Epilogue
STELLA
“Can I peek yet?” I asked.
“No,” came Ryan’s firm reply. “You leave that blindfold where it is or else.”
I giggled. “But we’ve been driving forever. I’m dying to know where you’re taking me.”
“Tough.”
“Can I guess?”
“Go right ahead.”
“Corktown?” I ventured, naming one of our favorite Detroit neighborhoods for restaurants and bars.
“Nope.”
“SheWolf?” Ryan loved the grilled lamb ribs there and I adored the tagliatelle with lobster.
“Nope.”
“Greektown?” I guessed, picturing Monroe Avenue all lit up at night.
“Nope.”
I felt the truck accelerate, as if we were getting on the expressway. “You’re not going to drive clear up to Grams’s house, are you?”
He laughed. “Not a chance. I don’t miss that drive one bit.”
“Me neither.”
Ryan and I had kept things going long-distance for about five months, but the four-hour-drive had grown tedious every weekend. We’d taken turns making it, but since Ryan often had to be on hand for weddings at Cloverleigh, it was me making the drive most of the time. Finally, Ryan felt so bad that he offered to quit his job and move to Detroit to be closer to me. By then, he’d finished the work on his house, and his friend Mack was going to buy it. He needed more space since his three daughters were going to live with him full time. Grams, as you can imagine, was absolutely thrilled to have kids next door (not to mention a potentially single Marine to fix up, but she’d promised me she’d wait until he was officially divorced before she started matchmaking again).
I’d invited Ryan to stay with me while he looked for a job and a place to rent, and even though he found work managing the grounds at a country club right away and we looked at dozens of cool apartments in the city, we found we enjoyed living together in my house so much, I asked him not to leave.
Seven months later, we were coming up on our one-year anniversary, and I’d never been happier.
“El Asador!” I shouted, naming one of our favorite Mexican places in the city. “I could totally go for a steak right now.”
“Me too, but that’s not where we’re going either.”
I sighed. “Are you even going to tell me if I get it right?”
“Probably not.”
Blindly I reached over to hit him on the chest but hit the seat instead.
He laughed. “Patience, young grasshopper.”
Huffing, I crossed my arms over my chest, although secretly it was a thrill to have someone go to such elaborate measures for my birthday dinner—the perfect end to what had been an awesome day.
It had started the way Ryan and I liked to start all our Saturdays—after waking up next to each other, we’d say we were going to get out of bed and get our run in early, but we always started fooling around and ended up having sex (no complaints here). Then we’d gone for a run, after which Ryan had cooked breakfast for us—eggs and hash browns, just like Gramps used to make. This afternoon, I’d gone shopping with Emme (we took turns pushing little seven-month-old Adam in the stroller) for a new outfit and shoes and sexy underwear for tonight (Emme’s only rule was No Beige—I’d shocked us both when I went for siren red). Just as we were finishing up, Emme’s business partner at Devine Events called her with some sort of emergency at a huge expensive corporate thing they’d planned and begged for her help.
Emme called Nate, but he was all the way across the state visiting his mom in Grand Rapids. He said he’d leave right away, but still wouldn’t be home for a few hours. I’d told Emme to go and said I’d be happy to watch Adam. Being an aunt was the greatest thing ever, and my nephew was so sweet—I couldn’t get enough of him.
“Thanks, but then you won’t make it home in time to get ready for your seven o’clock dinner reservation,” she said. “Although, you do have your outfit and shoes and underwear for tonight with you already. I’ve got plenty of makeup you can borrow. Why not just get ready at my house?”
“I can do that,” I said.
Getting ready for a date and taking care of a baby was a bit of a challenge, but I didn’t mind. If Ryan and I had children someday—and I so hoped we would—this would be my reality.
Nate got home just before Ryan picked me up at their house, looking good enough to eat in his black suit. But before I even got my fill of him, he’d put the blindfold on.
The truck came to a stop. “Now can I look?”
