Page 154 of Stolen Harmony
But we kept showing up. For ourselves, for each other, for the woman who'd brought us together in the most unlikely way possible. We learned to sit with the hard emotions instead of running from them, to communicate instead of assuming, to forgive ourselves for the choices we'd made when we were drowning.
It took time. Months of rebuilding trust, of learning new ways to love that weren't shaped by loss and fear. But slowly, carefully, we found our way back to each other. Found our way to this moment, sitting beside her grave and feeling her presence as a blessing instead of a burden.
We stayed until the sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold that made even the cemetery look peaceful instead of sad. When we finally walked back to the truck, our hands linked and our hearts full, I felt like we were carrying her blessing with us.
The house was glowing with warm light when we pulled into the driveway. Max met us at the door, tail wagging with the enthusiasm of a dog who'd been alone for exactly ninety minutes and was convinced he'd been abandoned forever. Roxie watched from her perch on the back of the couch, green eyes tracking our movement with the aloof interest that cats had perfected over millennia.
“I have something to show you,” I said, leading Rowan toward the back of the house.
The piano room had been restored over the past year, transformed from a dusty storage space into something that looked like it belonged in a music magazine. The old upright had been professionally tuned and refinished, the walls lined with acoustic panels that made every note sound clear and true. Afternoon light streamed through windows that had been cleaned and polished until they sparkled.
“It's beautiful,” Rowan said, running his fingers over the piano keys. “When did you have time to do all this?”
“I've been working on it for months. Wanted it to be perfect.”
“For what?”
Instead of answering, I sat down beside him on the bench, our shoulders touching in the familiar way that still sent electricity through my nervous system. “Play with me?”
He smiled and began the opening notes of the melody we'd been working on together, the one that had started as his mother's favorite song and evolved into something entirely our own. A conversation in music, a harmony built on shared loss and unexpected love.
Our hands moved across the keys in perfect synchronization, his melody weaving around mine like we'd been playing together our whole lives instead of just learning each other's musical language over the past year. The sound filled the room, rich and full and absolutely right.
As the last notes faded into silence, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small velvet box I'd been carrying for three weeks, waiting for the perfect moment.
“I've loved you for a long time,” I said, my voice rougher than I'd intended.
Rowan's breath caught, his eyes wide as he stared at the box in my hands.
“I know it's complicated,” I continued. “I know people will talk, will judge, will make assumptions about what this means and whether it's right. But I don't care anymore. I'm done living my life based on what other people think I should want.”
I opened the box, revealing the simple platinum band I'd chosen after weeks of agonizing over design. Nothing flashy, nothing that screamed for attention, just a circle of metal that would remind us both, every day, that some promises were worth keeping forever.
“I want to build a life with you,” I said, sliding off the bench to kneel beside him. “I want to make music together, fight with you about whose turn it is to do dishes, wake up next to you for the next fifty years. I want to be the person you call when something amazing happens and the person you come home to when the world is too much.”
Rowan was crying now, tears streaming down his face as he stared at me like I was offering him something impossible, something too good to believe.
“Marry me,” I said simply.
“Yes,” he whispered, then louder, “Yes, of course yes.”
My hands were shaking as I slipped the ring onto his finger, the metal warm from being pressed against my palm for the past hour. It fit perfectly, looked like it belonged there, like it had always been meant to be there.
“I love you,” he said, cupping my face in his hands. “I love you so much it scares me sometimes.”
“Good scared or bad scared?”
“Good scared. The kind that means itmatters, the kind that means I'm willing to risk everything because what we have is worth everything.”
I kissed him then. This time, there was no hesitation, no fear, no voices in my head telling me all the reasons why this was wrong.
This time, there was just love. Pure and simple and absolutely certain.
When we finally broke apart, both breathing hard and grinning like idiots, Rowan looked down at the ring on his finger and laughed.
“My mother is going to be so smug about this,” he said.
“She's allowed to be. She was right about us before we were.”
