Until Sage (Until Him 2)
“That was my mom.” Turning to look at Donald when he speaks, I find him standing a few feet away with sorrow-filled eyes. “She died not long after that photo was taken. Kim was her baby, and her only grandchild.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Long time ago.” He takes a step closer. “But the pain of losing a parent always cuts deep. It didn’t help that after we lost my mom, we lost my dad. He died two weeks after her from heart failure. Really, I think he couldn’t live in this world without the woman he loved,” he confides, coming toward me then pointing at another picture; this one of an older gentleman, with Kim sitting on his lap holding a newspaper open and smiling up at him as he smiles down at her. “My parents were against Pattie and me adopting,” he says, catching me off guard.
I look at the man in the photo, trying to see if I missed something, but all I see is happiness in his eyes as he smiles down at a five-year-old Kim.
“They thought that if Pattie and I were meant to have a child, we would have a child. They grew up in a different time. Things like infertility and adoption weren’t talked about.” He shakes his head then a smile twitches his lips. “That all changed the moment we came home with Kim wrapped tight in a pink blanket with only her chubby little face out. The second they saw her, she became a piece of them. She was their world, and no one could tell them different.”
“I’m glad she had that and felt that from them, and you guys.”
“Me, too.” He lets out a breath then looks at the photos once more before meeting my gaze. “We need to talk. How about we get a cup of coffee then head out back by the pool where it’s quiet?” he suggests, and I lift my chin then follow him down the hall, through a sitting room with two well used recliners and a TV, and into a large, updated, eat-in kitchen. On the opposite side, there are sliding glass doors that look out over a small patch of grass and the pool.
Getting a cup of coffee, I follow him out the back door and around the side of the house to a covered patio, where I take a seat across from him on one of the wicker chairs around a short glass table. Looking around, I can’t imagine growing up here. Houses are lined up one after another, front-to-back, and even with the wrought iron fence that surrounds the yard, there is still no real sense of privacy.
Pulling my attention from the yard when Donald clears his throat, I notice he’s set a small black box on the table between us. “Are you going to marry my girl?” he asks.
I sit forward in my chair and set my cup of coffee on the table before I answer. “I am.” My elbows drop to my knees and I lean in, dropping my voice. “I hope we have your blessing. If not, I’m sorry, but I’m still going to marry her,” I state, and he smiles before hiding it by taking a sip of coffee.
“You have my blessing, but I want a favor,” he inserts, and I hold his stare. “I know it’s a lot to ask a man like you, but I’m going to ask all the same.” Keeping my eyes on his, I wait for him to speak, and then watch as he reaches forward to nudge the black box toward me. “That was my mom’s. I don’t have a son to pass it down to, and honestly, even if I did, what’s in that box has always been Kim’s. Please, open it.”
Picking up the small velvet box, I flip the lid and study the ring inside. It’s beautiful and unusual, not something you would find at a jewelry store today. The band is made of thick white gold filigree work, and it has one large deep blue sapphire stone set into the middle of the ring, with much smaller diamond chips around the outside.
“What’s this?” I pull my eyes from the ring, wondering what to say to him.
“Kim loved that ring. When she was growing up, my mom used to tell her stories about the women in our family who once wore that ring, and through each of those stories, she fell a little more in love with it. She made me promise her that one day, when she got married, that ring would be hers. I know it goes against tradition, but—”
“I’ll give her the ring,” I rumble, trying to keep the emotion out of my voice. “It means something to you, and it means something to her. I’ll give it to her.”
“Pattie and I got lucky,” he says, and my head jerks back. But he leans forward, getting close and wrapping his hand around the back of my neck the way my dad does when he wants me to hear what he’s saying—really hear what he’s saying to me. “All any parent wants for their child is happiness. You’re a good man, the kind of man who will take care of her, the kind who will find a way to make her happy and keep her that way. She found that in you, which means we can live the rest of our days not worrying about the type of man she will end up with. Because we already know he’s exactly the kind of man we would have chosen for her. That’s rare, which means we’re lucky.”