Updated Nov 21, 2025 • ~9 min read
Three days after Rebecca’s visit, Lucy woke up and realized she wanted to marry Owen.
Not someday. Not eventually.
Now. Soon. As soon as possible.
The realization hit while watching him make breakfast—humming off-key, hair sticking up, wearing the ridiculous apron Maisie had bought him that said “Resting Book Face.”
He flipped pancakes with practiced ease, occasionally glancing at Lucy with soft smiles that made her heart stutter.
This was the man she wanted to wake up to for the rest of her life.
The man she wanted to raise Maisie with, grow old with, build everything with.
She wanted forever.
And it terrified her.
They’d agreed not to rush. Agreed to ignore the town’s speculation. Agreed to take things at their own pace.
But apparently, Lucy’s pace was “immediately propose to the grumpy bookshop owner I’ve known for four months.”
This was insane.
This was too fast.
This was absolutely, completely what she wanted.
“You okay?” Owen asked, noticing her staring. “You look weird.”
“I’m fine,” Lucy lied. “Just thinking.”
“About?”
About proposing. About marriage. About wanting to spend forever with you.
“Inventory,” she said instead. “We need to restock the children’s section.”
Owen accepted this subject change, moving into business mode discussing publishing orders.
Lucy tried to focus. Failed miserably.
Because now that she’d realized it, the wanting wouldn’t stop.
She wanted to marry him.
Wanted the official commitment, the public declaration, the legal binding of their lives.
Wanted to be Maisie’s stepmom officially, not just in their hearts.
Wanted her last name to be Hayes.
Lucy Bennett-Hayes? Lucy Hayes?
She was planning name combinations.
This was bad.
The wanting followed her all day.
Owen handed her coffee—I want to do this forever.
Maisie hugged her before school—I want to officially be her parent.
They worked side by side in comfortable silence—I want this. Always this.
By afternoon, Lucy was a mess of feelings she couldn’t share.
Pearl noticed immediately.
“You look peculiar,” she said, browsing the mystery section. “Good peculiar. Glowy.”
“I’m not glowy.”
“You’re absolutely glowing. Owen look at her—isn’t she glowing?”
Owen glanced over from the register. “She looks normal to me.”
“Men,” Pearl muttered. “Completely oblivious. Lucy, dear, come help me find a book.”
Lucy followed her to the back corner, suspicious.
Pearl turned, eyes twinkling. “So when are you proposing?”
Lucy choked. “What?”
“Oh please. I’ve seen that look before. You’ve realized you want to marry him.”
“I—how—”
“Seventy years of observing humans, dear. You’re not subtle. The question is: are you going to do something about it?”
“We’ve only been together three months!”
“And? When you know, you know. Clara knew Arthur for two months before they got engaged. Fifty-three happy years they had.”
“That was different—”
“Why? Because it was them? Lucy, stop overthinking. If you want to marry the man, propose.”
“Women don’t propose.”
“Women do whatever they want. It’s 2024, dear. Keep up.”
Lucy’s mind raced. “What if he says no?”
“What if he says yes?”
“What if it’s too soon and I scare him off?”
“What if you spend years waiting for the perfect moment and miss out on happiness?” Pearl patted her arm. “Take a risk, dear. The good ones are worth it.”
She walked away, leaving Lucy spiraling.
Propose.
Women could propose.
Did she want to propose?
Yes. God, yes.
But was it too soon?
They’d agreed to go slow. Ignore pressure. Figure things out naturally.
Proposing after three months was the opposite of slow.
But it also felt right.
Lucy spent the rest of the afternoon mentally writing and discarding proposal speeches.
That evening, after Maisie was asleep, Lucy found Owen on the porch—their spot.
He pulled her close automatically, and Lucy melted against him.
“You were quiet tonight,” he said. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just thinking.”
“About?”
Everything. Forever. Us.
“The shop,” she lied. Again. She was getting disturbingly good at lying to him about this.
Owen seemed to accept it, pressing a kiss to her temple.
They sat in comfortable silence, watching the ocean.
Lucy’s heart pounded. She could do it now. Propose right here, right now.
“Owen,” she started.
“Hmm?”
“I…” The words stuck. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” He pulled back to look at her. “Was that what you wanted to say?”
“Part of it.”
“What’s the rest?”
Lucy opened her mouth. Closed it. Chickened out completely.
“Just that I’m happy,” she said. “Here. With you. With Maisie. This life.”
Owen’s expression softened. “Me too. Happiest I’ve ever been.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” He kissed her slowly. “You’re everything, Lucy Bennett. Everything I didn’t know I needed.”
Lucy’s eyes burned. “You’re going to make me cry.”
“Don’t cry. Unless they’re happy tears.”
