The Proposal (Reprise)
The autumn after the book’s release brought a new kind of quiet to Port Orford. The tourists thinned, the days shortened, and the lighthouse beam seemed brighter against the early darkness. Clara had settled into a routine—opening the shop, writing in the mornings, spending afternoons with Daniel. But something was missing. She couldn’t name it, but she felt it like a small stone in her shoe.
Daniel noticed. He always noticed.
“You’re distracted,” he said one evening.
“I’m thinking.”
“About what?”
“About the future. About us. About whether we’re doing enough.”
He set down the book he was reading. “What more should we be doing?”
Clara walked to the window, looking out at the lighthouse. “I don’t know. That’s the problem.”
The next morning, Daniel disappeared.
He left a note on the kitchen table: “Gone for the day. Be back by dinner. Don’t worry.”
Clara tried not to worry. She failed. She called his phone. No answer. She called Lily. No answer. She paced the bookshop, rearranged shelves, and read the same page of a novel three times without understanding a word.
He returned at sunset, looking tired but happy.
“Where have you been?” Clara demanded.
“I went to Portland.”
“Portland? Why?”
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box.
Clara’s heart stopped.
“I’ve been thinking about the future too,” he said. “About us. About what comes next.”
He opened the box. Inside was a ring—simple, elegant, a small diamond set in gold.
“Clara, I know we’re already married. I know we said our vows on the beach. But I never did this the right way. I never asked you properly.”
He knelt.
“Will you marry me? Again?”
Clara stared at him. Tears filled her eyes.
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes, again. Yes, always.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger and kissed her.
They celebrated at the Salty Dog, the same restaurant where they had eaten on their first date. The same pier, the same view, the same lighthouse beam.
“I can’t believe you went to Portland without telling me,” Clara said.
“I wanted it to be a surprise.”
“It was.”
He took her hand. “I want to do things right, Clara. I want to give you the life you deserve.”
“You already have.”
“I want to give you more.”
She kissed him. “You’re enough.”
That night, they sat on the bench near the lighthouse.
The stars were bright, the sea calm, the beam steady. Clara looked at the ring on her finger.
“This is beautiful,” she said.
“It belonged to my grandmother. She gave it to me before she died. She said, ‘Give it to someone who makes you brave.'”
“Does that mean I make you brave?”
“You make me want to be brave.”
She leaned against him. “I love you.”
“I love you too.”