TWO MONTHS LATER…
The studio lights always ran hot, but tonight they pressed in a little more than usual, settling across Noah’s shoulders, along the back of his neck, and down his spine in a slow, steady line that had nothing to do with temperature and everything to do with what he was about to do.
Three minutes.
That’s what Andrew had said in his ear just before they came back from break. Three minutes to wrap the segment, hit the beats, close out the recap show, clean and tight.
Three minutes to do exactly what they’d planned—and now Ziggy was questioning in his ear why three minutes and not eight. He did his best to ignore her and not smile.
Noah rested his hands lightly on the desk as the final montage played out. Highlights from the last two months—interviews, confrontations, moments that had pushed people to say things they hadn’t planned to say when they’d walked onto this stage.
Moments that had built his show.
Moments that had nearly broken him.
The footage cut, the music faded, and the camera came back to him.
“Normally, this is where I’d thank you all for watching, remind you what’s coming up next week, and give a little promo for some of the station’s other shows. But I’m going to go a little off script.”
There it was.
The line.
Noah lifted his hand and pressed his finger lightly against his earpiece, tilting his head just enough to acknowledge the voice coming through.
“My producer is wondering what’s going on because this isn’t on the program.”
He glanced off camera, toward the control room. "Ziggy? Can you come out here for a second?”
He pressed his finger to his ear again and laughed. “She’s not thrilled.”
A few more seconds passed, and then she appeared from the side of the stage, shaking her head, waving her hands frantically and refusing to walk any closer.
“Come on. You can’t leave me hanging out here like this for the last few minutes alone.”
Noah stepped away from the desk to meet her, closing the distance because if he didn’t, he risked being stuck out there alone. He reached for her, his hand finding hers easily, naturally, like it had always belonged in his, and he gave her a little tug.
He kissed her, which probably was going to cost him later, but if he didn’t, he was pretty sure his chest was going to split open under the pressure of everything he was holding in.
“This,” he said, turning slightly toward the camera, his arm still around her, “is Ziggy Bowie. Hands down the best producer ever. And my girlfriend.”
Her cheeks flushed, color rising fast, and she leaned in just enough that only he could hear her. “What on earth are you doing?”
“Let’s sit for a minute.” He guided her toward the two chairs reserved for him and his guests.
Noah took her hand, his fingers closing around hers, and for a second—just one—he let himself forget where they were. The lights. The cameras. The fact that there were millions of people watching.
His heart pounded hard enough that he could feel it in his throat, every beat a reminder that this was real. This wasn’t a segment. It wasn’t a story—it was his life.
“I love you,” he said.
Her lips parted. She blinked. More like her lashes fluttered wildly over her eyes.
“I couldn’t have done any of this without you.” His thumb brushed lightly over her knuckles “And I don’t want to walk through life without you by my side.”
“What have you done?” She covered her mouth.
He shifted, pushing back from the chair, dropping down onto one knee in a movement that felt both sudden and inevitable at the same time. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a ring, and held it between them, steady despite everything else moving too fast. “Will you make me the luckiest man alive and marry me?”