Page 124 of Hometown Touchdown
Knox
DecembersettlesoverCedarFalls in slow drifts and early dark. Mornings bite with frost, sharp enough to wake you up fast, but by midday, the sun warms just enough to take the edge off. Not that it stops anyone from complaining, bundled in their scarves and boots, grumbling about the cold like it’s a town sport. Half of it’s tradition, and the other half is just something to talk about while you wait in line for coffee.
And through it all, Brynn’s been…waiting.
She hasn’t said a word. Hasn’t dropped hints or circled ring ads. But I see it. The way her eyes flick to my coat pocket everytime I grab it from the hook. Like maybe—just maybe—this will be the day I reach in and pull out something small. Shiny. Final.
She’s patient, but I know that look. She’s trying not to hope too loudly. Probably near her breaking point. And damn, I love her for it.
Because what we have now—it’s nothing like what we had back then. Back when we thought love meant saying it first. Saying it fastest. Like the words were enough to make it real. We didn’t know what the hell we were doing. We were wild with each other. Young and selfish. Quick to love, quick to dream.
But now? Now it’s different.
Now it’s solid. Quiet in the right ways. Loud where it counts. What I have with Brynn is the kind of love that doesn’t crumble when life gets hard. The kind that stands its ground, even in the face of grief, fear, or a past that never really let go.
It’s the kind of love that makes a man show up.
That makes him reach for his better self.
It’s not perfect. It’s not showy. But it’s ours. Built brick by brick, moment by moment, over late-night dinners and early morning coffee, over apology and forgiveness, over showing up again and again.
And while she’s been quietly hoping, I’ve been quietly planning.
Because this time, I’m not rushing it. I’m not blowing it on impulse. I’ve been choosing her on purpose. Every damn day.
And soon, I’m going to ask her to choose me right back. And I’ll tell her about the house I’m building.
A few weeks ago, I called an architect. Then a builder. Found a plot of land just outside of town—close enough that we’re still rooted in Cedar Falls, far enough that we can have something all our own. It’ll be farmhouse style. A big kitchen. A front porch wide enough for slow mornings and fast hellos. I asked for a reading nook, because I’ve never met a woman who can makea blanket and a book look so damn irresistible. I asked for a mudroom, because she tracks in the snow like a toddler. And I asked for a soaking tub, because I know how much she sinks into silence when she needs peace.
They’ve already started clearing the lot. She has no idea.
I watch her across the room some nights. When her hair is messy, her socks mismatched, her fingers wrapped around a mug like she owns the whole damn world. Then I think of the other side of her. High heels, powerful, sexy, career-driven and I know there’s no one else. No other version of life I’d rather have.
December has been full. Late nights at work closing out the season. Quiet dinners. Brynn humming while she does the dishes and calling me out when I sneak two cookies instead of one. There was the first snow on the sidewalks, Christmas lights on every streetlight, and my girl wrapped in the kind of scarves that make me want to bury my face in her neck and stay there until spring.
We go to town events—tree lightings and market strolls and Friday night movies with our friends. Evie drinks hot cocoa with marshmallows piled so high it’s more topping than drink. And Kinsey starts a countdown to Christmas she claims isn’t about presents—but no one buys it.
And through all of it, Brynn keeps looking at me with that quiet kind of hope in her eyes. The kind that says she’s waiting for something. Like she knows it’s coming.
And she’s right.
I’ve had the ring for weeks now.
It’s simple. The diamond is perfect, not too big, but sparkles just like she does. No flash. Just hers. I think about it every damn day.
A ring that will cement the fact that she’s mine for the rest of our lives. Because I want all of her. Like when she pours my coffee in the morning without asking how I take it, becauseshe already knows. Or when she sets her frozen feet against my thighs under the blanket and smirks like she’s doing me a favor or when she kisses me slowly at the end of the night, like time doesn’t matter, like we’ve got a thousand more of these. Because we do.
I’m not just giving her a ring. I’m building her a home. I’m building us a life. Something that lasts. Something she can lean on when the world gets loud again.
And I can’t wait to hear her say ‘yes.’
We’re in matching plaid pajamas—red and black flannel, soft and a little ridiculous, and I wouldn’t change a thing. One pair for me. One for Brynn. And, yes, a tiny set for Priscilla, who’s currently curled up in her bed with her head on her paws, content and cozy, like she knows tonight's special.
Brynn stands in front of the Christmas tree, hands on her hips, studying her latest ornament placement with an intensity that belongs in a lab. The tree sparkles in the corner of the living room, strung with white lights and sentimental ornaments, each one placed with the kind of care that says this isn’t just decoration. It’s tradition.
I hand her another ornament from the box. “You good?”
She steps back, scrunching her nose, then moves the glass ball half an inch to the left. “This side has too much silver. It’s throwing off the symmetry.”
