“You’re nesting,” I teased, and then the word hung in the air in a strange way.
Sam paused, then smiled slowly. “Maybe I am,” he said.
My heart flickered. “Why?”
He leaned against the counter and looked at me with that steady expression that never asked me to be smaller. “Because I’ve been thinking,” he said. “About long-term. About the life we’re already building.”
I held my breath, suddenly nervous.
Sam reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box.
My first instinct was laughter, then tears, then both at once.
“Olivia,” he said softly, “I don’t want you to do this alone. Not the planning, not the risk management, not the endless label-reading, not the fear. I want to be your person. Officially. If you’ll have me.”
I stared at him, my vision blurring.
My chest didn’t tighten from allergy. It tightened from the overwhelming relief of being chosen without conditions.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Sam exhaled like he’d been holding his breath too, and then he slipped the ring on my finger. It wasn’t flashy. It was simple and beautiful and real.
My family found out ten minutes later because Mike called, and Sam answered, grinning, and couldn’t help himself.