Chapter 24: Sunday on the Porch

On Sunday the sky over Cooper's Point was clear and cold, and the lake lay flat and bright to the horizon.

We drove out after breakfast, the three of us.

The kite rode in the back seat, and Poppy sang about a goldfish.

The cabin looked the same.

The porch still leaned.

The lantern on the dock still hung from its hook, fixed.

Sawyer parked beside the steps and turned off the engine.

"Do you want me on the step?" he said.

"Sit on the porch."

"You said porch only."

"I said a lot of things. Sit."

He sat on the top step beside me, in the thin sun.

Poppy raced down to the beach with the kite, shouting for him to hurry.

"Give me a minute, baby," he called. "Mommy wants to say something."

She stopped on the sand and put her hands on her hips.

I laughed.

I had practiced this on the drive, and every line I had prepared fell out of my head.

"I've been thinking about what I wanted five years ago," I said.

"Tell me."

"Not a house. Not a ring. I wanted you to look at me across a room and choose me, once, on purpose, out loud."

He did not move.

"I told you at the gala I was waiting to hear you'd rather have me than her."

"I remember."

"You never said it."

"I didn't, and I've been sorry every day since." He turned on the step to face me. "May I say it now?"

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