Chapter 14
Nate
"You're overthinking this." Maya takes the notebook from my hands, the one where I've sketched out fifteen different proposal scenarios, each more elaborate than the last. "Harper doesn't need a flash mob."
We're in The Sweet Spot's back kitchen—June baking while Maya provides reality checks and Lucas drinks coffee looking vaguely uncomfortable with the whole conversation.
"It has to be perfect," I insist, taking the notebook back. "She deserves perfect."
"It has to be you," June corrects, pulling another tray of cookies from the oven. Her third batch this hour. "Harper doesn't want perfect. She wants authentic."
"What about the hot air balloon?" I point to scenario twelve.
"Harper's afraid of heights," Maya reminds me.
"The string quartet at sunset?"
"She'll think someone died."
"The—"
"Just ask her, man." Lucas finally speaks up. "Stop making it complicated."
"Easy for you to say. You haven't done it yet."
"Planning to," he mutters into his coffee, then freezes like he's said too much.
Maya's head whips toward him. "What?"
"Nothing. We're talking about Nate."
"Lucas Mason—"
"ANYWAY," I interrupt loudly, "the ring's been burning a hole in my sock drawer since Harper found it."
June drops her spatula. "She found it?"
"Last week. We had a whole conversation about socks."
"Socks?" Lucas looks confused.
"Code. We were talking in code about the ring through sock metaphors."
Maya snorts. "That's the most you two thing I've ever heard."
June sets a cookie in front of me—shaped like a ring, because of course it is. "What feels right? Not what you think Harper wants, but what feels like you two?"
I think about it. Really think about it. All our best moments have been unplanned—reuniting in a storm, confessions in barns, falling back in love between veterinary emergencies.
"Simple," I finally say. "Something simple and real."
"There you go." Maya pushes the notebook with its elaborate scenarios toward the trash. "Now you're thinking."
"But when? The groundbreaking's soon, but that seems too public..."
"Does it have to be at an event?" June asks. "Could just be a random Tuesday. That's romantic too."
"Or," Lucas suggests, clearly wanting to deflect from his earlier slip, "stop planning and just do it when it feels right."
He's got a point. Every time I've tried to plan something with Harper, life has had other ideas.
"I'll know when it's right," I decide.
June boxes up the ring-shaped cookies with a knowing smile. "Yes, you will."
"Just maybe do it before Mrs. Morrison's February deadline," Maya adds. "She's got fifty dollars riding on it."
"I forgot the whole town has money on my proposal." I say with a sigh.
"Multiple pools," June confirms. "Date, location, Harper's reaction. Mrs. Henderson thinks you'll cry."
"I'm not going to—" I stop. I probably will cry.
Lucas claps me on the shoulder. "Welcome to Willowbridge, where your proposal is community property."
At least when I do ask, the whole town will be happy. Well, except whoever loses the betting pools.
***
It's been a week since my planning session at The Sweet Spot, and Harper's driving me insane. Not bad insane—the kind where she keeps doing things that make me want to propose right this second.
Like now, at breakfast, when she's humming while making eggs and doing this little hip wiggle that shouldn't be as adorable as it is.
"You're staring," she says without turning around.
"You're wiggling."
"I'm cooking. There's a difference."
"Is there, though?"
She spins, spatula in hand, grinning so wide it's like she's got a secret. Which she does. We both know she does.
"You okay?" I ask, trying to sound casual. "You've been extra... happy this week."
"Perfect!" The word bursts out too bright, too fast. "Just perfect. Why? Do I seem weird?"
"You giggled during a documentary about soil erosion last night."
"It was funny!"
"It was about topsoil depletion, Harper."
She bites her lip, fighting a laugh. "Very serious topic. Devastating, really."
This is killing me. She knows about the ring, knows I'm planning something, and she's enjoying watching me squirm. Every time I reach for my coffee, she watches my hands. Every time I suggest dinner out, her eyes light up, then dim when I don't drop to one knee.
"We should talk about—" I start, and her whole body goes rigid with anticipation. "—the education center meeting today."
"Right. The meeting." She deflates, then catches herself. "The very important meeting that's definitely what you were going to say."
Duke wanders in and goes straight to Harper, tail wagging like he's in on the secret too.
"Even the dog's acting weird," I mutter.
"Duke's perfect. You're perfect. Everything's perfect." She's practically vibrating with suppressed energy.
I can't take it anymore. I cross to her, crowding her against the counter. "Harper."
