Ethan Cruz had a problem.
A big one.
"…You're pacing," Mia said, watching him walk back and forth across The Daily Grind like a man being chased by invisible thoughts.
"…I'm thinking," he replied.
"…That looks like panic."
"…It's strategic panic," he corrected.
Mia crossed her arms. "…This is about Lia, isn't it?"
He stopped.
"…Maybe."
"…You're going to propose," she said immediately.
He froze.
"…Was it that obvious?"
"…You've reorganized the sugar packets three times," she said. "…Yes."
He sighed, running a hand through his hair.
"…I want it to be perfect," he admitted.
"…Define perfect," Mia said.
"…Not too big. Not too small. Not too… me messing it up."
She smirked. "…So impossible, then."
"…Helpful," he muttered.
Across the café, Lia laughed at something a customer said, completely unaware of the internal crisis happening ten feet away.
Ethan watched her.
And everything else… quieted.
"…Okay," he said. "…I don't need perfect."
"…Good," Mia said.
"…I just need real."
Mia nodded. "…Now that sounds like you."
That night, Ethan sat alone in the café after closing.
Same place where everything had started.
Same counter.
Same slightly broken chair in the corner.
He looked around.
Messy.
Familiar.
Theirs.
"…Yeah," he said quietly to himself. "…This is it."
The next evening—
Lia walked into the café, expecting a normal shift.
"…Why are the lights off?" she called out.
No answer.
"…Ethan?"
Soft lights flickered on.
Not dramatic.
Just warm.
And there he was.
Standing in the middle of the café.
Again.
"…Okay," she said slowly. "…This is starting to feel like a pattern."
"…I like patterns," he replied.
She stepped closer, smiling slightly.
"…Should I be worried?"
"…Probably," he said.
She laughed softly.
"…What did you do this time?"
He took a breath.
"…Lia," he said.
Her smile faded—just a little—replaced by something softer.
More serious.
"…You know I'm not great at big speeches," he continued.
"…That has never stopped you," she said gently.
"…True," he admitted.
He stepped closer.
"…But I meant what I said the other night," he said. "…About choosing each other."
Her heart started to race.
"…Because I've been thinking," he went on. "…About everything we've been through."
"…The chaos?" she asked.
"…Mostly the chaos," he nodded. "…But also the quiet moments. The hard ones. The ones where we didn't know what we were doing."
She smiled softly.
"…That's most of them."
"…Exactly," he said.
Then—
He reached into his pocket.
And everything stilled.
"…Ethan…" she whispered.
He looked at her—steady, certain.
"…I don't want perfect," he said. "…I don't want easy."
He dropped to one knee.
"…I want this."
Her breath caught.
"…You," he said. "…Your chaos. Your stubbornness. Your way of making everything feel like it matters."
Her eyes filled slightly.
"…I want to keep choosing you," he said. "…Every day. Even when it's messy. Especially when it's messy."
He opened the small box.
"…So," he said softly,
"…will you marry me?"
Silence.
Not empty.
Not awkward.
Just… full.
Lia let out a shaky laugh, covering her mouth.
"…You're serious," she said.
"…Terrifyingly," he replied
She shook her head, overwhelmed—but smiling through it.
"…You planned this?"
"…With minimal chaos," he said.
She laughed again.
Then—
Stepped closer.
"…You're impossible," she said.
"…And?" he asked quietly.
She looked at him.
Really looked.
"…And completely mine," she said.
Then—
She nodded.
"…Yes."
That was all it took.
He stood, slipping the ring onto her finger—
And pulled her into a kiss that felt like everything they'd built…
All at once.
Behind them—
A chair collapsed loudly.
They both froze.
Then laughed.
"…Still chaotic," she said.
"…Always," he replied.
And this time—
They wouldn't have it any other way.