Updated Nov 20, 2025 • ~10 min read
ASHER
I’m planning the proposal with military precision.
Ezra sits across from me at a coffee shop, reviewing my notes like they’re a business contract. He’s taking this almost as seriously as I am, which I appreciate.
“Okay, walk me through it one more time,” he says, pen poised over the notepad I brought.
“You’re taking notes?”
“This is important. Your future wife will ask me about this someday, and I want to get the details right.”
Fair point.
“So,” I begin, “I’m taking her to the park. Our park. The one where we fed ducks with Miles that first day.”
“Good symbolism. Continue.”
“Sunset. I looked up golden hour for optimal lighting.”
Ezra stares at me. “You looked up golden hour? Who are you?”
“A man in love who wants the photos to look good.”
“The old Asher would have paid someone to handle the details.”
“The old Asher was an idiot. The new Asher does his own research.”
He grins. “I like new Asher. He’s a sap, but I like him.”
“Thank you?”
“So, golden hour at the park. Then what?”
“I’ll have the blanket. The one from my grandmother’s house that Emilia kept. The one Miles uses now.”
“How’d you get it away from him? That kid guards that thing like a dragon hoards gold.”
“I told him I needed to borrow it for something very special. He made me pinkie promise to return it.”
“That’s adorable and also slightly concerning. What if you spill something on it?”
“I won’t spill anything on it. I’m going to be very careful.”
“Famous last words.”
I ignore him and continue. “So we’ll sit on the blanket while Miles plays. I’ll wait for the right moment—”
“How will you know it’s the right moment?”
I pause. This is the part I haven’t fully figured out. “I don’t know. I’ll just… feel it?”
“Wow. You’ve really changed. Old Asher would have had a fifteen-point plan with contingencies.”
“Old Asher was a controlling nightmare. New Asher is learning to trust his instincts.”
“And what are your instincts telling you?”
“That when the moment comes, I’ll know. It’ll just feel right.”
Ezra leans back, studying me. “You’re really doing this. Getting married. For real this time.”
“I really am.”
“How do you feel?”
“Terrified. Excited. Like my entire life has been leading to this moment.”
“It has been. You just took the long way around.”
“The longest way. But I’m here now.”
“And Emilia? You think she’s ready?”
“I think so. I hope so. We’ve been living together for months now. We’re raising Miles together. We’ve said I love you. This is just… making it official.”
“Just?” Ezra raises an eyebrow. “Marriage isn’t just anything. It’s a promise. A commitment. Are you sure you’re ready for that after what happened last time?”
“Last time I was marrying the wrong person for the wrong reasons. This time, I’m marrying my person. The mother of my child. The woman who crashed my wedding and saved my life. There’s no comparison.”
“Good answer.” He slides a small box across the table. “I had it cleaned for you. Looks brand new.”
I open it carefully. The sapphire catches the morning light, throwing little blue sparks across the table. It’s exactly as beautiful as I remember. More beautiful, maybe, knowing that I’m finally going to use it for its intended purpose.
“It’s perfect,” I say. “Thank you for holding onto it.”
“I still can’t believe you kept it all these years. Through the engagement to Sloane, through everything.”
“I couldn’t get rid of it. Every time I thought about throwing it away or returning it, something stopped me. Like some part of me knew I’d need it eventually.”
“That’s romantic as hell.”
“I’m a romantic guy now, apparently.”
“You are. It’s disturbing and heartwarming in equal measure.”
We finish our coffee, going over the plan a few more times. Ezra pokes holes in my logistics—what if it rains? what if Miles has a meltdown? what if Emilia suspects something?—and I troubleshoot each scenario.
“You’ve really thought this through,” he says finally.
“I’ve been thinking about it for two years. Even when I didn’t know she was having my baby, even when I was engaged to someone else, part of me was still planning how I’d propose to Emilia if I ever got the chance.”
“That’s either really romantic or really sad.”
“Both. Definitely both.”
When I get home, Emilia is in the living room with Miles, building an elaborate tower out of blocks. She’s in leggings and one of my old t-shirts, hair in a messy bun, no makeup, and she’s never looked more beautiful.
“Dada!” Miles abandons the tower to run at me full speed.
I catch him, lifting him up. “Hey, buddy! What are you building?”
“A castle! For dragons!”
“Very cool. Can I help?”
“Yes! You do the top part. It’s very important.”
I settle on the floor with them, and we spend the next hour building an increasingly precarious dragon castle. Emilia watches with amusement as Miles dictates exactly where each block should go.
“No, Dada, that one goes here! You’re doing it wrong!”
“My apologies, architect. I’ll follow your vision.”
Emilia catches my eye and mouths, “He’s so bossy.”
I mouth back, “Wonder where he gets it.”
She throws a block at me. Miles gasps.
“Mama! No throwing blocks! That’s the rule!”
“You’re right, baby. I’m sorry.”
“You go in time out!”
“What? I don’t need time out.”
“Yes! Time out for Mama!”
Emilia looks at me pleadingly. I shrug. “He’s not wrong. You did throw a block.”
“Traitor.”
She goes to sit on the bottom stair—our designated time-out spot—while Miles sets a timer on his play watch.
