LARK #2
This whole time—while I was pulling extra shifts, fielding chaos at the diner, putting one foot in front of the other just to survive—he was building this. For me .
For us.
My hand flies to my mouth. My eyes burn.
I look around again, like I’m trying to memorize every inch of it all at once. The house breathes with intention, like it’s already holding memories that haven’t even happened yet. Like it knows what it’s meant to be.
Home.
My knees wobble.
Boone steps forward, his arms open like he already knows I’m about to fall apart.
He steps in close, his hands finding my arms as he turns me to face him. His eyes flick over my face like he’s memorizing me, too—like this exact moment is something he’s gonna want to come back to for the rest of his life.
“I’ve loved you for most of my life, Lark,” he says, voice low, making everything in me go still.
“I loved you when I was too young and too stupid to know what to do with it. I loved you when I left, even if I didn’t know how to carry that love with me.
And I love you now—so much it scares the hell out of me some days. ”
My breath catches, throat tightening.
He reaches up and brushes his thumb across my cheekbone, eyes so damn soft it makes me ache.
“This house,” he says, looking around for a beat before settling back on me.
“It’s for us. For every burnt meal and muddy footprint and slammed door.
It’s for Hudson, for chasing fireflies in the yard and s’mores and throwing the baseball back and forth.
It’s for dinners with your hair still wet from the shower and Diet Coke cans on the nightstand.
It’s for the life I didn’t know how much I needed until you walked back into it. ”
Water blurs my vision, but I don’t blink. I don’t want to miss a single second.
“I want to build something here with you that doesn’t break when life gets hard. Something that doesn’t leave. That doesn’t run. Something real. Something permanent. ”
Boone’s smile softens, like he’s barely holding himself together too, then he glances toward the door left open behind me and calls out, “You can come in now, buddy.”
I turn just in time to see Hudson step through the doorway, and that’s it. That’s the moment I completely lose it.
He’s in a tiny black suit, buttoned all the way up, white dress shirt crisp against his skin, and his hair—his long curls—are slicked back like he’s some kind of Wall Street gentleman in a twelve-year-old’s body. He’s grinning, proud and a little bashful, like he knows he looks good.
Tears fall in hot, fast streaks down my cheeks and I don’t even try to hide it anymore. I cover my face with my hands and let out a choked laugh, because how could I not? My heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest.
“I knew you were gonna cry,” Hudson says through his smile, dimples showing, voice dancing like he’s been waiting to tease me about this all night.
“Oh my god ,” I whisper, wiping at my face even though it’s useless now. “You two are trying to kill me.”
Boone chuckles and reaches over to ruffle Hudson’s hair, careful not to ruin the slicked-back perfection. “You got me, kid?”
Hudson nods like it’s the most serious thing he’s ever done in his life. Then he digs into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulls out a small navy velvet box.
The second it hits Boone’s palm, my knees buckle.
Boone drops down to one knee, right there in the middle of the house he built with his own two hands—for us. My lungs stop working. My heart is in my throat, my ribs, my spine. Everywhere. Everything.
I’ve never been more aware of every inch of myself than I am in this moment. The silk of the dress clinging to my skin, the ache in my cheeks from smiling through tears, the way my fingers twitch at my sides like they need somewhere to land. Boone. Always Boone.
I blink down at him, my entire body trembling, and I can’t stop thinking: This is it. This is the moment. This is the part where my life changes forever.
Boone opens the box, and I swear the air leaves the room .
My hand flies to my mouth, because holy shit.
It’s stunning.
A soft gold band—thin, delicate, timeless.
At the center is an oval-cut diamond, set east to west, flanked by two smaller diamonds on either side that catch the light like they’ve been waiting to show off just for me.
It’s elegant without trying too hard. Feminine, but bold.
Like he took everything I am and everything I’ve ever wanted and set it in gold.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, my voice cracking.
Boone smiles up at me. “I wanted you to have something that felt like you. Soft and strong. Beautiful without needing to be flashy.”
Tears slip down my cheeks again, no matter how many times I swipe them away.
“I want to spend the rest of my life loving you better. I want to be your calm when everything feels like too much. Your loudest fan, your soft place to land. I want to be the man who gets to hold your hand when we’re old and gray and arguing over how to load the dishwasher.”
