Too Late To Love Me I Already Left With His Twins (Lydia and Dave) novel Chapter 305

Dave POV

The first idea was the one I had initially imagined because it felt like something Lydia would actually appreciate. No crowd. No photographers hiding behind bushes. No restaurant full of strangers pretending not to watch. Just us.

I imagined taking her somewhere that mattered to us, somewhere quiet enough that we could actually hear each other. I had thought about a private terrace overlooking the city, but not one of those overly decorated spaces covered in flowers and candles until you couldn’t see the floor anymore. I wanted something understated. Warm lights strung along the edge of the terrace, a small dinner table set for two, her favourite food, soft music playing somewhere in the background, and the city stretching out beyond us. I would let her eat first. We’d talk. I’d make her laugh. Maybe we’d reminisce about some of the ridiculous things that happened between us over the years. Then, when the evening felt natural rather than staged, I’d tell her why I was asking her again—not because we had history, not because we had children, not because we’d already been married before, but because after everything, I still wanted to choose her deliberately. I would get down on one knee beside the table, not across the room where she would have to watch me perform the moment, but close enough that she could reach for me if she wanted to.

Anna was quiet.

“Okay,” she said slowly. “That’s cute.”

“Cute?”

“Very cute. Continue.”

The second idea was even more personal.

I had thought about doing it at home.

Not a grand home transformation, either. I imagined the house exactly as it usually was at the end of a normal day. The children’s things scattered around. Her shoes somewhere they weren’t supposed to be. My jacket thrown over a chair. The ordinary evidence of the life we were rebuilding. I’d arrange for the kids to be away for a few hours, then cook dinner myself. Properly this time, not the collection of four meals I had recently claimed qualified as culinary expertise. After dinner, I’d take her into the living room where I’d placed photographs from our life together—not only the beautiful ones, but the silly ones too. The children as babies. Birthdays. School events. Family dinners. Moments from before everything fell apart. I wanted her to walk through our history without feeling like I was trying to manipulate her with it. Then we’d end up sitting on the couch, probably talking about something completely unrelated, and I’d tell her that home had never really felt like home to me without her in it. I’d ask her to marry me there, in the middle of the life we had actually built, rather than somewhere designed specifically for a proposal.

Anna made a small sound.

“Oh.”

“What?”

“That one is actually beautiful.”

“I know.”

“You’re secretly romantic.”

“I’m not secretly anything.”

“Please. You’re sitting here planning a whole emotional movie.”

I ignored that.

There was one more idea.

The quietest one.

The one I kept coming back to.

No venue. No decorations. No dinner. No elaborate setup.

Just Lydia and me.

I imagined taking her out for a simple evening walk after dinner, somewhere peaceful where we could talk without interruptions. Nothing about the night would suggest a proposal. We’d probably spend half the time arguing about something stupid. She’d make sarcastic comments. I’d annoy her. She’d pretend she wasn’t smiling. Eventually we’d sit somewhere quiet, maybe on a bench overlooking the water, and I’d take her hand.

I’d tell her that I had spent years believing the hardest thing I would ever have to do was get her back.

Then I’d tell her I was wrong.

Because getting her back was one thing.

Building something with her again was another.

And I didn’t want to spend the rest of our lives assuming that because we’d already been married once, we didn’t need to choose each other again.

I’d ask her without an audience.

Without pressure.

“Okay. Done. I’m sending you a list of vendors and their budgets.”

“Already?”

“Dave, please. You called the right person.”

I laughed.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet. I’m about to become your personal wedding-proposal manager.”

I shook my head.

“God help me.”

“God help Lydia.”

I laughed again.

After we hung up, I sat there for a moment, looking at my phone.

For the first time since the idea had entered my head, I wasn’t imagining everything that could go wrong.

I was imagining her saying yes.

And I found myself hoping—more than I had hoped for anything in a long time—that I could make Lydia as excited about our future as Anna already was.

By dinner time, I had managed to put the proposal thoughts somewhere at the back of my mind.

At least temporarily.