“Definitely happy tears.”
They kissed again, and Lucy thought: I want this forever. I want to marry you. I want to be your wife.
But she didn’t say it.
Because apparently, she was a coward.
Sunday morning brought unexpected clarity.
Maisie cornered Lucy while Owen was at the farmer’s market.
“Can I ask you something serious?” she said.
“Always.”
“Are you going to marry Dad?”
Lucy’s breath caught. “Why do you ask?”
“Because you look at him like Emma’s mom looks at Emma’s dad. And she said that look means love-love. Forever love.”
“It’s complicated, Maise.”
“Why?”
“Because marriage is a big decision.”
“But you want to, right?”
Lucy couldn’t lie to this kid. “Yes. I want to marry your dad.”
Maisie’s face lit up. “Then why don’t you ask him?”
“It’s not that simple—”
“Why not? You love him, he loves you. That’s how it works.”
“Adults are more complicated than that.”
“Adults are dumb,” Maisie said with the confidence of an almost-nine-year-old. “If you want something, you should ask for it. That’s what you told me about asking for extra reading time.”
Lucy laughed. “That’s different.”
“Is it though?” Maisie climbed into Lucy’s lap—long legs and all, getting too big for this but neither of them ready to stop. “Lucy, I want you to be my mom. Like, officially. And Dad wants you to stay forever. I know he does. So why wait?”
“What if he says no?”
“He won’t.”
“But what if he does?”
Maisie pulled back, studying Lucy’s face seriously. “Then you’re still together. Still a family. A ring doesn’t change that. But I don’t think he’ll say no. I think he’s waiting for the perfect moment to ask you.”
Lucy’s heart stopped. “You think he wants to propose?”
“Duh. He’s been looking at rings online. I saw his browser history when I borrowed his tablet.”
“Maisie Grace, you snooped?”
“I prefer the term ‘accidentally observed.'” She grinned, unrepentant. “But I’m right, aren’t I? He wants to marry you too.”
Lucy processed this. Owen was looking at rings. Planning to propose.
Which meant they were both secretly planning proposals like idiots.
“Maisie,” Lucy said slowly. “If I were to propose to your dad, would you be okay with that?”
“Are you kidding? That would be so cool! Emma’s dad proposed but it would be way more awesome if you did it!” She bounced excitedly. “Can I help plan it? Please? I’m very good at planning!”
“You’re eight.”
“Almost nine! And I have great ideas!”
Lucy laughed, pulling her close. “Okay. If—and this is a big if—I decide to propose, you can help.”
Maisie squealed so loud Lucy worried about the neighbors.
“When? How? Where? We need a plan! A strategy! This is the most important thing ever!”
“Maise, calm down. We need to think about this carefully.”
“I’ll make a list! And a timeline! And a backup plan!” She scrambled off Lucy’s lap, already racing toward her room. “This is going to be perfect!”
Lucy sat alone, processing what she’d just agreed to.
She was going to propose.
With help from an eight-year-old.
This was either the best idea she’d ever had or the most disastrous.
Probably both.
But watching Maisie’s excitement, thinking about Owen looking at rings, remembering the feeling of rightness that hit her every morning—
This was right.
Fast, maybe. Unconventional, definitely.
But right.
She was going to propose to Owen Hayes.
And she was going to make it perfect.
Well, perfect-ish.
With an eight-year-old co-conspirator, perfection might be ambitious.
But it would be them—chaotic, loving, imperfect.
Exactly how their life together should be.
Lucy pulled out her phone, opening a new note.
Proposal Planning she typed.
Then stopped.
This was insane.
This was too fast.
This was—
Owen’s voice drifted through the window—he was back from the market, calling out to Maisie about fresh strawberries.
Lucy’s heart swelled.
This was right.
She started typing.
Step 1: Don’t panic.
Step 2: Definitely panic a little.
Step 3: Plan the most perfect proposal for the most perfect man.
Step 4: Pray he says yes.
Maisie appeared in the doorway, clutching a notebook. “I’ve started the list! When do you want to do it? Where? We need a theme! And a backup date in case of bad weather! And—”
“Maise, slow down.”
“There’s no time to slow down! This is important! This is Dad’s happiness! And yours! And officially making me your daughter! We can’t mess this up!”
Lucy looked at the kid—her kid, really, in all the ways that mattered—and felt the last of her doubt fade away.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s plan a proposal.”
Maisie’s grin could have lit the entire town.
“This is going to be epic,” she declared.
“This is going to be something,” Lucy agreed.
And sitting there with Maisie planning the most important question of her life, Lucy had never been more certain.
This was her family.
Her forever.
Now she just had to convince Owen of that.
How hard could it be?
(Probably very hard, but she was willing to find out.)
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