Page 24 of Her Father's Best Friend

"But Dad?—"

"Will come around or he won't." Mitch takes my hand, enveloping it in his much larger one. "Either way, I've got what matters most right here."

Tears prick at my eyes. For all the bravado I showed pursuing him, for all my determination and schemes, I never expected to be loved like this—steadfastly, wholeheartedly, without reservation.

"Besides," he continues, thumb stroking my palm, "I never had much of a family before. You and Bill, you were the closest thing. And while I hate that this has come between you two, I can't regret that it's brought you to me."

I lean my head against his shoulder, inhaling the scent that's become home to me—sawdust and soap and warm skin. "I just wish he could see how happy we are. How good we are together."

"He will," Mitch says with quiet certainty. "Just give him time."

We sit in comfortable silence for a while, watching dust motes dance in the sunlight streaming through the window.

"You know," Mitch says finally, his voice taking on an unusual hesitancy, "I've been thinking about something."

"What's that?" I lift my head to look at him, curious about this rare uncertainty.

He turns to face me fully, his blue eyes serious in the way that makes my heart skip. "I've never said it. Not properly. Not when we weren't—" He clears his throat. "Not in the middle of everything else."

My pulse quickens. "Said what?"

He takes both my hands in his, engulfing them completely. "I love you, Delilah Carter. Have for longer than I should admit. Will for the rest of my life, I expect."

The words aren't a surprise—I've felt his love in a thousand actions, heard it in the way he says my name, seen it in how he looks at me across a room. But hearing him declare it, simply and directly in the morning light of our home, makes something final click into place inside me.

"I love you too," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "So much it scares me sometimes."

He pulls me into his lap, cradling me against his chest like something precious. "No need to be scared," he murmurs into my hair. "I've got you. Always will."

And I believe him. Despite the cost, despite the uncertainty with my father, despite the whispers in town about the builder who stole his best friend's daughter—I believe in us. In this life we're building together, sturdy and true as the walls Mitch raises with his hands.

When he kisses me, gentle and thorough, I feel the final pieces of doubt dissolve. This is where I belong. This is who I was meant to find. And no matter what happens next, we'll face it together—the builder and the girl who was bold enough to claim him.

In his arms, I am home.

epilogue

Three months later

Mitch

Three months.That's how long I've woken up to Delilah in my bed, her red hair splayed across my chest, her soft breaths warming my skin. Three months of coming home to her smile, to dinner cooking in my kitchen, to a house that finally feels like something more than walls and a roof. The ring burns a hole in my pocket where I've carried it for two weeks, waiting for the right moment. I've built houses with these hands, fixed broken things all my life, but nothing has ever felt as important as getting this right.

My phone vibrates against the workbench, interrupting my concentration on the jewelry box I'm making for Delilah. The screen lights up with a name I haven't seen in months: Bill Carter.

My stomach knots. I wipe sawdust from my hands and pick up the phone, half-expecting to hear another tirade or worse—silence followed by a dial tone.

"Bill," I answer, keeping my voice neutral despite the hammering of my heart.

"Mitch." His voice sounds older, more tired than I remember. "Got time for a coffee?"

Not what I expected. "Sure," I say, glancing at my watch. Delilah's at a job interview at the library, won't be home for hours. "When and where?"

"Diner on Main. Half hour?" The question in his voice is unfamiliar—Bill Carter has never been uncertain with me before.

"I'll be there."

After hanging up, I sit on my workbench stool, staring at the half-finished box. My hand slides into my pocket, fingering the small velvet pouch that holds Delilah's ring. I've been waiting, hoping that somehow Bill and I could mend fences before I asked his daughter to marry me. Not for permission—Delilah would hate that—but for peace. For her sake.

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