Asking teh important things,a nd what she has ta say 'bout it.

CHAPTER 52 – The Proposal

I didn’t plan on proposin’ that day.

In fact, I’d planned to fix the wheel on the grain cart, maybe refill the mash barrels, and end the day with a slice of that tart Lu made with leftover jam and vinegar crust. That was it. But life has a way of makin’ the big stuff happen right when you’re elbow-deep in axle grease.

It started with a wobble. The back-left wheel on the grain cart had been complainin’ for a week, and I finally dragged it out to the work area behind the stillhouse. Sun overhead, tools laid out, boys workin’ nearby but keepin’ their distance—probably ‘cause I get a bit ornery around stripped bolts.

Lu was out front, directin’ Doce and Once as they stacked kindling into new firewood racks.

I was halfway through wranglin’ the cotter pin out when she wandered over with a cloth and a canteen.

“Looks like it’s fightin’ back,” she said, smilin’.

“It always does when I got company watchin’.”

She handed me the water. I wiped my brow, sat back on my heels, and looked up at her.

That’s when it hit me. Full stop.

This woman—this whip-smart, steady-handed, sharp-tongued woman—had been by my side for months. She ran this place like she’d grown up in the walls. She knew the boys better than they knew themselves. And I’d already told her I was hers. So why was I still callin’ her a partner when she was more than that?

I stood up.

“Lu.”

She blinked. “Yeah?”

I looked at her for a second longer than she probably expected, then rubbed the back of my neck, my fingers still greasy.

“Marry me?”

She stared.

My heart thudded. I hadn’t planned it, hadn’t even brushed the dirt off my shirt. Didn’t even have a ring. Just four honest words and my whole life in ‘em.

Lu dropped the cloth she was holdin’.

“You serious?” she asked.

I nodded, heart racin’. “As a heart attack.”

She tilted her head. “Here? While you’re fixin’ a wheel?”

I shrugged. “Figured if I waited for perfect, I’d be ninety and you’d be sick of waitin’.”

She looked at me for what felt like a full minute.

Then she smiled. Big. Honest. Lit-up-like-honey kind of smile.

“Of course,” she said.

I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holdin’.

She stepped forward and kissed me, right there in front of the grain cart, axle grease and all.

And of course, that’s when the boys showed up.

Quattro whooped so loud I nearly dropped the wrench.

“She said yes!” Dos yelled.

“Backflip!” shouted Seis, who immediately attempted one off a barrel and landed flat on his back.

Nueve helped him up while snortin’ laughter. “Smooth, real smooth.”

Lu looked around, hands on her hips. “Alright, that’s enough gawkin’. Back to work!”

But her cheeks were pink and her eyes shone, and I don’t think I’d ever seen her happier.

Later, after the boys had been sent back to their chores and I finally got the wheel seated straight, she pulled me aside by the herb beds.

“You know,” she said, “there’s one thing we need to do before we make anything official.”

“What’s that?”

“You gotta talk to my mama.”

I winced. “Right. I was hopin’ you’d forget.”

Lu grinned. “Not a chance.”

Ann had been keepin’ mostly to her own place these days—she and her eldest son had a small cottage a ridge over, near where the co-op dropped new starter families. She still came by every week to check on the boys, drop off seeds, and comment on whether I looked tired or too thin.

I didn’t dislike her. I respected her. But I also knew she carried a cast-iron skillet like it was a badge of office, and she didn’t much tolerate foolish men.

So the next afternoon, I cleaned up, put on a fresh shirt, and walked the long path out to her place. Lu offered to come, but I told her no. I needed to do this one myself.

Ann was out on the porch snappin’ beans into a bowl when I arrived.

She looked up, squinted, and said, “Well, you look like a man with somethin’ weighin’ on his chest. You sick?”

“No, ma’am,” I said, steppin’ up. “I was hopin’ to talk to you. About Lu.”

She gestured to the empty rocker beside her. “Might as well sit. You want some beans to snap while you talk?”

“No, thank you.”

I sat, hat in hand, heart doin’ a funny skip like it used to when I was a kid waitin’ on a paddlin’.

“I asked Lu to marry me,” I said, tryin’ to keep my voice steady. “And she said yes.”

Ann didn’t look shocked. She just snapped another bean clean in half.

“I figured,” she said.

I waited.

“She told me she loved you a while ago. Said you were steady. Good with the boys. Stubborn in the right ways.”

I gave a half smile. “She’s all those things too.”

“You still love your wife,” she said.

“I do.”

“You plannin’ to bring her ghost into my daughter’s house?”

“No, ma’am,” I said, sittin’ up straighter. “I told Lu the truth. That I still love Peg. That I probably always will. But I ain’t livin’ in the past. I’m not afraid to love again, and I want to spend the rest of my life makin’ Lu feel as whole and happy as she’s made me feel.”

Ann snapped another bean. Set it in the bowl. Then looked at me real long and hard.

“You’re older.”

“I’m forty,” I admitted. “Feels like a hundred some days.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That don’t bother me none.”

I blinked. “That what she said?”

She nodded. “That’s what she said.”

We sat in silence for a bit.

“You love her?” Ann asked finally.

“With everything I’ve got.”

“You gonna treat her like a queen?”

“I’m gonna treat her like a partner. Like my heart. Like my second chance.”

