Chapter 31
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
Anna had been right.
Meg stood in Luke’s kitchen, coffee warming her hands, and finally let herself see what her sister had pointed out.
Her laptop charging on the kitchen table, in the spot that had somehow become “her spot.” Her sweater draped over the back of the couch.
Her running shoes by the door, next to his sandals.
Her organizational system slowly colonizing his bookshelves.
She hadn’t been “staying over.” She’d been living here. She just hadn’t admitted it to herself until Anna said it out loud.
When she’d started staying at Luke’s more, she’d said—and believed—that it was to get away from the chaos. From Anna and Bea and all the paint.
But it wasn’t that.
The realization hit Meg while she was looking for her favorite coffee mug.
She’d checked Luke’s kitchen cabinets three times before she found it—third shelf, behind his mismatched collection of marine biology conference mugs. She pulled it out, filled it with coffee, and was halfway through her first sip when the thought arrived, fully formed:
I know where my mug lives in his kitchen.
She stood very still, coffee warming her hands, and looked around.
When had this happened?
She tried to remember the last time she’d slept at her own house — Sam’s house, Anna’s house now — and couldn’t. A week ago? Two? She’d been “staying over” at Luke’s so often that staying over had become just... staying.
“You’re thinking loudly.”
Luke appeared in the kitchen doorway, hair still damp from his shower, wearing the faded UCSD Marine Biology shirt that was soft from a decade of washing.
“I’m having a revelation.”
“Good revelation or bad revelation?”
“I’m not sure yet.” Meg gestured at the kitchen with her mug. “When did I move in?”
Luke’s mouth quirked. “Technically? About six weeks ago. That’s when you stopped taking your toothbrush home.”
“I left it here for convenience.”
“You left your electric toothbrush, your skincare routine, and a drawer’s worth of clothes.” He leaned against the doorframe. “That’s not convenience. That’s residency.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because I was hoping you’d figure it out yourself.” He crossed to the coffee pot, poured his own cup. “And because I didn’t want to spook you.”
“I don’t spook.”
“You reorganized my entire filing system when I asked if you wanted to keep a spare key here.”
“That was unrelated.”
“It was stress organizing. You do it when you’re processing emotions.”
Meg opened her mouth to argue, then closed it. He wasn’t wrong.
They stood in the kitchen together, drinking coffee, the morning light slanting through the window. Outside, she could hear the ocean — always the ocean, in this town. The steady rhythm of waves that had become the soundtrack of her life.
“I like having you here,” Luke said quietly. “In case that wasn’t clear.”
“It’s clear.”
“Good.” He took a sip of coffee. “Because I was going to ask you something, and I wanted to make sure you knew that first.”
Meg’s heart did something funny. “What kind of something?”
“The kind of something that might require stress organizing afterward.” Luke set down his mug. Turned to face her fully. “I had a whole plan, you know. Sunset on the beach, maybe some candles, definitely better clothes than this.”
“I like that shirt.”
“I know you do. You steal it constantly.” He smiled, soft and fond. “But then I woke up this morning and you were making coffee in my kitchen, wearing my shirt, looking at the ocean through my window, and I thought—why am I waiting for the perfect moment? This IS the perfect moment.”
“Luke—”
“Let me finish. Please.”
Meg nodded, not trusting her voice.
“I’ve loved you for longer than I knew,” Luke said.
“Longer, probably, if I’m being honest. I loved you when you left for San Francisco, and I loved you when you came back, and I’ve loved you every single day of this chaotic, wonderful, completely unpredictable year.
” He reached out, took her hand. “I don’t need a sunset or candles. I just need you. Here. With me.”
“Are you asking me to move in?”
“I’m asking you to marry me, actually.” His thumb traced circles on her palm. “Anna had the right idea—but I want to make it official.”
Meg laughed—a surprised, watery sound that was half-sob. “You’re proposing in your kitchen. In your marine biology shirt. Before nine AM.”
“Is that a problem?”
“It’s perfect.” She set down her coffee mug. “It’s absolutely perfect.”
“Is that a yes?”
“It’s a yes.” She stepped closer, close enough to see the hope and uncertainty in his eyes. “It’s been a yes all along. I just didn’t know how to say it before I was asked the question.”