“No. Stay there.”
I heard the driver side door open and shut, then felt the passenger side door open and his hands reaching in to unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Ready?” he asked, taking me by the hand to help me down.
“Yes.” I carefully stepped out of the truck and he shut the door. At that point, I stopped to listen for clues, but I didn’t hear anything—not traffic, not music, not voices. I inhaled and smelled fresh air. “Where the heck are we, the middle of nowhere?”
“Nope.” He led me with an arm around my shoulder, and I heard my heels tapping on cement.
Giving up, I let him lead me up one step and guide me through a door.
At that point, I heard soft music—Sinatra—and smelled something deliciously savory, as if a roast was in the oven. Beneath it was a hint of sweetness, something that reminded me of Grams’s kitchen. Apples and cinnamon?
“Where are we?” I asked. There were no other voices, no clink of glasses or silverware, no clatter of dishes.
Ryan untied the scarf from around my eyes, and I found myself in the dark front hall of our own house.
My jaw dropped. “What’s going on?”
“Come with me, please.” He took my hand and led me to the dining room, which was lit only by candles. The table had been extravagantly set for two down at one end.
“What’s this?” I recognized Emme’s wedding china and stemware, and Grams’s silver.
Ryan pulled a chair out for me. “I have to admit, this stuff is on loan,” he said. “But I wanted something nicer than what we use every day.”
“How did you—” But suddenly I knew. “Emme.”
I heard laughing behind me, and turned around. She stood in the archway between the dining room and the kitchen, grinning madly and hopping from one foot to the other. “We all tricked you!”
I gasped. “You were all in on this? Even Nate?”
“Even Grams,” Ryan said, gesturing to the silverware. “When I told her what I was planning and asked her for some recipes, she insisted I needed more than that. I had to drive up there for two days’ worth of cooking lessons, and she made me take the silver with me when I left.”
“When did you go see Grams?” I wondered.
“Last month. Remember that overnight business trip to Buffalo to visit the turf supplier?”
“That was made up?”
He nodded. “One hundred percent. Now come sit down.”
Still in shock, I lowered myself into the chair he’d pulled out and let him push me closer to the table. “I don’t believe this.”
He kissed my temple. “Believe it. You look gorgeous, by the way. I think I was too nervous to tell you that before.”
“Thank you.”
“Ryan, everything is exactly the way you wanted it in the kitchen,” said Emme. “Are you sure you don’t want me to stay and serve?”
“Positive. You’ve been awesome, thank you.” He went into the kitchen, giving her a squeeze on the shoulder as he passed her.
When we were alone, my sister came rushing over to me. “Oh my God,” she whispered. “Is this not the cutest thing ever?”
“Yes! Whose idea was it?”
“His!” Emme bounced up and down. “I swear to God, this whole thing was his plan right from the start. He said something about making this birthday dinner much better than last year’s.”
For a second, I couldn’t even remember what I’d do
ne on my birthday last year. Then it hit me—Walter’s big brush-off. “I’d forgotten I’d even told him about that night.”
Emme shook her head. “I can’t even believe that was only a year ago. So much has happened.”
“I know.”
Ryan appeared carrying an open bottle of wine. He’d removed his suit coat, cuffed up his sleeves, and wore a black apron that said CAUTION: HOT STUFF on the front in red letters.
I burst out laughing. “Gift from Grams?”
He nodded and poured me some wine. “Of course.”
“Well, I’m going to take off,” Emme said. “Well done, Ryan. Happy birthday, sis.”
“Bye,” I said. “Thank you!”
“Thanks a million, Emme,” added Ryan. “I couldn’t have done this without you. And Nate.”
“My pleasure.” She blew us a kiss and disappeared. A second later I heard the front door open and close.
Ryan made two more trips to the kitchen, first for a basket of warm bread and next for a serving bowl full of salad.
“I got the recipe for the Caesar dressing we liked at the inn,” he told me, placing some on my salad plate and then his.
