CHAPTER 16
JO
Six months later
Jo had carried Ruth's mother's ring through most of those months.
Ruth had pressed the little velvet pouch into her hand the week after moving day, muttered, "For when you stop overthinking it," and refused to discuss the matter further.
Jo had it cleaned and resized using one of Charlotte's rings as a guide, then hidden it in three increasingly ridiculous places before giving up and keeping it close.
Sunday dinner at Grandma's restaurant had changed in small ways since Jo and Charlotte had gotten together.
Nothing had changed dramatically: same table by the window, same chaotic energy, the usual excess of food and overlapping conversation.
But now Jo and Charlotte sat with their hands intertwined on the table. Now they didn't have to pretend. Now Grandma Ruth made pointed comments about "when you two finally set a date" and everyone laughed instead of awkwardly changing the subject.
The table felt the same. Jo didn't. Now when Charlotte reached under the table for her hand, Jo could turn their joined fingers palm-up and kiss Charlotte's knuckles without pretending it was a joke.
"Aunt Charlotte," Lucy said, "when are you and Aunt Jo getting a dog?"
"A dog?" Charlotte looked at Jo. "We haven't discussed a dog."
"You should get a dog. Dogs are the best."
"Cats are also good," Jo offered.
"Dogs are better."
"I'll take it under advisement."
Lucy nodded seriously, as if this was exactly the response she'd expected from her architect aunt.
Warmth moved through Jo, still surprising after more than a year together.
The first rush had changed, sure. Now there were grocery lists on the fridge, Charlotte's hair clogging the shower drain, and arguments about whose turn it was to buy coffee.
Somehow the ordinary parts made Jo want her more, not less.
It never did.
If anything, it got better. Learning that Charlotte sang in the shower. That she talked to the houseplants like they could hear her. That she looked at Jo sometimes, across the breakfast table or in the middle of cooking dinner, with an expression that made Jo's whole chest ache.
Jo's phone buzzed. A message from Hunter: Keating server crashed again. Don't worry, I handled it. You owe me lunch. She grinned and pocketed the phone.
The door chimed. Jo looked up.
Two women walked in. One Jo recognized immediately: Bianca Figueroa, Charlotte's ex, looking exactly as confident and put-together as she had in Charlotte's photos. The other was smaller, softer, with warm brown skin and curly hair escaping from a ponytail. She was wearing scrubs under her jacket.
They were bickering. The kind of bickering that came from knowing someone well enough to push their buttons.
"I told you to turn left," the smaller woman was saying.
"I know where the restaurant is, Sara."
"You clearly don't, because you tried to park on a one-way street going the wrong direction."
"That was intentional. I was making a point."
"What point?"
"The point that I do what I want."
Sara rolled her eyes. "Unbelievable."
They approached the counter, still bickering. Grandma Ruth watched them with sharp eyes.
"Oh no," Charlotte murmured.
Jo looked at her. "What?"
"I know that look. That's the look I had for years."
"What look?"
"The 'I'm hopelessly in love with my best friend' look."
Jo studied the two women. Bianca was ordering food, takeout by the look of it. Sara was standing close to her. Very close. Close enough that their shoulders brushed every time one of them moved.
As Jo watched, Bianca leaned close and said a word that made Sara laugh. Not a polite laugh. A real laugh, the kind that came from the belly and transformed the face.
Bianca's expression when Sara laughed was unmistakable. Jo recognized it instantly, because she'd worn that exact expression for years without knowing what it meant.
Oh.
Jo glanced at Charlotte, who was already looking at her. Charlotte's mouth twitched. She didn't say anything. She didn't need to.
Bianca and Sara got their food and turned to leave. Then Bianca spotted Charlotte and paused.
"Charlotte. Hey."
Charlotte smiled. "Bianca. It's good to see you."
"You too." Bianca's gaze moved to Jo, to their joined hands on the table. "This is Jo?"
"This is Jo."
"The late bloomer."
"That's me," Jo said.
Bianca laughed. "Fair enough." She looked between them with obvious satisfaction. "I'm glad you two figured it out. I knew there was something."
"You called it," Charlotte agreed. "You were right about everything."
"Usually am." Bianca's smile was warm, genuine. No bitterness there. "We should grab drinks sometime. Catch up."
"I'd like that."
Sara cleared her throat. "Bianca. Food's getting cold."
"Right, right." Bianca rolled her eyes at Sara. "My coworker. She gets cranky when she's hungry."
"I'm not cranky. I'm efficient."
"She's cranky."
