Page 13 of The Politician Bidder

She pulls back, breathing hard, her hands still fisted in my jacket.

“I have one more question,” I say, reaching into my pocket. Her eyes widen slightly as I press a small velvet box into her hand. “No pressure, but I figured if I was going to beg for a second chance, I might as well go all in.”

She looks down at the box like it’s radioactive, then back up at me, her lips parting.

A smile dances on my lips. “In case it’s not clear, this isn’t part of the business proposal. This is a marriage proposal.”

Slowly, with shaking fingers, she opens the box. Nestled inside is an engagement ring. Nothing flashy. Just a perfect solitaire diamond set in a platinum band. Elegant and timeless.

Just like her.

She blinks rapidly, like she’s trying to absorb all of this at once—the protest, the proposal, the man standing in front of her who would tear down his whole career if it meant getting a second chance with her.

Finally, she laughs—a choked, teary sound—and the clipboard clatters to the sidewalk as she throws her arms around my neck.

“Yes, you idiot,” she whispers against my ear. “Of course, yes.”

I slip the ring onto her finger, and the crowd roars louder. And right there, in front of everyone, I kiss her deeply, welcoming the future with open arms… and open lips.

Epilogue

Poppy

2.5YearsLater

The crowd in the Nashville Convention Center rises to its feet, the applause thunderous and unrelenting.

Onstage, I try not to fidget with the microphone. I can argue a constitutional loophole in my sleep and cross-examine a hostile witness without breaking a sweat, but delivering the keynote at the Southeast Youth Justice Summit?

That’s a whole different kind of terrifying.

“Please welcome our next speaker,” the moderator announces behind me. “Director of Youth Focused Tennessee and former First Lady of Tennessee, Poppy Boston.”

The applause swells again as I step forward. The title still catches me off guard sometimes.

Former First Lady.Poppy Boston.

I smile, smoothing my notes with one hand, my engagement and wedding rings glinting under the bright lights. It's been more than two years since Adam proposed to me, surrounded by protest signs and a cheering crowd. He gave up a future presidency to build something real with me. To build something for the kids who deserve better.

And somehow, even after all that drama, the proposal was the least romantic thing about loving him.

The way he shows up every day—with coffee in one hand and a stack of policy drafts in the other—that’s the real magic.

When the crowd settles, I begin.

“Our organization started with a simple goal: to make sure kids aren’t forgotten by a system that too often fails them. But real change—lasting change—happens when we tackle policy head-on. That’s why we created the Policy and Change Division of Youth Focused Tennessee. And thanks to the brilliance and stubborn determination of our team—” I glance to the side, where Adam leans casually against the wall, his smile only for me “—we’ve helped draft, introduce, and pass three major bills related to juvenile justice reform. And we’re just getting started.”

I finish to a standing ovation.

Later, at the small reception tucked into a nearby conference room, Adam finds me near the sparkling cider table, a glass already in his hand.

“You were amazing,” he says, handing me the glass. “Like… better-than-any-speech-I-ever-gave amazing.”

“High praise from the former governor,” I tease, clinking my glass to his.

“Former, yes. Retired. Relaxed. Frequently barefoot.”

“And, let’s not forget,” I say with a smirk, “newly crowned Spreadsheet King of the Policy Division.”

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