20. Wade

Chapter twenty

Wade

A s I walked the familiar path to the lake, my boots crunched through December's first real snow. The beach where I'd first encountered Holden looked alien now—no gentle waves lapping the shore, just vast sheets of ice extending toward the horizon. The shelf had formed early this year, transforming Lake Michigan into something that resembled the Arctic tundra.

The cold bit through my ranger jacket, but I barely noticed. My mind was too full of the architectural plans waiting in the cabin and the small box pressing against my chest in my inside pocket. Three years ago, I'd chosen this stretch of shoreline because it felt as frozen as I was. Now, it witnessed a different kind of transformation.

A snowy owl glided silently overhead, its wingspan casting a brief shadow across the ice. I tracked its flight path until it disappeared into the pre-dawn gray. The beach was exceedingly quiet without my usual morning swim, but the lake had other lessons to teach now—about solid ground forming in unexpected places.

"I thought I'd find you here," Holden called across the snow. He wore that ridiculous blue knit hat Sarah had given him, claiming his "artistic soul" needed protection from winter. His camera hung around his neck. Some things never changed.

"Investigating the ice shelf for the blog?" I kept my voice steady despite the way my heart hammered against the ring box.

"Actually, I'm documenting evidence of the infamous Blue Harbor penguin migration. Sarah swears she saw one yesterday." His grin sparked a warm sensation in my chest that had nothing to do with my heavy coat. "And after those flamingos showed up last year at Port Washington, who knows what's possible?"

"One lost flamingo family, and suddenly everyone's a wildlife expert." I had to smile, remembering how the entire state had gone crazy over the pink visitors.

Holden adjusted his camera strap. "So why not penguins? We've already established that Blue Harbor attracts the unexpected."

I had to laugh. The sound echoed across the ice, startling a pair of winter ducks into flight. "You're ridiculous."

"You love it." He stepped closer, and I caught the familiar scent of coffee and sandalwood. "Though you're out earlier than usual. Everything okay?"

"Better than okay." I touched his arm. "Come with me? There's something I want to show you."

The drive to my cabin was quiet, but it was anticipatory silence rather than tension. Holden fiddled with his camera settings, probably adjusting for the weak December light. I'd memorized the sound of each dial click, like I'd memorized the way his fingers moved when he was nervous or excited.

Despite everything that rode on the next hour, my hands were steady on the wheel. The ring in my pocket. The plans laid out in my living room. The ideas about the future I'd spent weeks crafting into something solid enough to share.

When we reached the cabin, I hesitated with my key in the lock. "Before we enter, I need you to know something."

Holden's expression shifted to concern. "Wade?"

"The magazine feature is incredible. And the Portland gallery showing? You deserve all of it. But I've been thinking about what comes after, about how to make it sustainable without making you choose between worlds."

"Ah, so that's what all the late-night phone calls with Maya were about. The mysterious meetings with the contractor from Milwaukee?"

I pushed the door open. I'd cleared the cabin's living room except for my drafting table, where the renovation plans lay carefully unrolled. Blue lines mapped out transformations—my sanctuary expanding to include space for Holden's work. Large windows would capture the northern light he loved. The former guest room would become a darkroom—every detail designed to give him a home base between gallery shows and magazine assignments.

"You did all of this?" His fingers traced the drawings. "Wade, these are incredible."

"The contractor says we can start after New Year's. It can be finished by spring." I moved behind him, close enough to share warmth but not quite touching. "You could have a real studio here. Set up that vintage enlarger you've been eyeing on eBay. You'll have space to grow without having to leave everything behind."

He turned to face me, his expression open and vulnerable. "You're sure? This is your sanctuary."

"It's better with you in it." The words came easier than I expected. "Everything is."

Before he could respond, my phone buzzed. The email I'd been waiting for had arrived—official approval for the therapy program's expansion. I handed him my phone, watching his eyes widen as he read.

"Full funding? And VA support for satellite programs?" His voice cracked slightly. "Wade, this is huge."

"Turns out making art in beautiful places helps people heal. Who knew?"

"Someone who's been doing precisely that for three years." He set my phone down and stepped closer. "I'm so proud of you."

The ring box pressed against my chest like a promise. Outside, snow began to fall—fat flakes that caught in Holden's hair when we stepped onto the porch. The lake was barely visible through the trees, but I sensed its presence, solid and sure.

"Walk with me?" I took his hand. "One more thing to show you."

We followed the trail down to the shore. The ice shelf had grown even since sunrise, creating a solid platform sticking out over the lake. A few hardy fishermen with permits would soon appear with their shacks. Our boots left parallel tracks in the fresh snow.

"Careful," I steadied him when he slipped. "Ice is tricky until you learn to read it."

"Good thing I have an expert guide."

We stopped where the beach met the ice. Behind us, our footprints marked the path that had led us here, and ahead stretched endless possibilities. The ring box felt somehow lighter now.

I turned to face him. "Three years ago, I came to Blue Harbor to disappear. I built walls so thick I thought nothing could break through." I cleared my throat again. "Then, you showed up with that damn camera, seeing beauty in broken places until I started believing you might be right."

"Wade..."

I pressed my grandfather's ring into his palm. It was simple gold, worn smooth by decades of love. "He gave me this before he died. He said to save it for someone who made me believe in second chances."

Holden's breath caught in his throat. Snowflakes gathered on his eyelashes.

"I'm not good at speeches." My knee hit the ice, but I barely felt the cold. "But I'm better at living because of you. At seeing possibility instead of just survival." I took his hand. "Marry me? Help me build something fireproof?"

"Yes." He pulled me up into a kiss that tasted like snow, coffee, and the future. "Of course, yes."

The lake that had once swallowed my pain now witnessed its opposite—joy so intense that it hurt. Holden's camera rested forgotten against his side while we held each other, letting the snow erase our footprints until only the path forward remained.

Later, we'd call his parents, share the news with Clark, Parker, and Sarah, and watch her plan a celebration beyond belief. But for now, we stood on solid ice that shouldn't have held such weight, proving that sometimes the most unlikely foundations were the strongest.

I touched the ring on his finger. "I love you."

"I know." His smile rivaled the sun on snow. "I've got the Polaroids to prove it."

Above us, the snowy owl made another pass as if blessing whatever would happen next. The lake had taught me to swim through grief. Now, it would witness what came after—not only survival but a life worth capturing, one frame at a time.