19. Chapter 19
Cate
Halloween - Eleven years ago
Iwas bouncing on the balls of my feet in John’s kitchen like a child who’d been promised candy and then told to wait.
“Where are we going?” I asked again, because asking twice had worked for me exactly zero times in life, but I kept trying anyway.
I slid up onto the counter, careful not to brush the pot of freshly brewed coffee, and crossed my arms. Then I added a pout for emphasis - chin out, lower lip exaggerated, the whole dramatic production.
John looked up from where he was wrestling with a travel mug lid and laughed like I was the funniest thing he’d ever seen.
“Now, Cate,” he said, voice warm with that patient teasing that always made my chest feel… softer. “I told you. It’s a surprise.”
He leaned in, kissed my cheek, quick and easy, and then rubbed his hands up and down my arms like he was trying to generate heat through friction alone.
“Get your coat on,” he ordered gently. “Let’s go.”
“Why won’t you just tell me?” My voice came out almost like a whine, which was humiliating, but it didn’t stop me.
“Because,” he said, eyes bright, “then it wouldn’t be a surprise.”
I hopped down and rounded the corner into the living room. My coat was draped over the back of the recliner like it had been waiting for this moment. John had already set my scarf on the armrest too, as if he’d planned the whole thing down to the last knot and loop.
Of course he had.
It was Halloween, and the weather was doing that Colorado thing where it couldn’t decide if it wanted to be crisp or cruel. The air had teeth.
“Come on,” I muttered as I shoved my arms into my sleeves. “You know how much I hate surprises.”
He lifted my scarf and held it out like a peace offering. “You hate them so much you refuse to snoop at Christmas for fear of ruining them,” he said, tying it around my neck with a tenderness that made me swallow.
I rolled my eyes. “Well, you better not take me someplace scary.”
His smile turned slow and wicked. “You say that like I don’t already know what you’re thinking.”
I poked a finger into his chest. “I’m serious, Jonathan Rosewood. No haunted houses. None. Not even a cute one.”
“Yeah,” he said, and the laugh in his voice softened into something fond. “I know.”
He pressed the garage door button, and the door rolled up with a groan, letting in a gust of cold that made me flinch.
I hurried toward the truck and climbed in, barely noticing Baby at my heels until John bent to rub her head.
“Not tonight, girl,” he murmured to her, as if they were conspirators. “Guard the house.”
Baby’s tail thumped once, both obedient and offended, then she padded back inside like she’d been assigned a sacred mission.
John waited until the garage door lowered again before climbing into the driver’s seat. He backed out of the driveway… then stopped.
“I almost forgot,” he said.
My stomach flipped. “What now?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a red blindfold.
My whole body went still. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not,” he said, like this was completely normal. “It’s necessary.”
“Necessary for what?” I asked, already suspicious. “A kidnapping?”
“You’re safe,” he promised quickly, all confidence. Like he’d already predicted my panic. Then he added, “And I’ll let you pick the music,” he offered, like that somehow evened the scales.
“That’s bribery.”
“It’s effective bribery.”
I studied his face - hopeful, a little nervous, but steady. John didn’t play games. If he was asking for this, it mattered.
I snatched the blindfold and stared at it for a beat like it might bite me. Then I tied it on myself - tight enough that the world disappeared completely.
“Alright,” I said, settling back against the seat. “I want Alanis.”
John made a noise of pain. “Are you sure you don’t want something else? I just downloaded the latest from Katy Perry…”
I smiled beneath the blindfold. “Remember,” I said sweetly, “anything I want.”
He chuckled, then reached over and took my hand, threading his fingers through mine like he’d done it a thousand times and still wanted to do it a thousand more.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, giving my hand a squeeze. “Just trust me.”
Something in my throat tightened.
Trusting John was easy.
It was the rest of the world that had taught me not to.
We drove.
The music played.
I tried to focus on Alanis and not the fact that my entire existence had turned into darkness and engine noise and the steady, grounding weight of John’s hand in mine.
At some point, the road shifted. The truck slowed, stopped, turned. I could feel it in the tilt of my body, the change in the way the air moved around us. The cold pressed through the door seams. The scent changed too - less neighborhood, more open night.
My heart kept trying to sprint ahead of me.
About four songs later, the truck stopped for real and the ignition clicked off.
Relief flooded my chest so fast it almost made me laugh.
I reached up for the knot. “We there?”
“Yeah,” John said. And then his hand caught mine, stopping me. “Leave it on. Just a little longer.”
I groaned, “John.”
“Please,” he said, voice soft in a way that always disarmed me. “Just a little longer, I promise.”
I exhaled hard, like I was giving up something important. “You know I’m only doing this because I love you.”
He made a sound that might’ve been a smile. “I know.”
The door opened, and cold air hit my legs. John slid out, then came around and offered me his hand.
He took it the moment I gave it, then kissed my knuckles once, lingering.
“Careful,” he said. “Step down.”
I let him guide me out of the truck, and the world turned into sensation instead of sight. Gravel under my boots, wind teasing loose strands of hair, distant voices somewhere ahead.
When he kissed my cheek, I felt it like a promise.
Then he led me forward, slow and careful across what felt like a long stretch of pavement. The noise grew louder. A crowd. People talking, laughing, shouting.
My nerves spiked.
“Wait here,” John said suddenly.
