Page 37 of Tinsel & Timber
“You did,” I argue.
“I didn’t.” He shakes his head. “It wasn’t like that. Let me lock up here then I’ll take you to lunch and I can explain.”
I nod, still flushed, and allow him to lock up the office. Our fingers find each other’s, tentative at first, then a little more assured, like neither of us wants to let go.
“I got a call from an old Army buddy. He was in a bad spot and I needed to get to him,” Graham tells me as he sits across from me at the diner, my hand in his on top of the table. “I’ll admit, I didn’t think about anything else. I just jumped in my truck and took off. I should have called you first and let you know.”
I study him for a long beat, seeing the tightness in his jaw, the slight slump of his shoulders. Whatever his friend was going through, it’s weighing heavily on him.
“I got back late last night. Too late. I didn’t want to stop by or call and wake you. Then I needed to get into work today and take care of all of the things I’ve been neglecting before all of that caught up with me, too. I had every intention of coming by tonight to tell you everything.”
“I get it,” I say quietly. “You helped someone who needed you. That’s…commendable.”
He gives me a small, tired half-grin. “I don’t know about that. I was just doing what any one of us would do for each other. It did make me realize something though. Life is too short to wait around, to overthink things. Sometimes, you just—” His voice drops, a little rougher, almost private. “…know.”
My chest tightens at the weight behind his words. He’s not just talking about his friend. I know, without him saying it, that he’s talking about us. But, I need to hear him say the words.
“So, what are you telling me, Captain Heritage?”
He looks at me, green eyes dark and intent, and for a second I see everything—the restraint, the passion, the strength, and even a little bit of heartache from his past. “I’m admitting that I knew from the moment we met that you were going to irrevocably change my life. And I wouldn’t be able to do a damn thing to stop it.”
The low hum of other patrons, the clink of cutlery, the smell of coffee and greasy food—it all fades into the background. It’s just us.
“I made one tiny pitstop on my way back into town, to pick something up.” Graham shifts in his seat and reaches into his pocket. “I hope you like it.”
He pulls out his hand and my breath catches when I see what he’s holding—there’s no velvet box, no grand gesture. Just a simple yet elegant vintage ring. The kind of piece that feels both timeless and personal.
A modest diamond sparkles at its center, framed by delicate accent stones that traces the gently arched cathedral setting. Milgrain edges catch the light with a soft shimmer, giving it an heirloom quality, as though it has been waiting decades for the right person to wear it.
The band itself is slim but substantial, polished white gold that complements the diamonds without stealing the show. It isn’t flashy, but it radiates a quiet sophistication—classic, romantic, and utterly thoughtful—the perfect symbol for someone like Graham, whose gestures seem to be measured but are deeply meaningful.
“It was my grandmother’s,” he says, his voice steady. “She wore it every day for forty-seven years. My grandpa used to joke that she never took it off, even to bake.” He looks down at it for a beat before meeting my eyes again. “She told me once that the secret to a good marriage is finding someone who makes you feel like home. Someone who makes the ordinary days feel extraordinary.”
He turns the ring over in his fingers, almost reverently. “She wanted me to give this to someone who did that for me.”
My throat tightens. “Graham…”
He reaches across the table, taking my hand gently, his calloused thumb brushing over my knuckles like he’s memorizing the feel of my skin. “Mara Kensington,” hesays quietly, his words trembling just a little, “you make me feel like I’ve finally come home. And I don’t want to waste another second pretending I can live without you.”
My eyes sting. My chest feels too full.
He swallows, and his smile is faint, uncertain, vulnerable. “Will you marry me?”
For a heartbeat, everything inside me stills.
I nod, tears slipping free before I can stop them. “Yes,” I whisper, because my voice won’t work any louder. “Yes, I will.”
His relief is visible—shoulders dropping, mouth curving into the kind of smile that makes my knees weak. He slides the band onto my finger, and the fit is perfect, like it was waiting for me all this time.
When I glance down at it, my vision blurs. “It’s beautiful,” I murmur.
“She would’ve liked you,” he says softly. “You both have that same stubborn streak.”
I laugh through my tears, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”
He leans across the table, and when his lips meet mine, it’s not the hungry, desperate kind of kiss we’ve shared before. It’s softer. Surer. A promise.
The waitress passes by with a grin, pretending not to notice the tears on my cheeks or the way Graham’s still holding my hand like he’ll never let go.