Luke kissed her.
It wasn’t dramatic—no sweeping music, no grand gestures. Just Luke’s hands in her hair and his mouth on hers and the morning light warming them both. It tasted like coffee and love and something that felt like home.
When they pulled apart, he was grinning.
“So,” he said. “I should probably mention — I don’t actually have a ring yet. I was planning to do this properly, remember? With the sunset and the candles.”
“I don’t need a ring.”
“You’re getting a ring. Eventually. Once I figure out what kind you’d want.”
“Something simple. Nothing flashy.”
“I could have guessed that.” He kissed her forehead. “We should probably tell people. Your family’s going to have opinions.”
“My family has opinions about everything.”
“True. But they’re going to have extra opinions about this.”
Meg thought about it — the chaos that would ensue, the questions, the excitement, the inevitable party that Anna would insist on throwing. The Circle ladies would have a field day. Bernie would probably start a betting pool about the wedding date.
“Can we have one day?” she asked. “Just us? Before we tell everyone?”
“We can have whatever you want.”
“One day. Today. Just... this.”
Luke pulled her close, arms wrapped around her, chin resting on top of her head. They stood in the kitchen, swaying slightly, the ocean audible through the open window.
“I have to work later,” Meg said into his chest. “Client call at two.”
“I have a research meeting at four.”
“We should probably eat breakfast.”
“Probably.”
Neither of them moved.
“I love you,” Meg said. “I should say that more. I’m going to say it more.”
“I love you too.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Though I figured you knew that, given the kitchen proposal and all.”
“The kitchen proposal was very romantic.”
“It was extremely unplanned.”
“That’s what made it romantic.” She pulled back enough to look at him. “You saw the moment and you took it. That’s very unlike you.”
“You’re a bad influence.”
“The worst.”
“I know.” He kissed her again, quick and light. “Breakfast?”
“Breakfast.”
They made eggs together—the way they’d made countless meals together over the past months, moving around each other with the ease of people who’d learned each other’s rhythms. Luke handled the pan while Meg sliced bread for toast. He seasoned without measuring—she arranged everything in precise portions on the plates.
Different approaches. Same result.
“We need to tell everyone as soon as possible,” Meg said, settling at the table.
“Agreed. Tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow. And then the whole town will know within approximately forty-five minutes.” Meg speared a bite of egg. “Bernie probably already knows. He has a sixth sense for Walsh family developments.”
“Should we be concerned about that?”
“We should accept it as an immutable fact of existence.”
Luke laughed. “Fair enough.”
They ate breakfast in the quiet kitchen, sun climbing higher, the day stretching ahead of them. Meg kept catching herself looking at Luke — at the way he held his fork, the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, the way he looked at her like she was something precious and permanent.
Over twenty years he’d waited.
And now here they were. In his kitchen. Engaged. Because he’d woken up and decided the perfect moment was whatever moment they were already in.
“Stop looking at me like that,” Luke said.
“Like what?”
“Like you’re surprised this is happening.”
“I’m not surprised. I’m...” She searched for the word. “Grateful. That you waited. That you didn’t give up.”
“I never would have given up.” He reached across the table, covered her hand with his. “Some things are worth waiting for.”
“Even twenty years?”
“Even twenty years.” His thumb stroked her knuckles. “Though I’m glad we’re done with the waiting part.”
“Me too.”
They finished breakfast. Washed the dishes together. Settled on the couch with their laptops, working side by side, shoulders touching.
Normal. Ordinary. Theirs.
And underneath it all, humming like a current — the knowledge that everything had changed. That this was the beginning of something, not just the continuation.
At one-thirty, Meg closed her laptop.
“Client call,” she said.
“Research meeting prep,” Luke agreed.
They looked at each other.
“One more day,” Meg said. “Tomorrow we tell everyone.”
“Tomorrow we tell everyone.”
“And then the chaos begins.”
“The chaos already began.” Luke kissed her cheek. “As soon as you came back to Laguna. This is just the next chapter.”
Meg smiled. Picked up her laptop. Headed for the spare room that had become her office, in the house that had become her home, with the man who had become her future.
The next chapter.
She liked the sound of that.