Page 30 of Came the Closest

A tear lands on my lip as I nod. A nod that starts slowly and rapidly picks up speed, certainty propelling the movement. “Yes. Yes, Sam, I will absolutely marry you,” I whisper.

And then he’s standing, and his arms are around me, steady like the posts that support the dock, and his lips find mine. I tilt my head, and he tilts his, teasing and taking. This kiss tastes a little bit like forever. Like salty tears and blackberry vanilla cake and sticky lake air, too, but mostly, it tastes like forever.

My hand trembles between our chests when he lifts it to slide the ring over my knuckle. His lips, warm and slightly swollen, press against my finger reverently.

“What do you say, Lilah,” he murmurs, his eyes smiling. “Is this a happy moment?”

I think it’s hard to recognize your unhappiness, I’d told him last summer, until you’re presented with happiness.

“The happiest of moments,” I tell him. I hope my eyes are smiling right back at him.

“I love you, Lilah,” he says quietly, and he drops a kiss on my temple.

I trace my fingertip across the firm line of his jaw. “I have always loved you, Samuel Del Ray, and I will always love you.”

He kisses me again, deliberately slow and achingly tender, but it only lasts a moment before we’re interrupted.

“She said YES!” Jolene hollers.

Sam smiles against my mouth, kisses me once more, and places his lips near my ear. “The five bedtime stories were a ruse so we had time to set up, my dear, but I appreciate your willingness. Your gullibility, however, is mildly concerning.”

Amusement curls warmly in my chest. When I turn, I’m greeted by perhaps the only view as important as that of the man behind me. All four of Sam’s children—Jordan, whistling with his fingers; Colton, catcalling; Graham, smiling wider than usual; and Indi, carrying a sleeping Milo in his shark pajamas. Jolene races ahead of everyone in a pink princess nightgown. She’s flushed, barefoot, and breathless when she grabs my hand to see the ring, and laughter bubbles over when her grandfather swings her into his arms.

I know we’re taught that gold at the end of a rainbow is a myth, but I think maybe that’s because we’ve been searching for the wrong kind of gold. My gold is these people, and with a soft smile, I decide that I’ll continue chasing it for the rest of my life.

Chapter Ten

Blue Mind Theory

Cheyenne

Before I left Sam’s house last night, Colton and I agreed to meet at the lake house this morning, just the two of us. It would be my first time back post-divorce, and Colton’s first time there in five years, so he’d suggested we do a walkthrough before he officially assumes Milo’s guardianship on Monday.

At the time, it had been dusk, the barest hint of tangerine still lingering in the western sky from sunset. I leaned against the driver’s side of my baby blue 2021 Bronco—the only material thing I got out of the divorce—and Colton stood barely a foot from me. Laughter had floated around the side of Sam’s house, making me feel lighter than I had in more than a year. Between instantly connecting with Milo and being hugged tightly by Sam, Colton’s suggestion had felt right.

Later, he texted me a picture of his dad and Hazel after Sam proposed. From my kitchen table with my shower damp hair in a towel, I smiled and sent a thumbs up. I almost added a heart, decided against it, and suffered the consequences when Colton said I text like a dad. We’ll see who’s laughing when I buy him a pair of white New Balance dad sneakers to wear while mowing the yard.

Now, though, as I turn into the driveway after brunch with my brothers, the suggestion doesn’t seem as right. Maybe because we’re no longer standing in Sam’s driveway at sunset, Colton wearing damp swim trunks and my back warmed from the door of my Bronco.

I mean, I know it’s just a house.

A two-story house with white cedar shake siding, a wraparound front porch, a baby blue door, and empty window boxes. Navy blue gables and a little circular attic window. A mailbox that’s slightly crooked on its post by the end of the driveway.

Emotionally, it’s not just a house. It’s the lake house.

The shake siding was a project during my freshman year of high school in the fall. The wraparound porch was where Mom rocked on a cushioned swing. The baby blue door was an inside joke because Grandpa thought he’d ordered navy paint. The empty window boxes burst with color when Grandma planted flowers every May. The navy gables were intended to match the front door. The circular attic window had long ago been coined the ship’s wheel window because my brothers, Colton, and I thought it looked like a spoked wheel.

“I can do this,” I say to myself under my breath. “I can do this.”

If I need to repeat the phrase a hundred times, I will. I’ll say it five-hundred times. A thousand. Because I know that I can. I’ve faced notably scarier things than a house I used to love, and when I think about doing it for Milo, it becomes easier. If only a little.

Colton pulled in just behind me, and he comes around to hold my door. Despite everything, the man is chivalrous down to his core. Maybe his mother’s constant comings and goings taught him something after all—Sam had always treated her respectfully, even when she was slipping through his fingers.

“Hey,” Colton says, gently closing my door.

I breathe in, less for the fresh lake air and more for his clean, masculine scent. Which is, arguably, one and the same when summertime comes. “Hey.”

“Are you ready for this?” he asks.

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