"Nate." She's trying to look innocent, but her eyes are sparkling.
"You know."
"I don't know anything."
"You're a terrible liar."
"I'm an excellent liar. Ask me how your haircut looks."
"My haircut's fine."
"See? Excellent liar."
I'm about to kiss her, about to say forget the plan, forget waiting for the perfect moment, when my phone rings. Education center emergency—something about permits.
"Saved by the bell," Harper says, but she's touching the spot where the ring would go, an unconscious gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed.
"This isn't over," I tell her.
"I certainly hope not." She stretches up to kiss me. "I'd hate to be this happy for nothing."
As I leave for the meeting, I hear her talking to Duke: "He's going to crack soon, boy. Mama can feel it."
She's right. Between her knowing and my complete inability to find the right moment, I'm about to just blurt it out over grocery shopping. Lucas was right—I'm overthinking this.
But then I remember the ring—my grandmother's ring—waiting in my sock drawer. Harper deserves better than a blurted proposal, even if she already knows it's coming.
Soon, I promise myself. Very soon.
***
Three weeks later, the education center groundbreaking is exactly the circus I expected.
The entire town's here, kids from the 4-H club holding handmade signs, Mrs. Henderson and Mrs. Morrison competing over who brought the better celebration casserole.
Mayor Davidson's at the podium going on about "agricultural innovation" and "community investment" while I stand next to Harper, trying not to fidget with the ring box in my pocket.
This is it. After Harper's speech, I'll take the mic. Say something profound about building futures together. Drop to one knee in front of everyone.
Except Harper's speech is destroying me before she even starts.
"This education center isn't just about farming," she says, stepping up to the podium with that confidence that knocked me sideways eight years ago. "It's about believing that small towns matter. That the stories here, the lives here, are worth investing in."
She talks about the Morrison's calf that survived because of preventative care. The Johnson farm that's thriving instead of folding. How six months ago she thought success meant leaving, but now she knows it means choosing to stay.
"Sometimes the biggest adventures happen in the smallest places," she says, eyes finding mine in the crowd. "Sometimes you have to leave to understand that home isn't just where you're from—it's where you choose to build something meaningful."
The crowd's nodding along, but I'm frozen. This woman, this brilliant, talented woman who could go anywhere, do anything, chose here. Chose us. Chose me.
"Dr. Wilder and I—" she continues, and I realize she's still talking, "—didn't plan to run an education center. We didn't plan a lot of things. But the best parts of life rarely follow the plan."
She's wrapping up, people are clapping, and Mayor Davidson is gesturing for me to speak next about the veterinary programs we'll offer.
I walk to the podium on autopilot. The prepared remarks I'd memorized are gone. Instead, what comes out is:
"Harper Lane, you rebuilt my life."
The crowd goes silent. Harper's eyes go wide.
I wasn't supposed to start like this. This wasn't the plan. But suddenly the plan doesn't matter.
"Six months ago, I was just existing. Going through the motions. I had success but no purpose, accomplishments but no joy. Then you walked into my clinic in a red dress, mad as hell and pretending you didn't still love me, and everything changed."
"Nate," Harper whispers, hand over her mouth.
"You write about small farms and big futures, but you don't write about yourself.
How you make everything better just by being part of it.
How you chose to build something here when you could have gone anywhere.
How you make me believe we can create something that matters, not just in agriculture but in life. "
I'm walking toward her now, the crowd parting. My hand finds the ring box.
"I had this whole plan," I tell her. "The perfect moment, the perfect words. But you found the ring a few weeks ago and have been grinning like you won the lottery ever since."
Nervous laughter ripples through the crowd. Harper's definitely crying now.
"So forget the plan. The truth is, I've known this ring has been yours for years, through college and California and every day since I came back."
I drop to one knee right there, in the dirt where our education center will stand, in front of our entire town.
Not the plan. So much better than the plan.
The ring box opens with a soft click that somehow sounds louder than Mayor Davidson's microphone. My grandmother's sapphire catches the morning sun, throwing blue sparks into Harper's eyes—which are now overflowing with tears.
"Harper Lane," I say, my voice carrying across the silent crowd. "Will you marry me?"
She's laughing and crying simultaneously, mascara running in rivers down her cheeks.
"I've been dying, Nate. DYING waiting for you to ask, ever since I found the ring!"
"And?" My knee is starting to ache in the dirt, but I don't care. The entire town is holding its breath.