“Two minutes!” he announces seriously.
I’m trying so hard not to laugh.
When her time is up, Miles goes to her very solemnly. “Mama, do you know why you were in time out?”
“Because I threw a block.”
“And?”
“And that was wrong.”
“And?”
“And I won’t do it again?”
“Good! You can play now!”
She comes back to the living room, fighting a smile. “I’ve just been parented by a two-year-old.”
“Almost three,” Miles corrects.
“Right. Almost three.”
That night, after Miles is in bed, I find Emilia on the back deck. She’s wrapped in a blanket, looking out at the lake, and I’m struck by how much I love this view. Not the lake—though it’s beautiful—but her. Always her.
“Hey,” I say, joining her.
“Hey yourself.”
“What are you thinking about?”
“How different my life is from what I imagined.”
My stomach drops. “Good different or bad different?”
She turns to me, and her smile is soft. “Good. So good. A year ago, I was living with Cora, working two jobs, raising Miles alone. And now I’m here, with you, and we’re a family, and I’m just… happy.”
Relief floods through me. “Me too.”
“Sometimes I worry I’m going to wake up and this will all be a dream. That I’ll be back in that tiny apartment, alone, wondering what might have been.”
“It’s not a dream. This is real.”
“I know. Logically, I know. But sometimes my brain still can’t believe it.”
I pull her close. “Believe it. You’re stuck with me now.”
“Promise?”
“Promise. Forever.”
She rests her head on my shoulder, and we sit in comfortable silence.
Inside, I’m a bundle of nerves about the proposal. About whether I’ve planned it right, whether she’ll say yes, whether I’m ready for this.
But looking at her, feeling her solid and real against me, I know the answer to at least one of those questions.
I’m ready. More than ready.
I just hope she is too.
The next few days are torture. I’m checking the weather obsessively, making sure Saturday will be clear. I’ve confirmed with Ezra three times that he’s available as backup. I’ve hidden the ring in seven different places before settling on my sock drawer—unoriginal but effective.
Emilia notices I’m acting weird.
“Are you okay?” she asks Wednesday night.
“I’m fine. Why?”
“You’ve been jumpy all week. And you checked your phone six times during dinner.”
“Just work stuff.”
“You’re a consultant. What work emergency could possibly happen?”
“You’d be surprised.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she lets it drop.
Thursday, I almost crack. We’re grocery shopping—a mundane activity that’s somehow become one of my favorites because we do it as a family—and Miles asks for a treat.
“Can I have cookies, Dada?”
“Ask Mama.”
“Mama, can I have cookies?”
“Not before dinner, baby.”
“But Dada gets cookies!”
“Dada is an adult who makes poor nutritional choices.”
“What if I’m an adult?”
“You’re two.”
“Almost three!”
“Still not an adult.”
I’m watching this negotiation, the ring burning a hole in my pocket—I started carrying it everywhere, paranoid about losing it—and I almost blurt it out right there in the cereal aisle.
I want to marry you. Let’s do this. Right now. In the grocery store.
But I don’t. Because she deserves better than a proposal between the Cheerios and the Cocoa Puffs.
Friday night, I barely sleep. The ring is back in my sock drawer. The blanket is laundered and folded. I’ve mentally rehearsed what I’m going to say at least a hundred times, though I’ll probably forget all of it when the moment comes.
Saturday morning dawns clear and beautiful. Perfect proposal weather, if there is such a thing.
I’m doing this. Today. Really doing this.
“Want to go to the park this afternoon?” I ask casually over breakfast.
“Again? We were just there two days ago.”
“Miles loves it there. Don’t you, buddy?”
“I love park! I feed ducks!”
“See? The kid has spoken.”
Emilia studies me. “You’re being weird again.”
“I’m not being weird. I’m being spontaneous.”
“You’re never spontaneous. You plan everything.”
“New leaf. I’m turning over a new leaf.”
“Uh-huh.”
She agrees anyway, because Miles is now chanting “Park! Park! Park!” and it’s impossible to say no to that.
The afternoon drags. Miles’ nap seems to last both forever and not nearly long enough. I’m simultaneously impatient and terrified.
When he finally wakes, I suggest we head out.
“Now?” Emilia checks her watch. “It’s almost five.”
“Perfect time. Less crowded.”
“And it’ll be sunset.”
“Exactly. Beautiful lighting.”
Now she’s definitely suspicious. “Asher Blackwood, what are you planning?”
“Nothing! Can’t a guy want to take his family to the park at sunset?”
“You absolutely can. It’s just not like you.”
“Maybe I’m becoming more like me. The real me.”
She softens at that. “Okay. Let’s go to the park.”
The drive there is torture. Miles chatters in the backseat about ducks and swings and everything he wants to do. Emilia sits beside me, occasionally glancing my way like she’s trying to figure out what I’m up to.
The ring is in my pocket. The blanket is in the trunk. The sun is starting its descent toward the horizon.
This is it.
This is really it.
And I’ve never been more terrified or more certain of anything in my life.
We’re doing this.
I’m doing this.
I’m going to ask Emilia to marry me.
And I really, really hope she says yes.
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