Joe held her tighter, the kind of hold you don’t even think about—like muscle memory, like instinct.
Like home.

Her words knocked the breath clean out of him. Not rough. Not violent. Just that slow, heavy kind of realization that changes everything without making a sound.

She was ready.

She was his.

And God, if it were up to him, he’d drop to one knee right now, right there in the damn hallway with nothing but the sound of the old pipes rattling and the smell of detergent in the air. No grand speech. No fancy setup. Just him and her and every reckless, sacred thing they ever promised themselves when they were too young to know better—and too stubborn to ever let it go.

But he caught himself. Felt the weight of it. Knew she deserved more.

Not because this moment wasn’t enough.
Because she was.

Because Riley Carson deserved a memory so good it would rewrite every bad one she’d ever been handed.

He dipped his head, brushing his nose against hers in that soft, lingering way he only ever did with her. His voice, when it came, was roughened with everything he was holding back.

“Sweetheart,” he rasped, “if you mean that—and God, I believe you—I need you to know somethin’.”

He kissed her forehead, slow and reverent, like sealing a vow.

“I’ve had it planned since we were kids. Since you punched me on the playground for callin’ you bossy and then stole my hat to prove a point.”

A soft huff of laughter rumbled in his chest, but it didn’t hide the emotion in his voice.

“I’ve been carryin' the ‘how’ in my back pocket for years. Just needed the excuse.”

He pulled back enough to look at her, really look, thumb brushing slow over the line of her cheekbone.

“So no, I’m not askin’ you tonight, even though every damn part of me wants to.” His smile turned crooked, boyish, his eyes full of fire and devotion. “Because when I do? You’re gettin’ the whole nine yards. The sunset, the story, the moment you tell the grandkids about when you’re tired of yellin’ at me for leavin’ my boots in the hallway.”

He leaned in again, pressing a kiss to the corner of her mouth.

“But you better believe, Riley Carson—it’s comin’.”

And God help the world when it did. Because when Joe Barnes loved, he didn’t do it halfway. He didn’t know how.

Riley’s heart caught right there in her chest—stopped, flipped, pressed its palms against her ribs like it was trying to memorize this moment forever.

She didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe for a second.

Just looked at him.

Because it was all there—in his eyes, in his voice, in the way he said her name like it meant something holy.

And damn it, she was gone.

Gone for the boy who never stopped loving her. Gone for the man who somehow loved her more now, after everything. Gone for every version of him she’d ever known—and every one still to come.

Her smile broke slow, warm and stunned and laced with a kind of happiness that made her knees feel shaky in the best possible way.

“You’ve had it planned since the playground?” she whispered, her hand coming up to press flat against his chest, right where his heart still thundered beneath her palm. “All this time, and you’re telling me now?”

She laughed, breathless. Wrecked.

“You really are ridiculous.”

But her voice cracked on the last word, because it wasn’t just funny. It was everything.

“You want the sunset and the story and the moment for the grandkids?” she said, eyes shining now. “Then I’ll wait. I’ll wait for the proposal you’ve had tucked away all this time. I’ll wait for the boots-in-the-hallway and the flower shop chaos and the days where we don’t get it right the first time.”

She leaned in, her forehead brushing his, her voice barely a breath.

“I’ll wait, Joey. But only because I already know how it ends.”

Then she kissed him.

Like she meant it.

Like she’d always meant it.

Joe kissed her back like it was muscle memory.

Like his body already knew the choreography, had known it since the moment she crashed into his world with scraped knees and a sharp tongue and eyes that never once looked away from a storm.

His hand cupped her jaw, steady and sure, the other anchoring her against his chest like he’d never let her fall. And then—just when she thought he’d stay there, grounded and golden and wrecked—he pulled back with a grin that was all trouble and charm.

“Baby,” he murmured, voice low, “you think I’ve only been plannin’ the proposal?”

And then he dipped her.

Right there in the damn hallway.

One smooth, practiced motion—like he’d been rehearsing that too. Like every wedding scene he’d ever seen in a movie was secretly filed away under important life skills, use if Riley ever comes back.

She let out a half-laugh, half-gasp, gripping his shirt like her knees couldn’t be trusted.

