“It’s Thanksgiving,” he said, tugging her to her feet and wrapping his arms around her so their bodies were flush and perfectly aligned, her slim curves to his harder planes. “You’re going to be fine. Trust me.”
She laid her head on his chest and sighed. “I do trust you. Okay. Let’s do this.”
Callaghan Thanksgiving was alwaysat Michael and Maggie’s. It had been that way since before Patrick could remember, and the gathering had only grown with each passing year. The farmhouse itself had long since stopped being adequate, and the barn they’d renovated for community events now held the whole clan.
They’d invited Morgan’s grandfather too, but he’d declined, assuring Morgan that he preferred having a quiet dinner with Donna. They’d been doing it that way for years, he’d said, and didn’t see a reason to change. Morgan believed there was more to it than met the eye, and Patrick agreed. Regardless, that was between Frank and Donna, and it was no one’s business but theirs.
Morgan brought up the latest forum case on the drive over, which, he now knew, was her way of funneling anxiety into something productive. Work grounded her. By the time they’d pulled the SUV into the lot, she was more settled.
He cut the engine.
The barn was lit from within, warm gold spilling from the windows across the November grass. Even from outside, he could hear the sound of dozens of voices talking, laughing, and having a good time.
Morgan looked at the barn, took a deep breath, then reached for the door.
“Wait,” he said. “There’s something I want to ask you before we go in there.”
She paused and turned to look at him, her expression open, her eyes curious. She must have seen something there, because she sat back and gave him her full attention.
“Okay.”
He reached into his jacket pocket.
She went completely still when she saw the box.
“Patrick—”
“I know what you’re going to say,” he said. “I know this is fast by most people’s standards.” He held her gaze. “But we’re not most people. I grew up watching what this looks like when it’s right. I know what right feels like.” He opened the box. “And this—you—us—isright. “
The gemstones caught the late afternoon light. She looked at the ring. He looked at her eyes.
“Morgan Sullivan,” he said. “Will you marry me?”
She looked up from the ring. Looked at him. Searched his gaze. Then smiled.
“Yes,” she said. Simply, completely, without hesitation. She offered him her hand.
He slid the ring onto her finger. She looked at it, then back up at him with an expression that he intended to spend the rest of his life earning on a daily basis.
Then she leaned over, cupped his head, and kissed him soundly. “I love you.”
“And I love you.”
“How long have you been planning this?”
“Honestly? A while.”
She smiled, her eyes dancing with amusement. “So what took you so long?”
“I had to wait for you to catch up. Ready to go in now?”
She took his hand. “Let’s go.”
EPILOGUE – PART II: BELONGING
MORGAN
Morgan staredin wonder at the massive structure. Calling it a barn didn’t do it justice. Hardwood flooring. Exposed beams. Recessed lighting. A raised stage at the far end.