38 The months passed with surprising speed, summer warmth giving way to the crisp air of autumn, then the first frosts of approaching winter. Our lives settled into rhythms that felt both new and familiar-morning routines with our increasingly verbal son, weekdays balanced between work and family responsibilities, weekends spent exploring Northbrook's parks or visiting the Bailey Estate, where William continued to dote on his great-grandson with unabashed affection. Lucas and I found our own rhythm as well, rediscovering each other as partners in every sense-sharing parental duties with natural coordination, supporting each other's professional endeavors, and rebuilding the physical intimacy that had always come easily to us, now deepened by the emotional connection we'd established. We didn't discuss marriage. By unspoken agreement, we focused on building our relationship day by day, establishing trust and communication that had been lacking in our first attempt. The legal status seemed secondary to the reality we were living-a family bound by love and choice rather than paperwork or social convention. So I was surprised when, on a crisp December morning, Lucas suggested a weekend trip without our son. "My grandparents have been asking for time with little Lucas," he explained as we prepared breakfast, our sor happily occupied with a puzzle at his small table. "They're suggesting an overnight at the estate-apparently William has purchased an elaborate electric train set that he's dying to set up." I smiled, familiar now with William Bailey's tendency to indulge our son with increasingly complex toys that were ostensibly for the child but seemed more suited to his great-grandfather's entertainment. "And you think he's ready for that? An overnight without us?" Lucas nodded, pouring coffee into our mugs with the easy domesticity we'd established. "He's stayed with your father before, and he adores his great-grandparents. Plus, it would give us a chance for some time alone We could drive up to that bed and breakfast in the mountains you mentioned liking. The one with the fireplac in every room." The suggestion carried weight beyond a simple weekend getaway-a deliberate step toward rekindling the romantic aspect of our relationship that had sometimes been overshadowed by our roles as parents. "That sounds lovely," I agreed, surprised by how much I welcomed the prospect of uninterrupted time with Lucas. "I you're sure your grandparents can handle an energetic toddler overnight." Lucas laughed, setting my coffee before me. "They've enlisted reinforcements-the nanny who helped raise me, plus at least two house staff dedicated solely to little Lucas. I think they can manage for twenty-four hours." And so arrangements were made, bags were packed, and our son was delivered to the Bailey Estate with his favorite stuffed animals, detailed instructions about his routines, and enough diapers and clothing to last a week rather than a single night. 'We'll be fine," Margaret assured us, already engaged in a serious conversation with our son about the train set waiting in the converted playroom. "Go. Enjoy yourselves. We have your numbers if we need you, which we won't." The drive to the mountains was peaceful, conversation flowing easily between us as we enjoyed the simple uxury of adult interaction without interruption. The Mountain View Inn proved to be exactly as advertised-a charming stone building nestled among pine trees, with cozy rooms featuring working fireplaces and breathtaking views of the snow-dusted mountains beyond. This is perfect," I said as we settled into our room, the fireplace already lit, windows framing a postcard- worthy winter landscape. "Thank you for suggesting it." Lucas smiled, his expression holding something I couldn't quite decipher-anticipation, perhaps, or nervousness. "I thought we deserved some time just for us. As much as I love every minute with our son, I've nissed having you to myself occasionally." The simple admission, delivered with such straightforward honesty, warmed me more than the crackling fire. This was another change in Lucas that I'd come to treasure-his willingness to express feelings directly, vithout calculation or restraint. I've missed it too," I admitted, moving to stand beside him at the window. "Though I wouldn't trade our life low for anything." Neither would I," he agreed, his arm slipping naturally around my waist. "But I'm looking forward to dinner vithout anyone throwing food or demanding to be excused after three bites." laughed, leaning into his embrace. "The simple pleasures of adult life." Dinner at the inn's restaurant was indeed a pleasure-unhurried courses enjoyed over candlelight, conversation that ranged from profound to playful, wine savored without concern for early morning wake-ups rom an energetic toddler. When Lucas suggested a walk afterward despite the chilly temperature, I agreed eadily, not yet ready for the evening to end. The inn's grounds were beautiful in the winter twilight, paths winding through snow-covered gardens lluminated by tasteful landscape lighting. Lucas took my hand as we walked, the gesture natural after nonths of rebuilding intimacy between us. Do you remember our first real date?" he asked as we followed a path toward a small gazebo overlooking the valley below. "After you came back from Paris, I mean." nodded, smiling at the memory. "Bellini's. You wanted to replace difficult memories with better ones." Chapter 18 Janted Proposal "And did we?" Lucas stopped, turning to face me in the soft glow of the path lights. "Make better memories, I mean?" "We've made so many," I said honestly. "Not just that night, but every day since. Better than I could have imagined when I came back to Northbrook." Something shifted in Lucas's expression-determination replacing nervousness, certainty replacing doubt. "I want to make more," he said softly. "So many more, Autumn. A lifetime of them." Before I could respond, he reached into his pocket and withdrew a small velvet box, the significance of which was unmistakable. My breath caught in my throat as he opened it, revealing not the elaborate diamond he'd given me during our first engagement, but a simple, elegant ring with a oval sapphire surrounded by small diamonds. 'This isn't like last time," Lucas said, his voice steady despite the emotion evident in his eyes. "There's no arrangement, no family expectations, no convenience or obligation. Just me, asking the woman I love if she'l marry me. Again. For real this time." The distinction was crucial-not a return to what had been, but a new beginning founded on genuine feeling *ather than external pressures. This was Lucas choosing me, not because William Bailey had orchestrated it or because circumstances demanded it, but because he truly wanted the life we'd built together. 'I know we've been happy as we are," he continued when I remained silent, overwhelmed by the moment. "An f you're not ready for this step, or if you never want to be legally married again, I'll understand. Nothing woul change about how I feel or what I want our future to be." The careful respect for my autonomy, the absence of pressure or manipulation, touched me deeply. This was not the Lucas who had once approached our marriage as a business transaction, but a man who had learned the value of partnership based on equality and mutual choice. 'But I want to make vows to you that I actually mean this time," he said, his voice dropping to an intimate murmur. "To promise you the things I should have promised two years ago, if I'd been brave enough to see what was right in front of me." looked at the ring, then at Lucas-the man who had been part of my life in various ways since high school, who had broken my heart and then, against all odds, helped heal it again. The father of my child, the partner i my daily life, the love I had tried and failed to forget during our separation. 'Why a sapphire?" I asked, the question seemingly trivial yet somehow important in this moment of decision. Lucas smiled, understanding the significance of my asking rather than immediately accepting or declining. "I eminded me of your dress at the Winter Formal senior year. Dark blue, almost navy. With silver shoes that