After the main course wound down, Sam rose to his feet. He clinked his butter knife against his glass until the voices quieted. In the semi-darkness, his pale eyes looked even paler than usual next to his olive skin and brown hair. “Before we serve dessert, I’d like to say a few words.” His Australian accent carried on the air.

“Ooh.” Genevieve’s overly emotional mom rested a hand on her chest. “That would be lovely.”

“Before I met Gen, I’d been living alone on this farm for four years,” Sam said. “I told myself that’s how I wanted it, but to be honest, I was miserable. And then thirteen months ago, Gen showed up. Even as I was giving her permission to move into the guesthouse, I was regretting my words.”

Genevieve laughed. “And then, after I moved in, I gave you a lot more reasons to regret them.”

“A lot more.” Sam regarded Genevieve with softness.

“I bring drama,” Genevieve stated.

“And worry.”

“And chaos.”

“You added difficulty to my days at first,” he acknowledged. “But then you began to add other things. Color and laughter and hope.”

Sebastian shifted uncomfortably. This conversation felt like it should be private, between Genevieve and Sam. But it looked like his opinion fell in the minority. Everyone else sat forward in their chairs, fascinated.

“With you,” Sam continued, “God gave me a second chance that I still don’t feel like I deserve. But I value it more than anything, because I know how much it’s worth. You’ve become my favorite person. My best friend. I want to pull your long hairs off my sweaters and make you coffee and tease you about your terrible taste in music—”

“My excellent taste in music, you mean.”

Sam sobered. “I want an opportunity—a million opportunities—to make you smile. The best I can hope for the days I have left is to spend them all with you. I don’t want to be apart from you for a single one of them.”

Genevieve’s face communicated amazement. Moisture gathered on her lashes.

“I’ve got this farmhouse, this property, a restaurant, some savings, a tractor, and a beat-up truck,” Sam said. “Everything I have is yours. My loyalty, my support, my commitment, my heart. Me. Always.”

“Sam.”

“I love you,” he said.

“I love you, too.”

Sam reached into his pocket. Excited murmurs raced between the guests as Sam lowered to one knee beside Genevieve. He pulled out a small jewelry box and opened it to reveal a diamond ring.

Genevieve appeared to have been struck by lockjaw.

Sam hesitated. “You okay?”

“No. Sam! Yes . . . I’m okay.” She gestured for him to go on. “Please continue with whatever you were about to say.” Tears slipped down her face toward her grin.

“Sure?” he asked.

“Please continue!”

“Because if another time would be better—”

“Another time would not be better!”