Cammy's breath caught in her throat the moment Greg reached into his pocket.
From that instant, the world tilted.
Time fractured, stretched, slowed—each second dripping like honey as her eyes locked onto the small velvet box in his hand. Her pulse echoed in her ears like a war drum.
The soft creak of leather. The brush of wind through the open windows. The distant crash of waves. All of it faded into the background.
All she could see was him—Greg—falling to one knee in front of her, his face streaked with silent, uncontrollable tears.
The velvet box trembled in his fingers as he slowly lifted the lid.
And there it was.
A ring.
Simple. Elegant. Unmistakably meaningful.
The moment gripped her by the throat.
Greg's voice was rough, barely holding itself together. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard, his whole body shaking with the weight of what he was about to say.
