That the morning you weren't here when we came back from the north field without you, and I didn't know where you were, and then Matteo told me you'd gone out in that storm to find me. That was the first time in 8 years. I understood what it would cost me to lose something again. He stopped. Not what you do here, you Rosalie.
Specifically. The study was very quiet. She looked at him. His face had none of its management on it. Whatever he usually kept behind the flat evaluating look, and the morning quiet was just there, visible, and it was more than she had let herself expect.
She had rules. She had made herself a very clear set of rules. "Gideon," she said. "I know you have Cheyenne," he said. "I know what that means.
Your reputation back, a contract, your own position in your own name. I know that matters. I'm not asking you to give that up. Then what are you asking? He looked at his hands, then back at her.
I'm asking if there's a version of the next thing that includes staying here. Not as the cook. Not because of the boys, though. I won't pretend they don't matter in this. He paused.
As my wife, if that's something you could consider. The word landed in the room and stayed. She sat with it. Is she did not reach for it immediately. And she did not push it away because this was the kind of moment where doing either of those things too fast was how people made decisions they spent a long time living with.
You're asking me to marry you, she said. I'm doing it badly, he said. But yes, why now? Because you're about to make a decision and I think you should have all the information. He said, and she heard the echo of what he'd told her weeks ago in the pantry and something tightened in her chest.
I told you not to read into that, she said. I know you did. I'm serious, Gideon. I meant it when I said the Cheyenne position was real. I know that, too.