Page 198 of Always Meant for You
I see Cal as a boy, climbing that old tree behind the barn, sun in his hair, dirt on his jeans. He looks down at me with that crooked grin, reaches out his hand, and says, “I’ve got you, Mabel. I won’t let you fall.”
A voice breaks through the hush.
“I gave your mother’s ring to Cal, honey,” my father says, his words rough with emotion. Tears spill down his weathered cheeks, catching the sunlight as they fall.
He steps forward, careful and quiet. “Let me take those things from you,” he says softly. He slips the envelope and Cal’s passport from my grasp. His fingers linger, then he takes a step back.
Cal holds the ring, his gaze never leaving mine. “Mabel Muldowney, I have loved you with dirt on your cheeks, wearing your brother’s hand-me-down overalls, and I have loved you in your dresses, scarves, and vintage couture shoes that click and clack and have become the beat of my heart.”
A silence stretches between us, full of history and hope.
He takes a breath. “Mabel Ruth Muldowney, I have loved you all my life, and I don’t ever plan on stopping. Will you marry me?”
The world slows.
My vision blurs, and I nod, my heart ready to burst. “Yes,” I breathe. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Cal rises, grinning ear to ear as he slips the ring onto my finger. It’s a perfect fit, warm against my skin. Before I can take a breath, he gathers me into his arms. The connection is instant. His hands settle at my waist, gentle and familiar, anchoring me. Then he kisses me, slow and unhurried.
His mouth meets mine with a quiet certainty that steals my breath. The kiss is filled with everything we’ve carried: our grief, our history, our love.
We stay like that—breathing the same air, wrapped in the same promise—until a sound breaks through. It’s clapping. Applause erupts, a ripple that grows. Cheers rise. Phones lift. Cameras flash. We draw apart, slowly. Laughter catches in my throat, bright and breathless. People are smiling at us. Waving. Congratulating us.
I lean into Cal’s shoulder, letting him hold me, taking it all in. “We’re going to do a lot of good for a lot of people,” I say softly.
He cups my face in his hand. “And we’ll do it together. Always together.”
My father steps forward and rests a hand on Cal’s shoulder. “I got a text, son. The car’s waiting for you two back at the hotel.”
“What car?” I ask.
Cal reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded slip of paper. “The car taking us to the airport. These are our flight details.”
I take it from his hand, the paper warm from his touch. I unfold it and scan the itinerary. “Paris?” I whisper. “You’re taking me to Paris . . . today?”
He offers me that sweet farmer half shrug. “Why not?”
I reach for the charm at my neck, fingers curling around the rose gold M. Cal watches the motion, his gaze following the chain to where it rests against my skin. There’s no expectation in his eyes, no need to be seen or named. The kind of love that gives and keeps giving—even when no one’s looking.
And then it hits me.
Jamie’s handwriting, his notebook, the list he wrote before my twenty-first birthday. Lotion. Flowers. Beer. And nothing about a necklace.
“Months before my birthday, I talked nonstop about this necklace to my brother. You were always there, Cal. I didn’t think you were listening.”
“I was always listening when you spoke, M.”
I hold out the M charm. “This wasn’t from Jamie, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t from your brother.”
“This necklace was a gift from you,” I say, the truth catching in my throat.
He nods.
I grip his flannel. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
He touches the chain. “Because you needed it to be from Jamie. I saw what it meant to you, thinking it was from him. I didn’t need to claim it. I only needed to know it brought you comfort.”
