him to be, directly in front of the arch with the mariachi music providing the perfect romantic soundtrack. Then she looked at me expectantly, her eyes bright with excitement.
This was it.
The moment I’d been planning and dreading and dreaming about for weeks.
I reached into my pocket with hands that felt like they belonged to someone else, pulled out the brown paper package, and dropped to one knee.
The world seemed to go silent, except for the music and the sound of my heart pounding in my ears. Jeremiah’s eyes went wide, his mouth falling open as he stared down at me.
“Theo?” His voice was barely above a whisper.
“Jeremiah,” I began, my voice barely steady, “I . . . I need you to know what you mean to me. To us. I need to say this to you, and—” I swallowed hard. “I just need to say this, okay?”
“Uh, sure,” he said, cocking his head exactly how Cuddles did when she heard unfamiliar words from her humans.
“Jer, you walked into our lives by mistake. It was the best accident that ever happened to me. Somehow—and I may never know why—it made everything make sense. You turned a house into a home, made my daughter believe in fairy tales again, and showed me that love doesn’t have to be scary if you find the right person to be scared with. ”
The mariachi music swelled softly behind us, and I saw tears starting to gather in Jeremiah’s eyes.
“I used to think that loving someone meant risking everything, that opening my heart was just setting myself up for loss, but you . . . you taught me that love isn’t about the risk of losing someone. It’s about building something together that’s stronger than fear.”
I had to reach up and wipe sweat from my face before continuing. Jeremiah’s eyes were wide as saucers.
“I want to wake up every morning knowing that whatever chaos the day brings—whether it’s five-year-old dragon emergencies—”
“Six-year-old, thank you!” Debbie chirped.
We both grinned. “Six-year-old dragon,” I corrected. “Or Mrs. H’s bagpipe concerts or Cuddles having opinions about our mail delivery—we’ll face it together. As a family.”
My voice cracked on the last word, but I pressed on.
“So, Jeremiah Mikel,” I said, holding out the brown paper package with hands that were finally steady, “this delivery is for you.”
Jeremiah looked down, read the label with his name and my address, then squinted and cocked his head again.
“It’s a package? Did that come today?” he asked.
I couldn’t help snorting. He was so fucking Jeremiah it hurt.
“Open it, dummy!” Debbie stage-whispered, bouncing on her toes with barely contained excitement.
“Debbie,” I chided gently, though I was smiling through my terror, “be nice to Willie Wee.”
With shaking hands, I held out the package to the man who’d changed everything—who’d turned a quiet life into an adventure, who’d made my daughter feel safe enough to love freely, who’d somehow convinced me that forever wasn’t something to be afraid of but something to reach for and grasp with both hands.
“Jeremiah Mikel,” I said, my voice stronger than I’d expected, “if you’ll ever open that damn package, I have a question to ask.”