Page 28 of Practically Perfect Together

"And now?"

"Now I'm exactly where I want to be," she says, holding out her wrist.

With a smile I can't contain, I fasten the bracelet around her wrist. "Perfect fit."

The door swings open suddenly, and Bear bounds into the room, followed by what seems like half my family. Mom, Declan, Jules, even Mia, who squeals in delight when she spots Savannah.

"Savannah! You came back!" Mia races over, wrapping her arms around Savannah's waist. "Are you staying? Can we make more origami foxes?"

Savannah laughs, genuinely and freely in a way I've rarely heard. "Yes to both," she says, her eyes finding mine over Mia's head.

"So," Mom says, taking in our interlaced fingers and the leather bracelet now adorning Savannah's wrist. "Should I assume the engagement is back on? Or was it never really off?"

Savannah and I exchange a look, a silent conversation passing between us. It's time for the truth.

"Actually, Mom..." I take a deep breath. "The engagement was never real to begin with."

A ripple of surprise passes through the family, but Mom just tilts her head, looking more curious than upset.

"It started as a business arrangement," Savannah explains, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her eyes. "I needed to impress Mr. Bennett for the contract, and Jameson agreed to help."

"We were pretending," I add, squeezing her hand. "Until we weren't."

Mom studies us for a long moment, then a slow smile spreads across her face. "Oh, I had my suspicions. No one falls in love that fast." She pauses, eyes twinkling. "Well, except your father and me, of course."

"You knew?" I'm genuinely shocked.

"I know my children, Jameson," she says simply. "But I also saw how you looked at each other. That part wasn't pretend."

Mia tugs on Savannah's sleeve. "So you're not getting married?"

Savannah kneels down to Mia's level, her smile gentle. "Not yet. But I am staying in Elk Ridge."

"And the rest," I say, meeting Savannah's eyes with all the hope and promise I feel, "we'll figure out together. No more pretending."

And before she can say anything, I kiss her again, right there in my mother's office, surrounded by my family, Bear barking happily at our feet. Because some things are too important to hide, too precious to rush.

Epilogue

Savannah

"These aren't going to pass inspection," I mutter, eyeing the lopsided dog treats cooling on the kitchen counter. What had started as bone shapes now resemble abstract art more than anything Bear would recognize.

From his spot by the lodge kitchen door, Bear woofs softly, as if to say he doesn't mind their appearance.

"Easy for you to say. You'll eat anything that remotely smells like peanut butter." I scratch behind his ears, earning the familiar thump of his tail against the hardwood floor.

Six months ago, I wouldn't have been caught dead baking homemade treats for a dog I insisted wasn't my responsibility. Now here I am, consulting recipe blogs and worrying about whether Bear will appreciate the shape of his peanut butter biscuits. The irony isn't lost on me as I transfer the treats to a storage container. They might look questionable, but the lodge's canine residents won't care.

My phone pings with a calendar notification:Corporate Retreat Proposal - Ridgeline Tech - 2 PM. Just looking at the reminder makes me smile. My new consulting business—Mountain Vista Events—is thriving beyond my most optimistic projections. Turns out there's a significant market for boutique corporate retreats that offer personalized experiences rather than generic team-building exercises.

I limit myself to three clients a month, a deliberate choice that would have horrified my former corporate self. The rest of my time belongs to me—to hike with Jameson, to teach Mia origami techniques I'm learning from YouTube tutorials, to sit with Evie while she shares stories of the lodge's early days.

To breathe.

Bear's head suddenly perks up, his attention drawn to the open kitchen window that overlooks the front porch. I hear it too, the rhythmic sound of painting, punctuated by occasional sighs.

Curious, I peek outside. A woman I don't recognize is carefully painting the porch railing, her movements precise despite her obvious unfamiliarity with the task. She's dressed in work clothes that are clearly borrowed. The jeans are cuffed several times, the flannel shirt is knotted at her waist to keep it from swallowing her petite frame.

---