Ann smiled then, soft but sure.

“Well,” she said, “I guess I’ll have to bake a pie for the wedding.”

I let out a breath and smiled right back. “You’re okay with it?”

“I wouldn’t’ve let her stay at your farm if I wasn’t already. You’re a good man, Ron. Grief and love don’t cancel each other out. They just change shape.”

I stood and tipped my hat. “Thank you, ma’am.”

She pointed at the bowl. “Now take some beans home. You can’t show up empty-handed.”

CHAPTER 53 – Wedding Plans and Whiskey Bottling

Lu said she wanted a small wedding.

She said it like a command, not a suggestion.

“No frills, no guests from ten sectors away, no nonsense. I want the boys in clean shirts, a fresh pie on the table, and you shavin’ that neck of yours.”

“I did last month,” I argued.

She gave me a look. “Then do it again.”

Fair enough.

We set the date for two weeks out, right between the new mash run and the barley harvest. Lu figured that gave us enough time to prep without lettin’ the excitement turn into stress.

She made a list. Of course she did.

Wedding Prep:

Clean porch

Pick flowers from the orchard edge

Bake four pies (minimum)

Tell Gus not to wear that vest

Bottle the “Wedding Batch”

It was that last one that got the boys excited.

“You mean we get to make special whiskey?” Seis asked, already twitchin’ like he’d been drinkin’ it.

“Just one barrel,” Lu said. “We’ll cork it up, handwrite the labels, and it’ll be poured only at the wedding.”

Cuatro clapped his hands. “We can call it Love Mash!”

Lu froze. “Absolutely not.”

“Romance Reserve?” offered Nueve.

“Still not it.”

Ron Jr. in the corner—yes, they’d started callin’ one of the barrels that—just creaked in the heat.

Once and Doce took the lead. They ran the still like seasoned vets now, and they picked a unique grain blend with some of the toasted pecan Seis had been messin’ around with. We added wild honey from the spring hive and a splash of that citrus-mint Lu kept in the herb spiral.

The air smelled like warm bread and orchard blossoms by the time it started distillin’.

We all signed the barrel head in charcoal once it was sealed.

Wedding Batch – For Ron & Lu

Even Dies got to add a little doodle—something that looked like a chicken wearing a veil. I didn’t ask.

Meanwhile, the farm buzzed like a kicked hive. The boys were on rotation between chores, fix-ups, and rehearsin’ how not to fall over during the ceremony. Lu’s brothers built a small arch from salvaged fencing and wove wildflowers through the beams. Ann brought over a fresh tablecloth, starched stiff, and told me I’d best not ruin it by spillin’ mash or “weepin’ like a mule.”

“Wasn’t planning on either,” I muttered.

She handed me a trimmed shirt. “Good. Now go press this.”

Press it?

I took it to the stillhouse and laid a hot iron skillet on top. Good enough.

Lu and I never did much talkin’ about dresses or rings or what sort of music we’d have. We weren’t that kind of couple. But she did pull out a box from her mama’s place one day and showed me a dress wrapped in tissue.

“It was hers,” Lu said. “I had it shortened.”

It was simple, soft blue, and reminded me of the orchard in spring. I didn’t say that out loud, but she must’ve seen it on my face.

“You like it?” she asked.

I nodded. “You’ll be the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”

She blushed and said, “Well, you’d better shave twice then.”

With just a few days left, the boys each started cookin’ up surprises.

Uno painted a wooden sign with our names and the date, nailed to a post with little honey bees carved in the corners.

Quattro put together a “song” that was more hollerin’ than music.

Even Seis, bless him, composed a speech that included a metaphor about love bein’ like stew—you never know how long it needs till it’s just right.

They were proud. I was proud of them.

And deep down, I think they were relieved too. Like this wasn’t just a new chapter for Lu and me—but for all of us.

A real home. With roots.

Two nights before the wedding, I caught Lu starin’ out the window at the fields, her tea goin’ cold in her hands.

“Second thoughts?” I asked, sittin’ beside her.

She shook her head. “Not about you.”

I waited.

“It’s just strange,” she said, “buildin’ somethin’ new when the past still tugs at you sometimes.”

“I know,” I said.

She looked over. “You still miss her?”

“Every day,” I said. “But that ain’t what this is about.”

Lu nodded. “Good.”

Then she set her tea down, leaned in, and kissed me slow.

“I love you, old man,” she whispered.

“I’m forty,” I muttered.

“Like I said. Old man.”

On the final day before the wedding, we bottled the Wedding Batch.

Once and Doce set up the line, and every bottle got corked, sealed with beeswax, and hand-labeled. We only made twenty-four bottles total—twelve to serve, twelve to store. Lu kept one aside with a note: For our fifth anniversary—unless Dos breaks into it first.

By sundown, the porch was swept clean, the tables were set, the pies were coolin’ in the kitchen, and Gus had agreed to officiate—reluctantly, and only if someone kept Nueve from addin’ jokes to the ceremony.

The farm felt still that night. Not empty—just ready.

I walked the fields one last time, alone, lettin’ the scent of fresh-cut hay and mash drift through the warm air.

This wasn’t the life I started with.

But it was the one I chose.

And tomorrow, I’d stand beside the woman who helped me build it.