“I know a place.”
Ethan raised one eyebrow.
“No billionaire nonsense.”
“It’s an aviation museum.”
“Normal donation.”
“No building named after us.”
“Fine.”
“No giant plaque about me surviving.”
“Fine.”
“No Cross branding.”
“You’re exhausting.”
“Yes.”
He pulled her closer.
Mia shouted from across the ramp:
“Gross!”
They separated.
Ethan called:
“You started this!”
“I regret everything!”
Vivian laughed.
One year after the day they met, Ethan brought Vivian to the western apron at sunrise.
Rescue Six sat outside.
Freshly washed.
Not repainted.
Ethan insisted its age should remain visible.
The new rescue helicopter sat behind it.
Modern.
Clean.
Capable.
Mia stood beside Pete holding a phone.
Vivian looked around.
“What is this?”
Ethan held out a small box.
Her eyes narrowed.
“Ethan.”
“What?”
“If that’s what I think it is…”
“What do you think it is?”
“You know.”
He smiled.
“Open it.”
Inside was not a ring.
It was a small metal plate.
Engraved:
PASSENGER 18
MAY 18, 2002
Vivian stared.
“What?”
Ethan pointed toward Rescue Six.
“I found the old mission log.”
“You were passenger eighteen on that year’s rescue list.”
Her eyes filled.
“You made me a luggage tag?”
“Romantic.”
“It’s terrible.”
“I know.”
She laughed through tears.
Then he reached into his pocket.
This time there was a ring.
Vivian stopped.
“You manipulative bastard.”
“Language.”
“Mia knows worse.”
“I do!” Mia called.
Pete covered his face.
Ethan knelt.
Vivian looked at him.
Then at Rescue Six.
Then at the new aircraft.
Then at Mia.
He said:
“I had a speech.”
“You should’ve started with it.”
“You called me manipulative.”
“Accurate.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“I spent years thinking keeping this place meant keeping every piece of my old life exactly where Laura left it.”
Vivian’s expression softened.
Ethan continued:
“You taught me preservation isn’t the same as refusing change.”
“I taught you?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t look so pleased.”
She laughed.
“You taught me that money can fix infrastructure.”
“It cannot decide what deserves to survive.”
He glanced toward Mia.
“My daughter likes you.”
“Suspiciously.”
“I love you.”
Vivian’s eyes filled.
“And somehow the woman who once insulted my helicopter is now the person I want complaining beside me for the rest of my life.”
Vivian laughed.
“That is your proposal?”
“I told you the speech wasn’t finished.”
“Too late.”
She held out her hand.