Page 70 of Small Town Daddy

"Sure thing," I said, motioning for them to follow me. A small group formed quickly, eager to see every inch of what Lucy and I had worked so hard to restore.

"Over here’s the dining room," I began, gesturing toward the heavy walnut table Lucy had picked out at some antique store upstate. "We stripped the floors ourselves—"

"Turned out perfect," someone murmured approvingly.

"Thanks. And this..." I led them into the parlor, keeping my tone casual, "...was the biggest pain in the ass to paint, let me tell you. Those crown moldings? Took three coats of primer."

Polite laughter rippled through the group, but my focus stayed sharp. As we moved from room to room, I steered clear of thenursery. My hand brushed against the locked doorknob once as we passed, a reflexive habit I'd developed without thinking. That space was ours. No one else needed to see it.

"Kitchen's next," I announced, pushing forward. The crowd murmured appreciatively at the gleaming counter tops and farmhouse sink Lucy had insisted on. I glanced out of the corner of my eye, spotting her in the hallway, laughing with Rebekah. Relief settled over me. She deserved this—the sense of belonging, the pride radiating from her. It filled her up in a way I hadn't seen before.

"Feel free to look around," I told the group. They spread out, admiring the intricate carvings on the fireplace mantle or flipping through spines of old novels. I stepped back, giving them space—and spotted Lucy tucked into a corner.

She was perched on the edge of the reading chair, fiddling with something. From this angle, I could see it was a ring, catching the light. Our ring.

"Hey," I murmured, crossing the room quickly, quietly. She jumped a little, startled, then relaxed when she realized it was me.

"Hey Daddy," she whispered back, her voice soft, almost shy. Her fingers tightened around the chain instinctively, and my chest ached at the sight.

"Stealing a moment?" I asked, leaning down so only she could hear me.

"Maybe." Her lips curved into a slight smile, but her grip on the ring didn’t ease. "Needed a breather. It’s . . . a lot."

"Yeah." I crouched beside her, resting my hand lightly on her knee. She looked at me then, green eyes wide, vulnerable. I couldn’t help myself—I reached up, brushing a strand of auburn hair from her cheek. My thumb lingered, tracing the curve of her jaw.

"Still not ready to tell everyone?" I teased, my voice low, rougher than I intended.

"Not yet," she admitted. Her fingers loosened on the chain, letting the ring dangle freely now, swaying between us. "I just . . . it feels private. For now."

"Private," I echoed, leaning closer. My hand slid higher, resting just above her knee now. Her breath hitched, and damn if that didn’t stir something deep in me. "I can handle private. But, Lucy?"

"Yeah?" Her voice was barely audible.

"I can’t wait much longer."

The blush that crept up her neck was worth every second of restraint.

The smell of charcoal hit me before I even stepped into the backyard. Brett stood over the grill, flipping burgers with one hand and holding a beer in the other like he was born to do it. His laughter rumbled through the air, mixing with the hum of conversation and the faint clink of someone setting down a glass too hard on the patio table.

"About time you got out here," Brett hollered, eyes gleaming under the string lights I’d spent two solid weekends getting just right. They cast a warm glow over everything—over everyone. The yard looked almost magical. Almost.

"Don’t burn those," I shot back, strolling closer, my hands shoved in my pockets. "Lucy will murder you if her veggie skewers get torched."

"Relax, big brother." He smirked, flipping one of the skewers. "I’ve got this under control. Maybeyoushould relax for once."

"Funny." I clapped him on the shoulder before stepping back, surveying the crowd. Neighbors mingled near the fire pit, Marie was fussing over something with a wooden spoon at the picnic table, and Lucy—

She was by the garden, standing next to Rebekah. Her head tilted as she laughed at something her friend said, that bright, easy sound carrying across the yard like music. Marie joined them, apron still tied around her waist, and something about the way they all leaned into each other made me pause.

Lucy’s cheeks were flushed, her green eyes practically glowing under the lights. She gestured with her hands, always animated, always so damn . . . alive. Watching her like that, I could almost forget the weight we used to carry. How close I’d come to losing her. To losing myself.

Then, she caught my eyes. She pulled the ring out of her pocket, looked down at it, then back up at at me. Then, clearly, she smiled, and nodded.

It was time.

"Eyes off your girl for two seconds?" Brett's voice ripped through my thoughts. "You’re starting to look creepy standing there like a statue."

"Shut up," I muttered, but a grin tugged at my lips anyway. Because yeah, maybe I was staring. So what?

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