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Noah seemed distracted. Then he laughed quietly to himself.

“What?” Claire looked at him.

“I just think it’s funny that you’re still paying rent on an apartment you haven’t slept in for months.”

Claire laughed. “I don’t know why I am.”

“When are we going to stop pretending you don’t live here?”

She shrugged.

Noah grinned at her. “Well, remember how we talked about needing a better system than you sleeping on my couch every night?”

Claire nodded.

She thought she knew where he was going.

Share the bed.

Buy another bed.

Find a bigger apartment.

Anything but—

Noah turned off the burner beneath the sauce.

That made her pause.

He set the spoon down and wiped his hands on a dish towel, suddenly looking more nervous than she had ever seen him.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“Trying not to drop something important into the spaghetti.” He held her gaze and reached into his pocket, pulling out a small velvet box.

Claire stopped breathing.

“You’ve been home to me for a long time,” he said, “probably before I was smart enough to admit it. We’re already building a life together. I want the ordinary Tuesdays, the coffee, the walks with Biscuit, the nights on the couch, the grocery shopping, the family holidays, and every version of someday we talked about. But I don’t want to keep calling it someday.”

He opened the box. Inside was a delicate gold ring with a small oval diamond, simple and beautiful and completely her.

“Let’s keep doing this. Forever.” His expression softened. “Marry me.”

Claire stared at him. At the ring. At the man standing in the kitchen they had somehow turned into a home.

For years, she had believed happiness was something she could organize if she chose the right city, the right apartment, the right job.

And somehow, it had found her here.

On an ordinary Tuesday.

With spaghetti on the stove and cookie dough on her hands.

“What?”

“Marry me.”

“You’re not asking.”