Page 22 of My Tempting Mountain Man

With Liam.

I glance over my shoulder through the window and catch a glimpse of him in the kitchen, brow furrowed in concentration as he stacks dishes. My heart squeezes with love. He hums under his breath, something he started doing lately—something he doesn’t even notice. He’s changed. Or maybe he’s just opened up. Either way, I see the man behind the storm now, and I know without a doubt I’m right where I belong.

The cabin looks different these days. We added on a second bedroom—though neither of us really sleeps in it—and are drawing up plans to expand further. Liam’s always talking about the future now, about adding a nursery one day, about building a life that feels like more than just survival. We dream out loud here. It’s something new for both of us.

I set the mug down and step back inside, walking barefoot across the wood floors that feel more and more like home. Liam turns as I approach, and his smile is the kind that still steals my breath.

"You ready?" he asks, wiping his hands on a dish towel.

I nod, but nerves twist in my stomach. "As I’ll ever be."

Tonight, we’re having dinner with his parents. The first time he’ll see them since the funeral. The weight of it sits heavy between us, but we don’t talk about it. We just know. He reaches for my hand and kisses my knuckles softly.

"We don’t have to stay long," he says.

I squeeze his hand in return. "We’ll stay as long as you need."

The drive down into town is quiet, but not tense. Liam keeps one hand on the wheel and one on my knee, like he needs the contact to stay grounded. I keep glancing over at him, watching his jaw clench and release. When we finally pull into the driveway of his childhood home, he goes still.

I reach across and rest my hand over his heart. "You’ve got this."

He turns toward me and nods, eyes full of emotion. Then he steps out of the truck.

The front door opens before we even reach it. His mother stands there, eyes wide, a dishrag clutched in her hand. His father is behind her, stiffer, more guarded.

"Liam," she breathes, one hand rising to cover her mouth.

Liam hesitates, then says softly, "Hi, Mom."

She rushes forward, wrapping him in a hug so fierce it nearly knocks him back. I see him tense—then melt into her embrace.

"You came back," she whispers. "You really came back."

"I’m sorry it took so long," he murmurs.

His father steps closer, his expression uncertain. "Liam. I... I’m sorry. For what I said. At Adam’s funeral. I wasn’t fair. I was grieving, but that doesn’t excuse it."

Liam steps away from his mom and meets his father’s eyes. There’s a beat of silence between them before Liam nods and says, "I know. And I’m sorry too."

They embrace, and I swallow the lump in my throat.

Liam turns to me then, pulling me gently forward. "This is Everly."

His mom gasps in delight and takes both my hands. "Oh, you’re even prettier than I imagined. We’ve heard so much about you. Thank you. Thank you for bringing my son back."

Tears fill my eyes, and I shake my head. "He brought himself back. I just found him on the road."

Liam’s mom doesn’t let go of my hands. "When he left, I felt like I lost both of my boys. It nearly broke me. But I knew he needed time. I prayed he’d find his way back when he was ready."

And now he has.

Dinner is filled with laughter and tears, old stories, and new plans. His mother dotes on both of us. His father even jokes with Liam about coming by to help with the porch rebuild. When we finally leave, it’s well past dark, and the stars are shining so bright it looks like the sky is made of glitter.

Liam laces our fingers together as we walk back to the truck. "You were incredible tonight."

"So were you," I reply. "I’m proud of you."

He pauses before opening the door and turns toward me. "I never thought I’d get this. You, us, peace."

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