Page 77 of Knot My Type

"I think," I say carefully, "that the fact that you're asking that question means you're already changing. Real growth starts with honest self-reflection, and you've clearly done that."

He nods, clutching the book like a talisman. "Thank you. For everything."

After he leaves, I sit in the sudden quiet of the empty bookstore, processing the conversation. Rebecca is chatting with the store manager, finalizing details for the charity donation of unsold books. The late afternoon sun streams through the windows, illuminating dust motes that dance in the golden air.

"Heavy conversation?" Rebecca asks, rejoining me at the table.

"Meaningful one," I correct, packing the last of my signing supplies into my bag. "Someone who saw himself in one of my less flattering characters and used it as motivation to change."

"That's incredible," she says, and I can hear the pride in her voice. "Your books aren't just entertaining people—they're actually helping them grow."

It's true, though it still feels surreal to acknowledge. What started as my own journey of self-discovery has become something larger, a catalyst for conversations about love and family and the courage it takes to build a life that doesn't fit conventional expectations.

"Speaking of meaningful conversations," Rebecca continues with the tone she uses when she's about to bring up something important, "I have news."

I look up from my packing, noting the particular glow in her cheeks, the barely suppressed excitement in her eyes. "Good news?"

"The best news." She holds up her left hand, revealing a ring I somehow missed during the busy afternoon. Not a traditional diamond solitaire, but something unique—a deep blue sapphire surrounded by smaller stones that catch the light like stars. "Jake proposed last night."

The squeal that escapes me is entirely undignified and completely involuntary. I'm out of my chair and hugging her before I fully register moving, both of us laughing and crying simultaneously.

"Tell me everything," I demand when we finally separate. "How, when, where, what did you say?"

"Yes, obviously," she says, rolling her eyes at the last question. "As for the rest—he made dinner, that pasta dish I love, and we were talking about the future, about wanting to build something lasting together. He didn't get down on one knee or make a big speech. He just said he couldn't imagine his life without me and asked if I felt the same way."

"And you do," I say, seeing the answer written all over her face.

"I do," she confirms, her voice soft with wonder. "I really, really do. Who knew that all it would take was meeting a man who sees my independence as a strength instead of a threat?"

The comment makes me think of my own journey, of how different my life became when I found partners who celebrated rather than diminished my ambitions. Rebecca deserves that same kind of love—supportive, empowering, genuine.

"When's the wedding?" I ask.

"That's the thing," she says, her expression shifting to something more complicated. "We want to do something small, intimate. Maybe here in Colorado, somewhere beautiful and meaningful. And we were hoping you and the guys might help us plan it. Maybe even host it at your place?"

The request catches me off guard, though it probably shouldn't. Over the past two years, our house has become the gathering place for our chosen family, the place where holidays are celebrated and milestones marked. It makes sense that Rebecca would want her wedding to happen there, surrounded by the people who matter most.

"Of course," I say immediately. "We'd be honored. The meadow where we had our ceremony would be perfect for a small wedding."

"Are you sure? I know you're busy with the new book, and the guys have the business—"

"Rebecca." I cut off her concerns with a firm shake of my head. "You're family. Family helps family with the important stuff, no matter how busy life gets."

Her eyes fill with tears, and for a moment she looks younger, more vulnerable than the confident woman she's become. "I love you, you know that? Not just as a friend, but as a sister. You and your crazy pack of men have become the family I never knew I wanted."

"Right back at you," I tell her, meaning it completely. "Now come on, let's get out of here. I want to call the guys and tell them they're planning a wedding."

The drive home takes us through the kind of mountain scenery that still takes my breath away, even after two years of calling it home. The autumn colors are at their peak—aspens golden against dark evergreens, the sky a blue so deep it looks painted. Rebecca chatters excitedly about wedding plans while I navigate the winding roads, but part of my attention is caught by the familiar flutter in my lower abdomen.

It's been happening for a few days now—a subtle movement that could be imagination or digestion or wishful thinking. But as we climb the final hill toward home, the flutter becomes more pronounced, more definitely what I think it might be.

I've been wondering if I might be pregnant for about a week now, ever since I realized my cycle was late and my usual pre-heat symptoms hadn't appeared. I have a test hidden in my office desk drawer, waiting for the right moment to confirm what my body is already trying to tell me.

But first, Rebecca's news. First, celebrating her engagement and helping her plan the wedding she deserves. The test can wait another day or two.

The house comes into view as we round the final curve—home, with smoke rising from the chimney and lights glowing warmly in the windows. I can see Kael's truck in the driveway alongside Rhys's SUV, which means everyone's home early today. Perfect timing for sharing Rebecca's news.

"There they are," Rebecca says fondly as we pull up to see all three men emerge from the house, clearly having heard the car. This is routine now—the automatic gathering whenever one of us comes home, the immediate accounting of our pack. It's one of the things I love most about our life together, this assumption that we're all interested in each other's days, all invested in each other's well-being.

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