I got choked up watching him hurry back into the kitchen and return without the apron on.
“I’m too warm for the coat,” he said as he sat down. “Sorry. And I have to confess that the rolls are from Breadsmith. Grams would not approve, but I ran out of time.”
I shook my head. “Do not apologize. First, I love when you roll up your sleeves like that because your forearms turn me on. Second, everything about tonight is amazing, including Breadsmith rolls.”
“Thank you.” He picked up his wine glass. “To the most beautiful woman—in every way—I’ve ever known.”
We clinked glasses and took a sip, although I was barely able to swallow because of the lump in my throat. “Ryan, this is—this is …” I fought hard for composure. “The sweetest thing anyone’s ever done for me. Thank you.”
He smiled. “I wanted it to be like something from one of your books.”
I laughed, wiping at a tear that had snuck from the corner of one eye. “It’s even better.”
But the best was yet to come.
After the salad, Ryan served the rest of dinner—all dishes that reminded me of when we met. Grams’s meatloaf with the whiskey sauce, the ginger-glazed carrots from the inn, the green bean casserole I’d brought him the very first night I’d knocked on his door.
I had to laugh. “You did not want me in your house.”
“I didn’t,” he admitted. “You scared me.”
“The next night when I brought you the pie was even worse. You flat out told me I couldn’t come in.”
He nodded. “Believe me, I remember.”
“But you wanted that pie,” I reminded him.
“I wanted you more,” he said.
My face flushed with warmth.
We ate and talked and laughed, remembering how devious Grams had been in getting us together. We vowed to get up there and see her more often. We chatted about Maren’s recent announcement that she and Dallas were expecting (they’d had a small, intimate wedding on their ranch over the summer), Mack’s struggles as a full-time single dad to his girls, my new group therapy program for combat veterans at the clinic (which Ryan attended and had been instrumental in giving me the confidence to implement), his online college classes. They suited him much better than on-campus classrooms had, and he was making good progress toward a degree. I told him every day how proud I was, and he said the same to me.
No relationship is easy, and we had our bad days like any other couple, days where we communicated poorly or reacted badly or forgot to take the other’s feelings into consideration. Sometimes he went a little too silent for my liking when he was struggling with something, and sometimes I poked at his psyche a little too often, but it was only because I loved him so much. We forgave easily and trusted deeply. We had many, many more good days than bad (and lots and lots of great sex).
“Ready for dessert?” he asked, picking up our empty plates.
“Of course. Can I help clear the table?” I started to get up.
“No.” Ryan pressed a hand to my shoulder. “Stay here. I’m doing all the work tonight.”
“If you insist,” I said, drinking the last of my wine. “But you’re spoiling me rotten, you know.”
“That’s my plan.”
When the table was clear, he called out from the kitchen. “Close your eyes, okay?”
I obeyed. “They’re closed!”
He came into the room and set something in front of me. “You can open them.”
When I looked down, I squealed. “A homemade apple crumble pie! Did you bake this up there?”
“Sort of. Grams and I made the dough up there for the crust, which I asked Emme to keep in her freezer so you wouldn’t find it. Then Emme helped me with the filling and topping this afternoon so it would be fresh.”
I shook my head. “And neither of you is a good liar! I can’t believe I didn’t sense something was going on.”
“In this case, I’m glad your intuition has the occasional off day.” He handed me Grams’s silver pie server. “Want to do the honors?”
“Sure.” I went to slice into the center of the pie, but the tip of the knife hit something hard. For a second, I thought maybe he and Emme had screwed something up. I tried a second time, and hit something again. “Um, something isn’t right.”
“It’s not? Let me try.” Pushing his chair back, he stood up and took the knife from me, poking around in the filling. “Hmm. You’re right. It’s like something is in there.”
Before I could register what was going on, he dug around the pie and scooped up whatever was in the middle. Then he put it on my plate.
I stared at it.