And he just smiled down at her, eyes alight with something wild and reverent. “Gotta make sure I get the dip right,” he said, all Southern sparkle. “Can’t be embarrassing you in front of the cake table.”

Then he kissed her again.

Slower this time. Fuller. The kind of kiss that made the world tilt and time stall and every bad thing they’d ever been through feel a little farther away.

Because he wanted every version of this. Every chapter. Every day she let him wake up beside her and build a life brick by brick.

He pulled her upright again, arms still wrapped around her, and whispered against her temple—

“I’ve always wanted everything with you, Rye. Every messy, perfect, ordinary, extraordinary bit. And I’m not plannin’ on missin’ a thing.”

He pressed one last kiss to her hair, like a seal.

Like a promise.

And Lord, did he mean it.

Riley blinked, breath catching as he lifted her. She wasn’t expecting it—wasn’t prepared for the way the world tilted or how easily she let herself lean into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

She laughed—quiet, breathless, warm in the way that only came when something was both brand new and deeply familiar.

“You’ve been waiting to do that,” she said, eyes narrowing like she could tease the truth out of him, even though she already knew it. “Don’t even try to lie.”

But she didn’t pull away. Didn’t ask him to let her go.

She let her fingers settle at the base of his neck, holding him there like she wanted this memory tucked between the ordinary moments of their life.

When he kissed her again—slow and full of promise—something in her stilled.

Not stopped.

Just… stilled.

Like her heart had been running a race she didn’t know she was still in until it saw the finish line standing barefoot in a hallway, grinning like he’d waited his whole life to lift her off her feet.

When he whispered to her, all those pieces of someday, all those bits of always, Riley didn’t smile right away.

She just looked at him.

Long. Quiet. Steady.

And then, softer than anything, she said, “You know what’s wild?”

Her hand slid down to rest flat against his chest.

“I’m not scared.”

A beat. A breath.

“I should be, right? Everything’s changed. The life I built fell apart. I’m raising kids I didn’t plan for. I run a business I didn’t choose. And you… you were always the one thing I could never figure out how to stay close to without burning up.”

She swallowed.

“But here I am. In your arms. In our house. With your socks in the hallway and a future I’m not trying to control for once.”

And then her voice softened.

“So no. I don’t need you to ask me anything tonight.”

She pressed her hand tighter over his heart.

“Because I’ve already answered. Just don’t take too long.”

She smiled then—really smiled. The kind that reached her eyes.

“Also, if you’re gonna dip me again, give a girl a warning. I nearly kicked a picture frame off the wall.”

Riley brushed past him with a little smirk still curling the edge of her mouth, fingers trailing along his arm like she wasn’t quite done being close yet—but needed a moment to breathe.

She crossed the room slowly, steady now, like her heart had found a new rhythm and was finally willing to trust it.

The lamplight hit her pajama top as she peeled it back into place—soft tan cotton with white piping, creased just a little from where his hands had held her. She moved with the quiet confidence of someone who was sure now. Not perfect. Not fearless. Just sure.

She pulled back the sheets and climbed in, shifting onto her side with a content exhale that sounded almost like disbelief. Like she couldn’t believe she’d finally landed in this moment—this room, this life, this quiet.

Then she looked up at him.

“You coming, or are you planning a flash-mob proposal I should be worried about?” she teased, voice a little dry but laced with something warmer—something that said she knew what she had now.

As he moved to join her, she tucked the blanket around her waist and rested her cheek against the pillow, eyes on him.

“I mean it,” she added, quieter now. “I’m not scared.”

Her hand reached out, palm open, waiting for his.

Joe watched her cross the room like she belonged to it.

Like she'd always belonged to it.

Like somehow, this place—this house, this bed, this quiet—had just been waiting for her to come back and fill the spaces he’d kept empty without even realizing it.

And when she turned and said she wasn’t scared?

He believed her.

Because he wasn’t either. Not when they were kids daydreaming about a life too big for their hometown. Not when they were teenagers tangled up in first love and reckless hope. Not when she left and the world tilted, or when she came back and it somehow felt like no time had passed at all.

He'd never been afraid of Riley Carson.

He peeled his shirt off slowly, more out of habit than heat, the soft cotton falling to the floor in that familiar arc she probably didn’t even realize she knew by heart. The hallway light caught the line of his shoulder as he moved, the quiet strength of someone who wasn’t rushing—but knew exactly what he wanted.