Sara huffed. Bianca grinned at her like her annoyance was the most delightful thing in the world.
Jo and Charlotte exchanged a look.
"Nice to meet you, Jo," Bianca said. "Take care of her."
"Always."
They left. Jo's gaze followed them out. Bianca held the door for Sara. Sara ducked her head to hide a smile. They fell into step together like they'd been doing it forever.
"Should we say something?" Jo asked quietly.
Charlotte shook her head. "Absolutely not. They'll figure it out."
"Took us long enough."
"They seem faster. I give them..."
"Six months?" Jo guessed.
"Two."
Jo laughed and pulled Charlotte closer. Kissed her temple.
Charlotte leaned into her, and neither of them needed to say what they were both thinking.
After dinner, Jo and Charlotte walked home through the cool evening air.
Their apartment was only a few blocks from the restaurant now. They'd chosen it that way on purpose, close to family, close to the place where Charlotte had become part of Jo's world.
Jo's heart had been thudding through dinner hard enough that she was surprised Charlotte hadn't noticed. The velvet pouch sat in her coat pocket, where it had lived on and off for six months.
She'd almost proposed a dozen times. On their first anniversary as a couple. On Charlotte's birthday. On a random Tuesday when Charlotte had made her laugh so hard she'd cried.
Every time, she'd hesitated. Not because she doubted Charlotte.
Because marriage was a daily promise, and Jo had learned enough in the past year to know love was not proof against carelessness.
She wanted to ask when the question felt less like repayment for lost time and more like what it actually was: a future she wanted with both hands.
Charlotte's thumb circled Jo's knuckle, absent and automatic, and the doubt went quiet.
Now, walking through the winter air with Charlotte's hand in hers, Jo knew.
Halfway home, Jo stopped.
"What?" Charlotte asked.
"I want to show you something."
"Show me what?"
Jo took her hand. Led her off the main street, down a smaller road, to a little park tucked between buildings. There was a bench under a streetlight, looking out at a patch of winter-brown grass and bare trees.
"This is where I was sitting," Jo said, "when I finally figured it out. The night you missed Sunday dinner."
Charlotte was quiet.
"I sat here for an hour. Maybe longer. Trying to understand why I was so upset. Why your empty chair felt like the worst thing that had ever happened to me." Jo turned to face her. "This is where I realized I was in love with you."
Charlotte's eyes were bright in the streetlight. "Jo."
"I've been carrying this around for six months." Jo reached into her pocket and pulled out the velvet pouch. "Your grandmother gave it to me and told me to stop overthinking. You can see how well that went."
Charlotte went still.
"I've almost proposed so many times," Jo continued. "Did you know that? On your birthday, I had a whole speech planned. And on the day you finished the Hendricks renovation. And on that random Tuesday when you made me laugh until I couldn't breathe."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because none of them felt right. They were good moments, but they weren't..." Jo looked around, at the bench, at the bare trees, at the streetlight casting everything in soft gold.
"This is where it started for me. This is where I finally understood what I'd been feeling all along. It felt right to come back here."
Charlotte's hand tightened on hers. "Jo."
"I kept trying to manufacture a perfect moment," Jo said. "Then I remembered you hate unnecessary ornament." Her laugh shook. "So. This is the place where I finally told myself the truth. I want to tell you the next one here too."
She opened the pouch. Took out the ring. It caught the streetlight: the small diamond, the delicate filigree, the generations of history woven into the metal.
"Charlotte." Jo's voice was steady now. Certain. "You've been at the center of my life for ten years. I want you there for every year that comes next."
She went down on one knee. The ground was cold through her jeans. She didn't care.
Charlotte made a sound, half laugh and half sob. Her hands flew to her mouth.
"You were my best friend first. You're the love of my life now. And you're the person I want ordinary things with—the grocery runs, the bad Tuesdays, your cold feet in my bed, you stealing my good coffee and pretending yours tastes better. I want the big things too. I want all of it with you."
Tears were streaming down Charlotte's face now. Jo kept going.
"I got here late," Jo said, voice breaking. "But I know how to stay. I want to choose you on purpose for the rest of my life, if you'll let me."
Jo held up the ring.
"Will you marry me?"
Charlotte looked at her. At the ring. At the streetlight and the bare trees and the bench where Jo had finally understood.
"It's been a yes for years," Charlotte whispered. "You just finally asked the question out loud."
"Is that a yes?"
"It's a yes." Charlotte pulled her up. Kissed her. Cried against her mouth. "Yes. A thousand times yes. A million times yes. Yes forever."