Chapter 40
[Neve]
As today is Wren’s one-month birthday, Tate is eager to spend time with her. Time as the three of us. We take a drive to a local trail and hike, pointing out leaf shapes and their colors, which Wren can’t possibly comprehend yet.
Still, we slow our walk through the woods. Wren in Tate’s arms, and my arm looped with his. We talk in more detail about him leaving the firm and the vision of our future.
Firehouse Station.
With every step we take, I grow more excited. The fallen leaves even seem to share my enthusiasm, dancing up and around us as we hike. At one point, I smile at the sky, sending up silent gratitude.
Thanks, Dad.
“So there’s a costume party this weekend,” Tate says, pulling me back to the moment. “Feel up for it?”
“An excuse to dress up in a costume . . . I’m in,” I joke, recalling the last costume I wore wasn’t much of a stretch.
“I miss Rosie.” Tate turns his head toward me. “But I love Neve.”
“I think Driver and Tate might be one and the same, so I love all versions of you.” I lean into his arm, wondering where this love sap feeling has come from, and then enjoy the gooey goodness of it. “But I’d still like to see you as Elvis.”
“Thank you very much.” His impression is awful, but my heart is so full.
When the costume party arrives, I dress Wren in the cutest pumpkin outfit. This party is a little different from the adult-only New Year’s Eve scene. This one will be family-friendly. A community affair at Lovewell Manor.
Because of Wren’s costume, I dress as a farmer. Again, not much of a stretch as I wear denim overalls and a long-sleeve Henley with a flannel shirt over the ensemble and a straw cowboy hat.
What surprises me is Tate’s outfit. He isn’t Elvis. Instead, he’s supposed to be an apple tree. He wears dark brown jeans with a shirt covered in apple images and has a deer antler hat with fake apples hanging from the tips.
“What do you think?”
“Tempting,” I tease. “Can I pick your low-hanging fruit?”
Tate laughs loud and long, tugging me into his chest and telling me once again how much he loves me, followed by a toe-curling kiss.
Wren and I are back in the bigger house. Our house.
For now, I’m keeping mine, but listing it for rent. Tate believes song composers and writers alike will love the little retreat. Even actors or singers looking to escape the world will cherish the cozy space.
When we arrive at the party, the space is packed.
Kids’ games, including a bean bag toss and fishing for fake apples with magnetic poles, are in the corner.
Sugary treats and chocolate candy is free for the taking in bowls around the room.
Adult beverages consist of local beer and a hot cider brandy special.
The atmosphere is full of laughter and congratulations from many for Tate and me with the baby, and us as partners in the future Firehouse Station.
Eventually, Wren reaches a limit on stimulation, and it’s time to take her home.
But first, I have a stop to make. “Let me take you somewhere.”
Tate laughs at the way I say it, just like him.
“I’ll follow you anywhere,” he says, wrapping his arm around me.
As our destination isn’t far, I suggest we walk, putting Wren in a stroller that holds the infant seat.
“The well?” Tate teases as I lead us to the grassy patch reserved for the town’s historical attraction.
“I just need a minute.”
Tate smiles and lifts the stroller, baby and all, over the low wrought iron fence, so we can get closer to the sacred water.
“When I came here on New Year’s, my wish was for me to keep my true love.” I stare at the stone barrier around the well, then twist to face Tate. “I thought the garage was my true love, and I wanted to keep it. But I see now that you’re my true love, Tate. And I’ll do anything to keep you.”
He arches one brow, a sly curl to his lips. “Anything?”
I give him a skeptical glance as he continues to smile. He slips his hand into his pocket and pulls out an apple-shaped box.
Then he slowly lowers to one knee.
“What are you doing?” My throat grows tight while I focus on his eyes.
“We agreed to a partnership. The new business. And parenting. But I want another kind of partnership, Neve. You repaired my heart. Restored my faith in love. And I want to spend all my days loving you.”
He extends his hand, the apple box in his palm, then he snaps it open.
“Pick me, Neve.”
I stare at the ring inside. Simple. Elegant. And the exact gold ring I admired during the Fall Harvest Fest.
“And marry me.”
I lift my gaze to meet his eyes. So steady, so confident, so full of love.
“Yes,” I whisper, then clear my throat and say it louder. “Yes.” I blink back the burn of tears. Happy tears. “I pick you. I’d love to marry you.”
Tate plucks the ring from the box, then reaches for my hand, slipping it on my ring finger. I close my fist, observing how dainty it feels, how right it looks.
A thin band with golden leaves etched into it.
“It’s so pretty,” I whisper as Tate stands.
“You’re pretty.” Then he pulls me to him for a kiss. One that feels like it seals all deals between us.
There are so many sayings about this well. Superstitions abound about the water and wishes. The Loves and the Wells. But none of that matters to me, because my true love is kissing me.
I’ve fallen in love, never realizing it’d been my wish all along.