And what he wanted?

Was her.

He toed off one sock and didn’t bother with the other, leaving it by the door with a smirk that said he absolutely heard her earlier comment. The other he kicked toward the wall with zero precision and even less guilt.

As he crossed the room, his eyes met hers—steady, warm, a little mischievous.

“Flash-mob’s canceled,” he murmured, climbing into bed beside her, voice thick with affection. “Turns out the backup dancers had moral objections to country music.”

She rolled her eyes, but he caught the way her mouth twitched with the start of a smile.

He reached for her hand—her open palm, waiting for him—and took it like it was sacred. Wove his fingers through hers and kissed the back of it before pulling her close.

“You’re not scared,” he echoed softly, voice close to her ear now. “Good. 'Cause I’m not either.”

A pause.

“I’ve got plans, Riley. Still keepin’ ’em close to the chest, but I promise you—when it happens? It’ll be unforgettable.”

He kissed her temple, then settled in behind her, tucking her close like he was anchoring something. Like he always had. Like he always would.

“Just like the rest of our life.”

And with her heartbeat steady beneath his hand and her warmth tucked into the curve of him, Joe Barnes finally let himself fall asleep.

Not waiting.
Not worrying.
Just home.

Riley settled deeper into the pillows, one leg brushing his as she stretched out beneath the sheets. The quiet of the room had a different weight now—heavier in a good way, like something had landed after floating too long.

She didn’t rush to fill the silence. She never did with him. Not anymore.

Her thumb moved slowly along the edge of his hand, thoughtful. Familiar.

“You really left one sock by the door,” she muttered, eyes closed, lips tugging into a sleep-laced smirk. “We’re not even married yet and I’m already planning the passive-aggressive storage basket I’m buying for that habit.”

She could feel him grin without looking.

But then her voice softened, edged with something else. “You say unforgettable like I haven’t been carrying pieces of this moment around since I was eighteen.”

She blinked slowly, gaze finding his in the dark.

“I don’t need fireworks,” she said. “I don’t need rose petals or a string quartet or some big speech that makes people cry.”

Her fingers laced through his again.

“I just need this. The quiet. The knowing. The way you look at me like we’ve got years ahead of us and nowhere else to be.”

She pulled the blanket higher, let the rhythm of their joined breath settle the last of her nerves.

And then, after a long pause, just barely audible:

“I hope you do ask. But not ‘cause I need the question. Just… I think we’d tell a good story.”

Then she turned her face into the pillow, smile hidden, but steady.

“And I’m not wearing heels to the wedding, by the way. You’re tall enough for both of us.”

Joe couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his face, quiet and slow, even in the dark.

God, he loved her.

Every smart-mouthed, sleep-soft, barefoot inch of her. Every truth she let spill in the hush between breaths. Every bit of her that reached for him without hesitation now—like she’d finally decided he wasn’t something to be afraid of.

He squeezed her hand gently, brushing his thumb over the back of hers. “Well,” he murmured, voice thick with affection and sleep, “there goes my plan for the fireworks, the string quartet, and you arriving on horseback in a custom-made veil.”

She huffed a laugh into the pillow, and he felt it all the way down to his chest.

But beneath the charm, the grin, the teasing warmth that always buzzed in his blood when she was near—there was something deeper tonight. Something rooted.

“I used to think it had to be a production,” he said quietly, the kind of honesty that only came out under moonlight and blanket weight. “Back when I was younger. Back when I thought big meant better. I planned this whole thing in my head—rose petals, music, cameras, stupid-ass speech where I probably would've blacked out halfway through.”

He turned slightly so he could watch her, her silhouette barely outlined in the dim glow of the bedside lamp they forgot to turn off. “But I’ve been thinkin’ about it ever since. Tweakin’ it. Shaping it around who we are. Who you are. Who we’ve become.”

He paused, and this time his voice dropped low—reverent.

“It’s not over the top anymore. But it’s good. It’s us. Humble. Sentimental. The kind of story we’d tell on a porch someday with a dog at our feet and a kid yellin’ in the background.”

A breath.

