Page 87 of Worth the Scandal
“But I want it. All of it.”
That night, we host dinner at our house, riding off the pure euphoria of what the future now holds. The one with the wraparound veranda and lemon tree out back, tucked just off the main road in Dawson’s Ridge. A forever kind of house. Close to Ted of course.
The table is loud—exactly the way it should be. Shell pours wine like it’s her job to make sure everyone’s glass is full to the brim. Collins wrangles his niece between mouthfuls of mashed potato. My dad is manning the barbecue with Alfred at his side—yep, they finally came to visit Dawson’s, and they decided it wasn’t half bad—the two of them arguing about whether the Ridgebacks’ second half of the season has any hope.
I stand in the kitchen for a minute, just watching. All these people. All this life. And then I nod to Asher.
He stands, clearing his throat. “Hey. Can I, uh… say something?”
Shell raises a brow. “You never ask permission to speak.”
“True. But this one is big.”
He looks over at me. And I nod again.
“I just want to say that Scarlett and I…” He falters, actually falters, and I swear Shell’s jaw drops open. “We have some news. We’re having a baby.”
Silence.
Followed almost immediately by chaos.
Shell drops her wine. Collins swears loudly and wipes his eyes. My dad has frozen mid sausage flip. Alfred mutters something about needing to sit down.
And me? I laugh. And cry. At the same time.
There are hugs. Screams. Shell keeps repeating, “You’re going to be the hottest pregnant woman alive.” My dad looks like he is trying not to cry, but his hand never leaves my shoulder.
Asher watches it all, arms wrapping around me from behind, chin resting on my head.
When things calm, he says, “I actually had a gift for you too.”
I turn to him, surprise flicking across my face. “You did?”
He pulls something from his back pocket—small, velvet, familiar. My breath catches.
“But you beat me to it,” he says, voice rough. “You’ve always been one step ahead, Scar. That’s part of why I love you.”
He kneels, right there on the patio, in front of our family and friends and the lemon tree that hasn’t grown fruit since we moved in.
“I didn’t think anything could top this day,” he says. “But if you say yes, it might.”
The awning lights twinkle. The sky has that cotton-candy dusk look I have always loved. And for the first time in my life, I don’t hesitate. I don’t plan. I don’t run.
I just say, “Yes.”
The cheers are deafening. Collin’s niece screams “Aunty you’re getting married!” and Shell instantly demands to plan the wedding and the baby shower.
Asher stands up and kisses me like we have time to waste—like forever is waiting.
And later, when the house is quiet and the stars are out, I curl up next to him and rest his hand on my stomach.
“You know,” I whisper, “I used to think love had to hurt to mean something.”
He looks at me, eyes soft.
“Now I know,” I say softly “it just has to grow.”
The year after.
