Page 87 of Sappy Go Lucky

Pepper is sprawled across her pen like a woolly speed bump, snoring contentedly. We step past her quietly as Eva grins at her goat. “She’s gotten lazy.”

“She doesn’t have to be a working goat here,” I remind her. “We spoil her.”

The beehives hum softly in the distance—Eva has become surprisingly adept at maintaining them, even though she keeps saying she’s going to kill all the bees. She hasn’t. She checks them every morning, makes sure the water is fresh, keeps records on a clipboard that I help her transfer into a pivot table.

We navigate around the hives carefully, not wanting to disturb any evening foraging. The sun is already set, painting the sky in shades of peach and gold.

We reach the old sugar hut that she converted into… well, a love shack.

I’ve placed electric candles throughout the space—none of the fire hazard of real flames, all the ambiance. They glow warm and golden, casting dancing shadows across the wooden beams Walter and June built decades ago and Eva repurposed into her new guest bungalow.

Eva steps inside and stops dead. “Asher,” she breathes. “What is this?”

My heart hammers louder than last season’s cicadas. My palms sweat, and then I remember I have no reason to be nervous. This woman loves me.

I drop to one knee.

Not dramatically. I’m still not 100% after my ankle injury, but I’m clearly in the position to ask something significant.

Eva’s hand flies to her mouth, eyes going wide.

“Eva Storm,” I say, voice steadier than I feared. “When you clambered into these woods, I assumed you ruined my life. And you did. Completely and irrevocably.”

A laugh-sob escapes her. “Asher?—”

“Wait. I’m not good at this, so let me spit it out.” I pull out the ring and, in the candlelight, it glows like it’s alive, like it’s part of Pierce Acres, waiting for this moment as long as I have. “You destroyed that hermit man, and I became someone entirely new—a man who has a life because you’re in it.” Tears stream down her face, and any other time I’d jump in to wipe them away and comfort her. But I carry on. “You brought your family’s love to this abandoned place and filled it with light and life again. You pulled me in with you into this tornado of joy.” I take a breath, steadying myself. “I love you, Eva Storm, and I want to spend the rest of my life with you, doing impossibly ridiculous things. I want to be yours, if you’ll have me.”

I pull the ring from the velvet cushion, gesturing toward her with hope and terror at war in my body. “Will you marry me?”

For an eternity, or probably a nanosecond, she doesn’t say anything. She stares at the ring as if it might disappear or like it’s made of sugar that will melt if she cries on it. My stomach twists. But then she says, “Yes.”

The word is barely audible.

And then, “God, yes, Asher. Yes!”

She pulls me up, and I’m not prepared for the impact of her arms around my neck, the pressure of her mouth against mine like she’s trying to recreate the shape of my mouth.

The ring falls from my hand, but I catch it, laughing into Eva’s hair. “Let me put this on where it’s safe,” I mutter between kisses. Her left hand shakes as I slip the ring onto her finger—a perfect fit thanks to my family meddling and creating a prototype under the guise of Lia leading a handprint craft.

“It’s so beautiful,” she breathes, glancing at it while not separating from my body, her face smashed against my sweater.

“It was in your aunt and uncle’s things,” I confess. “It seemed like the right choice for you.”

“Oh, Asher.” She rocks into me, pulling me closer. She tips her head back, and we kiss. Then we stumble until we’re on the floor, refinished wood at my back, gorgeous joybird on top of me.

My fiancée, I think, the word sending a powerful jolt of possession and pride through my body.

The candles cast our shadows on the walls, making the space feel intimate and sacred. Eva straddles my hips, and I’m lost in the weight of her on top of me, the way her hair falls like a curtain when she leans down to kiss me.

“I love you.”

“I love you,” I echo, pressing against the woman who makes me forget why I ever thought I should be alone. I kiss her palm, groan, and rise to my feet, extending a hand toward her. “Come on, my bride. Let’s go home.”

We switch off all the candles, and I tug her through the woods and toward the back porch.

The maple trees tower above us, ancient and steady, their roots deep and strong in the soil that Walter and June tended, that Eva brought back to life. And I realize we’ve both become like those trees. Rooted. Grown. Thriving from the labor of our hands and the openness of our hearts.

Eva squeezes my hand, the ring glinting in the starlight. I’m still a hermit at heart, but I’m not alone. I have this woman and all her brilliant vibrancy. Her chaos makes her unstoppable, a force who stayed and chose me.

“Asher?” Her question comes as we reach the steps. “Thank you.”

I stop her before we make it to the house and pull her close, kissing her like I’m trying to pour everything I feel into her—all the love, all the certainty, all the gratitude that she showed up and refused to leave.

“Always,” I whisper, knowing it’s sappy, knowing I’m the luckiest man alive to have this life, this woman, this love.