Travis peered at his father from over the top of his cake. “I already had an eleventh birthday. I’m twelve!”
“I’m with you, bud.” Porter flicked his gaze to mine, and his bright, white smile nearly blinded me. “It’s Charlotte here who insists you’re only eleven.” He rested his hand on top of mine, but instead of intertwining our fingers, he used his thumb to play with the large, round diamond on my engagement ring.
Porter had proposed in the most Porter way possible.
Sweet, charming, romantic, and completely ridiculous.
Two weeks after we’d moved into the new house, I’d run to the grocery store to pick up something for dinner. When I’d arrived home, I’d opened the front door and then jumped back at least three feet, dropping all of my bags to the floor. Waiting for me on the other side of the door had been a life-size cardboard cutout of Porter wearing a…
Wait for it…
Pink speedo. His hands were on his hips and he was staring straight ahead with a sexy smoldering gaze. Written across his chest in what appeared to be white sunscreen was: Ian who? Once my heart had slowed, I laughed wildly and retrieved the cocktail napkin taped to his shoulder. On it was a hand-drawn map of our house, complete with arrows guiding me toward the kitchen. Suspiciously, I called for Porter and the kids, but when they didn’t answer, I followed the map to our pantry, where I found yet another cardboard cutout. This time, Porter was wearing jeans and a black T-shirt that read: Charlotte’s Boyfriend. (Whether she likes it or not.) In his hand was a burger with a little toothpick flag on the top that read: Wagyu Terrier.
My mouth had split into an epic grin, but realization that this was more than just one of Porter’s usual silly stunts dawned on me, causing my stomach to flutter. I plucked yet another cocktail napkin map off his shoulder and followed the directions down the hall to our bedroom. With caution, I pushed the door open and found yet another cardboard cutout. This one wasn’t Porter. Or maybe it was—but only his dark silhouette. Across the chest, it read: Porter in the Darkness.
Tears welled in my eyes and nerves ignited in my veins, but I once again took the cocktail napkin off his shoulder. The map pointed to our closet.
With a racing pulse, I slowly opened the door and then burst into loud laughter. There were three cardboard cutouts. One of me and Porter taken God knew where, but he was staring straight ahead, his arm draped over my shoulders, his wide signature smile splitting his lips. The cardboard version of me was laughing beside him. And not the attractive kind. My mouth was open, my eyes were squeezed closed, and I had my arm bent so I could hold his hand where it was dangling over my chest. On his left was a cutout of Hannah. She was wearing her favorite pink floral dress paired with horrible red-and-white leggings. Her dark hair had been braided into pigtails, and she, too, was in the middle of what I was positive was a loud belly laugh. A cutout of Travis was on my right. He was wearing his typical uniform: neon basketball shorts and a plain colored T-shirt. His chin was tipped up in the air, his arms crossed over his chest, and he was smirking like a little man.
My gaze drifted back to Porter, where I noticed the words written across the front of his shirt: Porter in the light.
My chest warmed and my heart swelled as it filled with love. I looked ridiculous in that silly cardboard cutout, but that was Charlotte in the light too.
After taking the cocktail napkin map, I followed it down the hall to the sliding glass back door. There, on the deck, was another version of paper-Porter. But this one stole my breath. He was gorgeous in a black tux that fit him like a glove. His jacket was open, and his right hand was shoved inside his pocket. He was smiling the way he always did, but this was the heated grin Porter reserved for me when we were alone.
My lungs seized, and that warmth in my chest spread through the rest of my body like a wildfire.
His left hand was resting over his heart, and on his ring finger was a thick, gold band.
There was one of those “Hello My Name is” tags stuck on the lapel of his jacket and it read: Porter in the Future.
Tears escaped my eyes as I slapped a hand over my mouth.
Porter had made no secret of how much he wanted us to become a family. He’d even bought a rustic wooden picture frame, which he’d hung in the entryway, engraved with the words: The Reese family: Porter, Charlotte, Travis, and Hannah.
After I’d lived frozen in time for almost ten years, change scared the absolute shit out of me. But I had to admit that the idea of marrying Porter did some seriously good things to my heart.
However, for as many times as he’d talked about us getting married, he’d never actually proposed.
Until that moment.
I peeled the cocktail napkin map off cardboard-Porter’s shoulder only to find it blank. Drying my tears on my shoulder, I flipped it over. Written in thick, black ink were the words: Turn around.
With my heart in my throat, I spun faster than I knew possible.
And then the tears came full force.
Over the years, I’d cried a lot.
But these were different.
They were good tears. Happy tears. Yes-I’ll-marry-you tears.
In the same tux, the real Porter was down on one knee. Ring box open. A diamond sparkling in the sunlight. The biggest, most beautiful smile I’d seen him wear splitting his mouth. And a “Hello My Name is…” tag on his jacket read: Porter in the present.
He didn’t say anything.
We just stood there staring at each other.
Finally, when the silence became too much, I choked out through tears, “Are you going to ask me or what?”
His smile stretched. “I think I might have been a little premature when I asked for just a little company in the darkness.”
I laughed, and it turned into more tears. “Ya think?”
He rose and walked toward me, removing the ring from the box. He stopped in front of me and took my hand in his. “Charlotte Mills, I’d like to spend a lifetime with you. In the darkness. In the light. And everywhere in between. Forever.” He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Marry me.”
It wasn’t a question, and he didn’t wait for my answer before sliding the ring on my finger.
I said yes all the same.
And, two weeks later, we were married in a small, family-only ceremony at Tanner’s pond. I’d had a lot of incredible days that year, but vowing my life to Porter was certainly near the top.
I smiled at our son, doing my best to tamp the emotion down. “I’m sorry, Trav. Just pretend you found a time machine.”
Brady barked a laugh from the corner, where he stood behind his wife, his arms draped around her midsection and his hands resting on top of her swelling stomach. They had found out only a week earlier that it was another boy. Judging by the way Stephanie stared at Hannah, I knew she’d been hoping for a girl. I also knew she’d love that baby no matter what.
Things with Brady were…well, different.
Legally, we shared custody of our son—fifty-fifty. But, after Travis’s transplant, it had been virtually impossible for him to travel back and forth between our houses. Brady hated it at first, but we all agreed Travis’s health was our number-one priority. I thought Brady was going to swallow his tongue when Porter told the entire Boyd family that our door was always open for them. As much as Brady hated the idea, we didn’t have any other options. It was awkward at first, but I should have known that my man excelled at awkward.
The first time Brady and his family came over after Travis had come home, Porter had a big meal delivered from The Porterhouse. The visit was strained, with a lot of uncomfortable conversations and forced smiles, but it was more than I’d ever hoped for with Brady. While his attitude had changed over the last few months, Brady and I were never going to be best friends. From iPad time to nightly desserts, we disagreed on basically everything about raising Travis. But, after the hell we’d lived through and the future laid out in front of us, I’d have been willing to fight with him for the rest of my life about that inconsequential crap.
Travis and Brady’s relationship had grown leaps and bounds since the transplant. Porter would always be his dad, but in a way Brady had come to terms with that. He just wanted to be a part of his son’s life. As soon as Travis was healthy enough to get out of the house, Porter had told me that he was going to talk to him about giving Brady a real chance. I had no idea what had been said during that discussion, but the following Saturday, Travis invited Brady to go fishing with him. Building a bond between the two of them was going to be a long process, but progress was progress.