“So when I ask?” He leaned in, brushing a kiss to her temple, then to the edge of her jaw. “It’ll be unforgettable. Not ‘cause it’s flashy. But because you’ll know—you’ll feel—I meant every damn second leading up to it.”

He pulled her in tighter then, his hand resting low at her back.

“And I’m good with the no-heels thing,” he added, smirking into her hair. “Just means I don’t have to carry you after you kick ‘em off halfway through the reception. My back’s already grateful.”

She didn’t answer right away, but he felt her smile against his skin. Felt her exhale into his chest like she’d been holding that breath her whole life.

And Joe?

He just held her.
Because this—this—was everything he ever wanted.
And now that he had it, he wasn’t letting go.

Riley woke up slowly, the way people do when the house is quiet and the world hasn’t remembered to ask anything of them yet. The sun was barely pushing through the curtains, golden and warm, and the air still smelled like last night’s lavender candle.

She stretched once, toes brushing Joe’s calf under the covers, and only then realized—

He was awake.

Very awake.

She cracked one eye open, just enough to peek over at him without giving herself away.

There he was.

Flat on his back, hair a mess, one arm tucked behind his head… and his phone held inches above his face.

And on his screen?

Rings.

Engagement rings.

Her mouth twitched. Oh, he was so done for.

She blinked fully awake, rolled onto her side, propped her cheek into her palm, and let her voice come out sweet and scratchy from sleep.

“Well, well,” she mumbled, “glad to know you only look up diamonds when you think I’m unconscious. Very sneaky, Barnes.”

Joe jumped a little—just enough to confirm she’d caught him red-handed—then groaned and dragged his free hand over his face like he’d been emotionally ambushed before coffee.

Riley grinned and continued, “Just so you know, mystery shopper, I like rose gold. Simple diamond. Maybe a thin band.” She shrugged casually, like she wasn’t basically choosing her own ring at seven in the morning. “But I’m sure you already have a spreadsheet.”

Before he could say a single word, she made a dramatic little noise and turned over, flopping onto her stomach and dragging the blanket with her like a queen making an exit.

“Anyway,” she added, voice muffled into her pillow, “I’m not here. Carry on with your secret agent jewelry mission.”

She waited exactly four seconds.

Four.

Because she knew him.

She knew the second she rolled away, he would drop his phone, scoot closer, and put his whole, warm, stupidly comforting self right against her back like she’d pulled an invisible string.

Sure enough—

thud
(phone hitting mattress)
shuffle
(blankets shifting)
arm sliding around her waist

And then his breath touched the back of her neck.

She smirked into the pillow.

“Wow,” she whispered dramatically. “He abandoned the rings. Shocked. Betrayed. Utterly heartbroken.”

His arm tightened around her in that warm, sleepy way that said he was already smiling into her shoulder.

Riley reached back blindly, found his hand, and laced their fingers together without even looking.

“Good morning, Joey,” she murmured, soft as the sunlight creeping into the room.

And God, it felt like home.

Joe Barnes did not mean to freeze like a man caught planning treason.

But the second Riley spoke—sleep-rough, amused, dangerously perceptive—his whole body went stiff, like she’d just walked in on him drafting a confession letter.

Because she’d seen.
Not just the screen.
Him.

The planning, the wanting, the stupid stupid hope he’d been carrying around like a secret second heartbeat.

He let out a groan and covered his face with both hands for a moment, because this woman… this woman made him feel seventeen again. Fumbling. Transparent. Lit up from the inside.

When he finally managed to drag his hand away and breathe again, she’d already rolled over, performing theatrics into the pillow like she was collecting an Oscar for “Most Dramatic Mockery of a Man in Love.”

He dropped the phone.
Of course he did.

And when she turned her back, giving him that perfect excuse to do what he’d been wanting to do since she stirred awake—

Yeah, he moved.

He slid in behind her, arm fitting around her waist like it had been carved for this exact purpose, his chest molding to her back, his nose brushing the curve of her shoulder.

She laced their fingers.
And something low and warm went soft in him.

“Morning, darlin’,” he murmured against her neck—voice a little deeper, a little raspier, still colored by the kind of sleep that made everything feel honest.

She radiated smugness.
Full-body, victorious, I-caught-you energy.

He pressed a slow kiss to the back of her shoulder.