He shifts, breath catching just slightly.
“I want to be home for you, the way you’ve always been home for me.
I want a life with you. Right here. With Hudson and this house and all the years we thought we lost finally finding their way back to us.
I want to build something with you that lasts.
Something we fight for. Something we come home to. ”
His voice drops to an almost whisper. “Will you do me the honor of marrying me, Lark Caroline Westwood?”
My knees give out, and I’m sinking to the floor with him, wrapping my arms around his neck and nodding through the tears.
“Yes,” I say, breathless. “A million times yes, yes, yes!”
Boone catches me in a kiss, his hands on my back, his mouth soft and urgent against mine like he’s been waiting years for this.
“Gross,” Hudson mutters behind Boone, but he’s grinning so hard it’s like his whole face is beaming.
Boone breaks the kiss, laughing against my cheek, tears streaming down his face. “I think I’m supposed to put this on your finger now.”
I hold out my left hand, still trembling. He takes the ring out of the box and slides it onto my finger with the kind of care that makes my heart clench.
It fits perfectly. Of course it does.
Like every piece of this—of us—was always meant to fall into place.
He stands and grabs my face again, his palms broad and rough, thumbs sweeping across my cheeks. Then his mouth finds mine again, and I melt into him, my arms slipping around his neck, pulling him closer like I could fold myself into him completely and still not be close enough.
As his lips move against mine—soft and searching, full of every promise he just spoke out loud—I can’t stop thinking about how wildly lucky I am.
Not just because he loves me. Not just because he built a damn house for me.
But because I get to spend the rest of my life loving him back.
Waking up to his sleepy smile and that ridiculously beautiful hair.
Making dinner with Hudson hanging off his back.
Arguing about whether or not the porch needs a swing.
Kissing him in the hallway for no reason at all.
I kiss him like I mean it—like I’ll never stop meaning it—and when I finally pull back, I whisper, “You’re it for me, Boone Wilding. I love you so much.”
His arms tighten around my waist, and I swear I feel him exhale like the words filled something in him that had been aching for years.
“Get in here,” I say, motioning Hudson over with a wiggle of my fingers.
He rolls his eyes like a true twelve-year-old, but his half-smile gives him away as he walks over and folds himself into us, arms around both our waists.
My boys. Mine. One made from me, one I’ve loved since I was barely more than a kid myself.
There’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here, sandwiched between them in this house that already feels more like a home than anywhere I’ve ever lived.
Boone leans down, brushing a kiss against my hairline. “There might be some people waiting for us outside.”
I glance up at him, suspicious. “Define ‘some’.”
He just smiles and tips his chin toward the front of the house. So I break away—reluctantly—Hudson’s hand still tangled in mine, and walk toward the front door. When I open it, I nearly laugh out loud.
Molly, Sage, Wren, Loretta and Miller are all standing on the porch, hooting and hollering like it’s Friday night at the rodeo. Molly’s holding up a phone with Ridge’s grinning face on FaceTime, shouting something I can’t quite make out over the noise.
“Holy shit,” I breathe, the laugh spilling out of me as I hold up my hand and flash the ring like I’m showing off a championship belt.
Miller pushes her way through the crowd, grabs my hand, and holds it up like she’s inspecting diamonds for a living. “Jesus. This thing could blind a small child. It’s perfect.”
Boone chuckles behind me, sliding an arm around my waist. “She helped me pick it out, so of course she’d say that.”
I look at her, wide-eyed. “You did?”
She scoffs. “You think I was gonna let you wear some crusty-ass ring from a clearance case for the rest of your life? Please. I’ve been preparing for this moment since we were fifteen.”
I laugh, covering my mouth with my hands.
“You’re welcome,” she adds, smug. “I’m basically the fairy godmother of your left hand.”
Wren and Sage are on me in seconds, squealing so loud I’m sure they just scared off every bird in a ten-mile radius. Wren grabs my left hand like she’s about to steal it, her eyes wide and glittering.
“Oh my god, Lark,” she says, her voice pitched high with excitement. “This is unreal! ”
Sage lets out a noise that’s half gasp, half shriek. “It’s perfect! I don’t know how Boone’s grumpy ass pulled you but I’m glad he did.”