Chapter 20 #2
“I think she would too.” He studied her face, the faint shadows under her eyes, the steadiness beneath the exhaustion. “And how are you holding up? With all of this—the money, the attention, the way your life keeps reinventing itself?”
They slowed as they reached the elevator bank.
Annie was quiet for a moment, considering the question honestly.
“Some days I feel like I’m living someone else’s life.
Three weeks ago I was arguing with suppliers and worrying about whether my shop could make rent.
Now I’m helping manage a foundation and meeting with federal prosecutors.
” Her mouth curved, but her eyes stayed thoughtful. “I don’t know if I’ve caught up yet.”
The elevator doors opened, and Jack waited until they were alone inside before speaking again. “And how do you feel about things settling down? About the protection easing eventually. About whatever normal looks like now.”
Annie leaned back against the mirrored wall. “I’m not sure I remember what normal is,” she admitted. Then she straightened slightly, her expression shifting. “But there is something I wanted to tell you. About the foundation. About what Uncle Eric and I decided.”
Jack felt a flicker of nerves he hadn’t expected. “Okay.”
“We want you involved,” she said. “Officially involved.” She met his eyes.
“Jack, you understood Eleanor’s case in a way almost no one else did.
You risked your life to protect the evidence, and the people connected to it.
We want you on the foundation’s board. Helping us identify cases.
Families who need resources. Who needs someone to take their search for justice seriously? ”
For a moment, he couldn’t speak. The offer landed somewhere deep, touching the part of him that had never really known what to do with the things he’d seen, the losses he’d cataloged, the dead who rarely got voices. This was a way to keep doing the work—without losing himself in it.
“Annie,” he said slowly, “that means more than you know.” Then he drew a breath, feeling the weight in his pocket, the timing he’d been circling. “But there’s something I need to ask you before we talk about anything else. Something I should have asked you four years ago.”
The elevator chimed softly as it reached the ground floor. Neither of them moved.
Jack reached into his jacket and took out the small velvet box. Annie’s breath caught, her hand lifting instinctively to her mouth as recognition dawned.
“Jack…”
“I know this isn’t perfect timing,” he said, the words coming faster now.
“Your life is complicated. Mine isn’t exactly simple.
But Annie, I spent four years letting fear make my decisions.
Fear of loss. Fear of loving you. Fear of what it might cost.” He swallowed.
“I’m done with that. I don’t want another day that isn’t honest.”
He lowered himself to one knee on the elevator floor and opened the box. The diamond was simple, unpretentious, catching the fluorescent light in a way that felt almost symbolic—quiet brilliance, no spectacle required.
“Annie Whitaker,” he said, his voice steady even as his heart raced, “you are the bravest person I know. You see truth where others look away. You fight for people who don’t have anyone else. You make me want to be better than I am.” He held her gaze. “Will you marry me?”
For a heartbeat, she didn’t move. Then she was pulling him up, arms around his neck, tears warm against his skin as she laughed and cried at the same time.
“Yes,” she said, her voice fierce and breathless. “Yes. Of course, yes.”
Jack slid the ring onto her finger, his hands not quite steady, and drew her into a kiss that tasted like relief and certainty and something finally set right. When they broke apart, he rested his forehead against hers.
“I love you,” he said quietly. “I’ve loved you for years. I just finally learned how to stop running from it.”
“I love you too.” Annie lifted her hand between them, studying the ring as if it might disappear. Then she looked back at him, a familiar spark in her eyes. “You’re really sure about this? About marrying into a family that apparently attracts century-old murder mysteries?”
Jack laughed softly, thinking of caves and vaults and locket chains slick with blood, of Eleanor’s careful handwriting and the way Annie had run toward danger instead of away from it.
“Annie, if Eleanor taught us anything, it’s that some things are worth the risk. That love doesn’t protect you from loss—but it gives the loss meaning.” His fingers brushed the locket at her throat. “And I can’t think of anything I want more than a life with you in it.”
They finally stepped out of the elevator and into the Nashville sunlight, the city bright and ordinary around them, unaware of what had just been promised in a mirrored box between floors.
As they walked, Jack felt a deep, unshakeable gratitude settle over him—to Eleanor, whose courage had outlived her; to Uncle Eric, who had raised Annie with a quiet devotion to what mattered; and to the strange mercy of second chances.
The future waited, uncertain and full, and Jack knew there would be other cases, other shadows, other costs.
But whatever came, he wouldn’t be facing it alone.
And that, he knew, made all the difference.