His hand slipped away and my entire body went on alert.
“John?” I called, immediate panic clawing up my throat.
No answer.
“John,” I said again, sharper now. “Don’t-don’t leave me like this.”
My fingers curled into fists, half wanting to rip the blindfold off and half refusing to ruin whatever he’d planned. My heart was hammering in my ribs like it wanted out.
Then I heard his footsteps.
I knew them. The rhythm, the weight. I could smell him too, that familiar mix of cedar and clean cotton and him, carried to me on the night air like a tether.
His hand slid into mine again and I clung to it like it was the only thing that was real.
“Almost there,” he murmured. “I promise.”
“Stop saying that like you’re not about to sacrifice me to a cult,” I muttered, but my voice was shaky.
He laughed quietly. “Hey.”
He stopped just long enough to press his forehead to mine, the warmth of him cutting through the cold.
“I won’t let you fall,” he said softly.
My breath caught.
Then he guided me forward again.
We moved over something uneven - rocks maybe - then through a doorway of sorts. Fabric brushed my cheek, then my hair, like we were walking through hanging curtains. The air warmed suddenly. We were inside
And my stomach sank.
I knew that warmth.
I knew that smell.
I knew that…
John stopped, and I bumped into his shoulder.
“Everything okay?” I asked, dread creeping in.
He inhaled like he was steadying himself. “We’re here,” he said. “You can take it off.”
I hesitated. My fingers went to the blindfold, then paused.
My instincts were screaming at me to run, and I didn’t even know what I was running from yet.
I took a breath, slid the blindfold up and off, and kept my eyes closed for a beat longer than necessary.
Then I opened them.
My heart sank so fast I swear I felt it crash into my stomach.
I knew it.
I knew it from the second we stepped inside.
The hallway. The dim lighting. The fake fog that clung to the air. The sound effects - distant screaming, chains, the low hum of manufactured fear.
John had brought me to a haunted house.
Not just any haunted house.
The haunted house.
The one from a year ago.
The memory hit like a punch. Me terrified, grabbing a stranger for safety, my scream echoing off the walls, the way my whole body had shaken.
“What part of ‘no haunted houses’ did you not…” I started, anger rushing in like oxygen.
But then my eyes found him and the words died on my tongue.
John wasn’t standing beside me, he was kneeling.
Right there in the entrance, oblivious to the crowd around us, his attention locked completely on me like the world had narrowed down to one single point.
“John?” My voice cracked.
His hand shook as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a tiny velvet box.
Time slowed as he opened it.
The ring caught the dim light and threw it back like it was alive.
His blue eyes lifted to mine, steady and terrified all at once.
“Cate,” he said, voice low, and careful. Like he was holding something fragile.
My chest tightened so hard it hurt.
“I know this place scares you,” he said softly. “And I know surprises aren’t your favorite. But this is where everything changed for me.
“I didn’t fall for you because you were fearless,” he said. “I fell for you because you trusted me anyway. Because you show up. Because you love honestly, even when it costs you something.”
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.
“I don’t want a perfect future,” he went on. “I want you. I want to keep choosing you. Every day. Even when it’s hard.”
He swallowed, eyes never leaving mine.
“Will you marry me?” he asked.
My vision blurred instantly.
I stared at him, at the box, at the ring, at the man who had spent a year learning every rough and jagged edge of me and still stepped closer instead of backing away.
He’d brought me back to where we met.
To where everything began.
To the place I’d once clung to a stranger because I didn’t believe I’d ever be safe.
And now he was kneeling in front of me like I was the safest decision he’d ever made.
I didn’t know what to do with that kind of love.
My mind scrambled for all the reasons this was too soon, too much, too risky. Marriage didn’t work. Love didn’t last. People left. Fathers left. Men promised and disappeared and…
But John didn’t look like someone making a promise lightly.
He looked like someone offering his whole life, hoping I’d take it.
I swallowed hard. “John…”
His smile was shaky. “If you’re going to say no, I’d like you to do it before one of the actors jumps out and murders me.”
A wet laugh escaped me, surprising us both.
Then my heart overrode everything else.
“Yes,” I whispered.
John exhaled like he’d been drowning and I’d just pulled him to the surface.
He surged to his feet so fast I barely had time to breathe before his arms were around me, crushing me close. He kissed my cheek, my forehead, my neck, like he had to touch me everywhere to convince himself it was real.
“I love you,” he breathed against my skin. “I love you, Catherine Larkin.”
I wrapped my arms around him, clinging. “I love you too,” I whispered back, and for once the words didn’t feel like a trap. They felt like freedom.
He pulled back just enough to slide the ring onto my finger, his hands still trembling. The pink diamond caught the faint haunted-house light and glittered like something defiant.
Like it didn’t care about fear.
Like it didn’t care about ghosts.
John lifted my hand and kissed the ring like it was sacred.
“We’ve got time,” he whispered against my knuckles. “All the time we need.”
My throat tightened, emotion swelling up too big, too fast.
Then he grinned, the mischievous one, the one who knew exactly what he’d done by bringing me here.
“Now,” he said quickly, tugging me toward the exit, “before you change your mind, let’s get the hell out of here so you don’t actually murder me for this.”
I let out a shaky laugh as he guided me outside, the cold air hitting my flushed face.
And as the haunted house door closed behind us, John’s hand tightened around mine, warm and sure.