Covered in apple pie filling and brown-sugar-and-cinnamon topping was something made of wood.
“Is it … a present?” I wondered. I used my fork to clean it off a little and saw it was a shallow, heart-shaped object about three inches tall and three inches wide.
“I don’t know,” he said seriously. “Can you open it?”
I looked at up at him. Was there a smile playing on his lips?
Confused, I used the napkin from my lap to wipe it clean. Setting the napkin aside, I turned the heart over in my hands and studied it closer. There was a tiny gold hinge between the two rounded curves at the top of the heart, which was split by a seam down the center. I opened it up from the bottom.
And gasped.
One side of the heart was hollow, but the other side hid a little pocket lined in black velvet, into which was nestled a gorgeous diamond ring.
I looked up at Ryan, and he got down on one knee at my side.
My vision blurred.
Taking the heart-shaped box from my hands, Ryan held it open toward me. “Stella,” he said, and his voice didn’t waver one bit. “There were many days in my life when I thought I would die. Mornings I’d wake up knowing it could be my last. And I wasn’t scared. I knew what was expected of me, and I’d have given my life.”
My throat was tight. “I know.”
“And I can’t tell you how many times I lay awake at night wondering why I was spared when so many other guys, better guys, stronger guys, guys with wives and kids and a million more reasons to live, were not. Just like my mother’s death, it never made any sense.”
“Ryan,” I whispered.
“It never made any sense,” he went on, “until I met you.”
I swallowed hard as tears dripped from my eyes.
“I don’t pretend to understand God. I’ve seen too much for that.” He brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, wiping away the tears. “But someone must have been looking out for me. Someone must have known I had a reason all along. And that reason was you.”
I began to sob openly, and it wasn’t pretty like the movies. It was a gut-wrenching, heart-clenching ugly cry.
“I hope those are happy
tears, because I want nothing more than to spend the rest of my life making you happy. Will you marry me?”
“Yes!” I managed to squeak, nodding as tears splashed down my cheeks. “Yes!”
He pulled the ring from its cushion—a beautiful, sparkling round solitaire in a platinum band that suited my classic, understated style perfectly—and slipped it on my finger.
We stood up together, and I continued to weep into his chest. He held me tight, rocking me gently, his lips resting on the top of my head.
All I could think of was how lucky I was to have a man like him, a love like this, and a future as beautiful as anything I’d ever dreamed.
When I finally calmed down, I had to get another look at my ring. Leaning back at the waist, I put my palm on Ryan’s mascara-stained shirt and studied it in disbelief. “It fits perfectly,” I sniffled. “How did you know?”
“I stole a ring I’ve seen you wearing on that finger from your jewelry box and had this one sized to match.”
I laughed even as more tears fell. “It’s so Grams of you.”
“I know,” he said, chuckling. “She definitely approved.”
“She knows?” I gasped. “You told her before you asked me?”
“Who do you think had the idea to put the ring in the pie? She said you were guaranteed to say yes if I did that. I couldn’t take any chances.”
I looked up at him. “You know I’d have said yes no matter where you put the ring. I’d have said yes without a ring at all.”
“I know.” He pressed his lips to mine. “But when we tell this story to our grandkids, we’ll be glad about the magic pie.”
I smiled, my heart beating hard against his. “Best. Story. Ever.”
Forty-Two
Grams
If you’re wondering, they lived happily ever after.
You’re welcome.
Bonus Epilogue
Stella
“Ruthie, no! Don’t climb on the nice man.”
I gave my oldest child the sternest expression I had, although it was hard not to laugh as she settled herself squarely on the old timer’s lap. At four, Ruthie was endlessly curious about absolutely everyone and had no fear when it came to talking to strangers—and she loved visiting the nursing home where Grams lived, because so many people were willing to chat with her. She had a particular interest in anyone in a wheelchair who was willing to let her hop on for a ride.
One and Only Boxed Set Page 76
