29. Letting Go of Fear #2
He wasn't testing the idea. He wasn't talking about a distant future that might disappear if we looked at it too closely. In his mind, the question wasn't whether he would ask.
Only when.
"And you're that sure I'll say yes?"
"No." His fingers tightened around mine. "I'm that sure I want to ask."
For some reason, that reassured me more.
I looked through the screen door. Ava was still asleep, the blue blanket rising and falling with each breath.
"I never let myself picture getting married," I admitted.
"You can start."
I looked back at him. "Is that another warning?"
"It's the only one you're getting."
Later, Ava woke long enough to eat half a grilled cheese, declare bedtime "too abrupt," and make Luca carry her upstairs anyway.
I waited beneath the old oak at the edge of the yard, where he'd spread a quilt across the grass. The night had cooled, and the air brushed bare skin at my ankles. Above me, stars broke through the darkness one by one.
When Luca returned, he lowered himself beside me with a quiet groan.
"Getting old?" I asked.
"Retired fighter knees."
"Convenient excuse."
He stretched out and held up one arm. I settled against him, my cheek on his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath my ear. For a few minutes, neither of us spoke.
Usually, silence left room for my mind to get cruel. Tonight, it only held us.
Luca's fingers traced slow circles over my shoulder. The touch could have turned hungry. On another night, it would have. I felt the heat of him, the familiar pull low in my stomach, but neither of us reached for more.
Tonight, being close was enough.
"What are you hoping for?" he asked.
I looked up. "Right now?"
"Five years from now."
The answer should have frightened me. Instead, I pictured Ava taller, arguing about homework at the kitchen island. Luca making coffee before sunrise. Event proposals and resort calendars spread across the table while he pretended not to steal my pens.
"This," I said. "But louder. Messier."
"That sounds expensive."
"There'll be glitter involved."
He sighed. "I knew loving you had risks."
I pinched his side, and his laugh moved through me.
"What about you?" I asked.
He grew quiet again. "I want Ava to remember Zoe without feeling like she has to protect me from it."
My chest tightened.
"I want her to know loving you doesn't erase her mother." He paused. "And I want you to believe that I can love what I had and still choose what comes next."
I propped myself on one elbow. "I'm trying."
"I know."
"No. I mean I really am." I placed my palm over his heart. "I'm trying to stop waiting for the good part to punish me."
His hand covered mine.
"We'll practice," he said.
"Staying?"
"Trusting."
The distinction settled deep.
I lowered my head again. Somewhere beyond the fence, cicadas buzzed in the dark. Luca kissed my hair, and we whispered small hopes until they stopped sounding impossible.
A garden. Sunday breakfasts. Ava laughing more than she worried. Nothing dramatic. Nothing scorching.
Just a life we intended to keep choosing.
Luca's phone buzzed against the quilt. He glanced at it, then at me—not retreating into the crisis, simply deciding whether it deserved the moment.
"You should look," I said.
His hand remained over mine. "You sure?"
"I'm not asking you to disappear."
That earned a quiet laugh. He reached beside us, unlocked the screen, and read.
His brows lifted. Then his mouth curved.
"What?"
He turned the phone toward me.
The message was from the investor group. They wanted the meeting Monday morning. Revised terms. An expanded public strategy. A path forward—provided Luca brought the resort's new Event and Hospitality Director to present the relaunch plan.
I read the title twice.
"They want me there?"
"They do."
My pulse jumped. "Why?"
"Because the public response centered around the event strategy you helped build. They want to know what comes next."
I handed the phone back, suddenly aware of every missing piece of experience I had. Accepting the position had felt huge enough when Luca offered it. Defending my plans to a room full of investors who could decide the resort's future felt like stepping onto a stage before I knew all the lines.
"You agree with them?" I asked.
"I told them you should be in the room before they suggested it."
I stared at him. "You did?"
"You're the director responsible for the guest experience, events, and hospitality strategy. Why wouldn't you be there?"
The ease in his answer unsettled me more than a grand speech would have.
"I'm new," I said.
"You're qualified."
"I'm still learning."
"So am I."
"You've owned resorts for years."
"And I still didn't see what Victor was doing until he'd nearly driven this one into the ground."
His voice held no self-pity, only fact.
He sat up and shifted toward me. "I'm not asking you to sit quietly while the investors talk around you. I want you there because this plan is partly yours. If they question it, you answer. If their terms interfere with what we're building, you say so."
"What if I say the wrong thing?"
"Then we deal with it. But I trust your judgment."
"You can't know I'll get everything right."
"No." His smile softened. "But I know you'll say what needs saying."
The confidence in his voice pressed against every place in me that still expected to be treated like temporary help.
"Monday morning?" I asked.
"Nine."
I drew in a slow breath. "Then I need the revised proposal, the event projections, and a list of every investor who backed Victor."
His grin widened.
"And I want to know exactly how much authority I have in that room."
"There she is."
He leaned in and kissed me, slow and proud.
When he pulled back, the phone remained forgotten between us.
"Will you come?" he asked.
I looked at the title in the message one more time.
Event and Hospitality Director.
Mine.
"Yes," I said. "But we're reviewing every line before Monday."
Luca's grin turned dangerous.
"I was hoping you'd say that."