“First of all,” he mumbled, shifting just close enough that she felt every syllable, “I was doing research. That’s what responsible grown men do when they’ve got a beautiful, brilliant woman who—”

He hesitated.

Not because he didn’t know the ending.
But because saying it out loud still felt like stepping into sunlight he wasn’t sure he’d earned.

He swallowed, thumb brushing her knuckles under the covers.

“—who deserves something real,” he finished quietly.

A breath.
Not fearful—just full.

“And second,” he added, letting the grin creep back in, “rose gold, simple diamond, thin band… got it. But for the record, sweetheart—if I didn’t want you to see, I would’ve looked those rings up in the kitchen, not right beside you like a fool.”

She snorted into her pillow.
He grinned into her neck.

Then, softer—gentler than he meant to be—

“You can tease me all mornin’, Riley Carson. You earned that. But you didn’t scare me off the rings.”

His hand at her waist tightened, thumb sweeping a slow arc over her stomach like he couldn’t help it.

“If anything,” he whispered, lips brushing her skin, “you made me surer.”

A beat.

“And also very, very aware that you clock everything I do before I even know I’m doin’ it.”

He felt her try not to giggle.

God, he loved her.

Riley didn’t giggle.

Not at first.

She tried—God, she tried—but the second he said research, her shoulders shook and a quiet laugh escaped into the pillow anyway.

She rolled halfway onto her back, just enough to look at him over her shoulder, hair falling across her cheek.

“Research,” she echoed, eyebrows lifting. “Right. Very official. Very science-forward of you, Joey.”

His breath was still warm against her skin, his arm firm around her waist, thumb still stroking her stomach like he didn’t even know he was doing it. And it made something warm and stupidly soft bloom in her chest.

She reached back, fingertips brushing his jaw.

“You know what’s funny?” she murmured. “For a man who thinks he’s sneaky, you are hilariously not. You look at me like the sun came up early every time I walk into a room. I’ve been clocking that for months.”

He pressed a kiss to her shoulder. She swallowed a smile.

When he said who deserves something real, Riley bit her lip—once, hard—because that one hit somewhere she’d kept locked up for years.

She shifted in his arms until she was fully facing him, their noses a whisper apart.

“Hey,” she said softly, brushing a thumb across his cheekbone. “I don’t need diamonds to know what’s real with you.”

A beat.

Then she ruined it, smirking.

“Although I’m absolutely keeping the rose gold note on record.”

He laughed under his breath, and she felt it against her lips as she leaned in, nudging his nose with hers.

When he said you didn’t scare me off the rings, she felt her heart give one loud, defiant, ridiculous thump.

“Oh good,” she whispered, fingers sliding into his hair, “because you sure as hell didn’t scare me off the idea of wearing one.”

His hand tightened on her waist. She pretended she didn’t notice how breathless he got.

“And as for knowing what you’re doing before you know you’re doing it…” She let her gaze drop to his mouth, then lifted slowly. “Baby, I grew up next to you. I could’ve written the instruction manual.”

She kissed him then—soft, slow, full of the kind of love that doesn’t need planning because it was built into the bones.

When she pulled back, she whispered the final blow against his lips, barely a breath:

“And just so we’re clear? Surer looks good on you, Joey Barnes.”

Riley let the kiss linger—just long enough to feel him melt a little beneath her mouth—before she pulled back with that slow, sleepy smile she only ever gave him first thing in the morning.

Her fingers traced his jaw, then the dip beneath his bottom lip, soft and teasing. She watched the way his eyes followed her, warm and wrecked and wholly hers.

“Y’know…” she murmured, voice low and scratchy from sleep, “if you keep talking to me like that… I’m gonna start expecting you to use my future name.”

She let the beat hang, her thumb sweeping his cheek, her smile turning sly.

“Riley Barnes.”

Joe froze for half a second, breath catching exactly the way she knew it would.

She grinned.

“It’s always sounded better,” she whispered, leaning in until her lips grazed his, “even when we were kids.”

Another soft kiss—just a brush, just a promise.

She pulled back enough to look at him again, eyes warm and wicked.

“So maybe you should start practicing, Joey,” she added, voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Gotta make sure it rolls off your tongue right.”

She tapped his chest lightly, right over his heart.

“After all… you’re the one doing research.”