Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Final.
He doesn’t react right away. Just leans back in his chair and folds his hands over his stomach. “You asking me for permission,” he says carefully choosing his words, “or you telling me?”
“I’m asking,” I answer without hesitation.
His eyes flicker with something like approval. “Why?”
Because it matters. Because he raised her. Because I respect him. Because she would want it that way.
“All of it,” I reply simply. “But more than anything I am asking for her hand because I don’t ever want to take her from you. I respect you enough to tell you my intentions are to build a life with her and you in it.”
He watches me a long time. “You understand what you’re signing up for?” he asks.
“Yes, sir.”
“You understand she ain’t easy because life wasn’t easy?”
“I do.”
“You understand she’ll try to carry the whole damn world if you let her?”
A faint smile pulls at my mouth. “I won’t let her.”
He nods slowly. “You understand loving her means loving the weight she carries too?”
“I already do.”
Silence settles between us. He leans slightly to the right, lifting his left hand, the tremors of his disease making it impossible for him to hold his hand steady. “When I went to war,” he explains quietly, “I didn’t know if I’d come home. When I met their Nanny, I didn’t know if I deserved her.”
My chest tightens at the softness in his voice.
“But I asked her anyway,” he continues. “And I told her the truth—that I didn’t know what kind of man I’d be in ten years. But I knew I’d spend those ten years trying to be the best for her.”
I nod slowly. “That’s all I can promise too,” I say. “I don’t know what the next ten years look like. But I know I’ll wake up every day trying to be the man she deserves.”
His eyes shine faintly. “You ain’t perfect,” he calls me out.
“No, sir.”
“You ain’t soft.”
“No, sir.”
“You’ve done things I don’t wanna know about.”
“Yes, sir.”
He nods once. “But you came for her,” he continues. “You stayed. You built this place so I could age with dignity. You didn’t flinch when things got hard.”
He leans back.
“You got my permission,” he states simply.
The air leaves my lungs in a rush I didn’t realize I was holding. “Thank you,” I say, voice rough.
He raises a brow. “But if you ever make her cry for the wrong reasons,” he adds, “I may be old, but I still know how to shoot. And the weight of a gun in my arms will steady these old hands just fine, boy.”
A grin breaks across my face. “Yes, sir.”
He smiles then—full and warm. “Go make it official,” he says. “Before I change my mind.”
I don’t do flashy. I don’t do grand gestures with cameras and crowds.
Danae doesn’t either.
She likes quiet mornings and honest words. So I wait. A week. Then another.
I carry the ring in my pocket like a live wire, feeling its weight every time I sit down, every time I move.
It’s simple. Not overdone. A diamond that catches light but doesn’t scream look at me. Rather it’s a glint catching the light naturally calling for attention.
Danae is like that. She glows.
It’s late afternoon when I finally do it.
The house is warm with the kind of quiet that only comes after months of peace.
Danae’s out back on the patio, barefoot, watering the small herb garden she insisted on planting even though I told her we could buy fresh anything we wanted.
She says it tastes better when you grow it.
I stand in the doorway for a moment, just watching her. The sun hits her hair and turns it into something almost unreal with this shine. She hums under her breath, completely unaware of what’s about to happen.
The road used to feel like this moment. Like anticipation. Like something pulling at me.
But this?
This feels steady. Certain. Anchoring.
I step outside. She looks up, smiling when she sees me.
“You’re staring again,” she teases lightly.
“Yeah. Can’t help but be drawn to beauty.”
She tilts her head. “At what?”
“You.”
She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re ridiculous.”
I walk toward her slowly. She notices something shift then. The way I’m moving. The way I’m looking at her.
Her smile falters slightly.
“Miles?”
I stop in front of her. The wind picks up gently, brushing her hair across her cheek. I tuck it behind her ear.
“I need you to hear something,” I begin.
Her eyes search mine. “Okay.”
I inhale. “The road has always been a siren,” I explain. She blinks, confused but listening. “It’s always called me away,” I continue. “Every time things got heavy. Every time life got loud. The road was easy. No roots. No staying. Just motion.”
She watches me carefully.
“But then I met you.”
My voice roughens. “And suddenly the noise didn’t matter anymore.”
I take her hands. “You drown out the background,” I share. “You make everything quiet in the best way. You make life—and love—easy.”