Chapter 71 I Will
They started down the stairs— her leading, him close behind.
Halfway down— Noah appeared at the bottom landing— late fifties, black hair streaked silver, casual white shirt with thin black stripes, black shorts, barefoot. He looked up— saw Maggie— and his entire face lit.
“Maggie!”
He spread his arms wide— climbed three steps to meet her.
Maggie descended— smile polite but smaller. “Hey, Dad.”
They hugged— his arms enveloping her, hers more reserved— brief, careful. When they separated Noah’s eyes were shining.
“Are you still angry with me?”
Maggie rolled her eyes— light, practiced. “No.” She moved past him— down the last steps.
Noah watched her go— then shifted his gaze to Andrew, who had reached the bottom.
Andrew’s smile was bright— open— hand already extended. “Mr. Moon. Thanks for having us.”
Noah took the hand— firm grip. “Anytime. Call me Noah.” He glanced at Maggie— then back at Andrew. “Thank you for bringing my daughter home. I’ve been trying to do that for years, but I’ve failed.”
Andrew’s smile stayed steady. “She came on her own accord.”
Noah laughed— short, knowing. “We both know that’s not true.”
Andrew shrugged— easy. “Maybe I helped convince her a little.”
Noah studied him— then nodded once— approval flickering in his eyes. “I like that.” He clapped Andrew on the shoulder— light, fatherly. “I’ve made preparations. Food’s waiting on the dining table.”
Andrew’s eyes lit. “Food?”
“Yes.” Noah winked.
“I’m starving already.”
Noah laughed— warm, genuine. “I’m liking you already. Me and you are just gonna get along fine.”
He patted Andrew’s shoulder again— led the way toward the dining room— long mahogany table set with linen, silver, steaming dishes under covers.
Maggie trailed behind— teddy still tucked under her arm— expression unreadable.
They sat— Noah at the head, Andrew to his right, Maggie opposite. Food uncovered— roast chicken, garlic mashed potatoes, green beans, fresh rolls. Wine poured— red, rich.
Conversation started slow— Noah asking Andrew about the firm, Andrew answering carefully— polite, respectful. Maggie ate quietly— eyes on her plate —answering when spoken to, but offering little else.
Noah noticed— glanced at her— then back at Andrew. “She’s still angry with me.”
Maggie’s fork paused. “I’m not angry.”
Noah’s smile was sad— knowing. “You are.”
She met his eyes— held them for three seconds— then looked away. “I’m here. That’s something.”
Noah nodded— slow. “It is.”
Andrew cleared his throat— gentle redirect. “This chicken is incredible. Your chef?”
Noah’s smile returned— grateful. “Our housekeeper. She’s been with us since Maggie was ten.”
Andrew nodded— impressed. “She’s good.”
They ate— plates emptying— conversation drifting: law school stories, Seattle nights, the Mariners’ latest slump. Maggie loosened— slightly— laughed once when Andrew told a story about Henry chewing him out for a typo in a memo.
After dessert— chocolate mousse— Noah rose to clear plates.
Andrew stood immediately. “Let me.”
Noah waved him off. “No need. You’re a guest.”
Andrew insisted— already stacking plates. “I want to.”
Noah studied him— then nodded— amused. “Alright.”
Maggie watched— smile small, amused— as Andrew followed Noah to the kitchen— plates balanced carefully.
In the kitchen— stainless steel, marble counters— Andrew set the stack in the sink, turned on the faucet, rolled his sleeves higher. Soap suds bloomed.
Noah leaned against the island— watching.
Andrew washed— slow, deliberate— then spoke— voice low, intentional.
“Sir— Noah— I’m here because I want to ask for your blessing.”
Noah’s brows lifted— slight.
Andrew kept washing— eyes on the plates. “For Maggie’s hand in marriage.”
Silence— only water running, dishes clinking.
Noah watched him— long moment— then stepped closer. Andrew turned— hands dripping suds.
Noah pulled him into a hug— tight, sudden— soap smearing on his shirt. Didn’t care.
When he pulled back— eyes shining— voice thick.
“You have my blessing, son.”
Andrew exhaled— shaky laugh— smile breaking wide. “Thank you.”
Noah clapped his shoulder— firm. “Treat her right.”
“I will.”
Noah nodded— once— then gestured at the sink. “Finish up. We’ve got a lot more to discuss.”
Andrew laughed— bright— turned back to the dishes.
In the dining room Maggie waited— teddy on her lap— listening to the low murmur of voices from the kitchen.
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'SIX MONTHS LATER. AFTER ANDREW AND MAGGIE VISITED NOAH'
The beach at Agate Lodge stretched long and pale under the cool 10:00 a.m. sun, the sky a soft, cloudless blue that met the Pacific in a clean horizon line. Low waves rolled in with lazy rhythm, foam hissing across wet sand before retreating. Fewer than a hundred white folding chairs stood in two gentle arcs on the beach— simple, unadorned, draped only with thin ivory linen and a single sprig of baby’s breath tied at each back. A narrow aisle of weathered driftwood planks ran between them, ending at a modest wooden arch twined with white roses and trailing eucalyptus.