Page 67 of Wild Heart

Natalie studied her face carefully. “But you were close once. Closer than I realized.”

“We were good friends,” Olivia said, her voice steady. “At a time when I had few friends and even fewer choices. Mason was… safe. Familiar. And I admired him for everything he did here. But it wasn’t love, sweetheart. It was never love.”

Natalie’s eyes shimmered, her voice small. “Not even a little?”

Olivia leaned forward, resting her hand gently over Natalie’s. “I promise you. Mason was never mine. He was always waiting for someone like you, someone brave enough to challenge him and kind enough to stay. I saw it when you first got here, how he looked at you. It was never me and I never wanted it to be.”

Natalie’s throat tightened. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“Because I didn’t want to make things messier than they needed to be. You had enough to deal with. And later…” She exhaled. “Later, I was ashamed. That I hadn’t told you about Davey’s father sooner. That I’d let my own insecurities become secrets. Maybe if you’d lived here, been part of my every day, then there’d have been a moment when I’d have shared but it didn’t happen like that.”

Natalie’s voice cracked. “You’re the only family I had when I got here. You still are.”

Olivia’s hand tightened. “And you’re mine. And sometimes family mess up, then they move on.”

The emotion that had hovered between them for weeks, shards of misunderstanding, long looks, unsaid apologies, melted in that moment.

“I’ve been thinking,” Natalie said, blinking back tears. “About the wedding.”

“Oh?”

“I know it’s traditional to have a sister or a cousin or someone you grew up with as your maid of honor. But I don’t have anyone like that.”

Olivia smiled, something flickering behind her eyes.

“I’ve got you,” Natalie continued. “You’re the one who took me in. Who made me believe I could still be useful when I felt like nothing but ruins.”

She stood and moved around the table, crouching beside Olivia’s chair. “Would you be my maid of honor?”

Olivia’s hand flew to her mouth.

“Oh, Natalie…”

“It would mean everything to me.”

Olivia’s eyes filled. “Yes. Of course, yes.”

They hugged then, clinging tightly, like two women who had weathered every kind of storm and finally found their way back to each other. When they pulled apart, both were crying and laughing in equal measure.

“You’ll be stuck with me through the whole planning,” Olivia warned, dabbing at her cheeks with the edge of her apron.

“Good,” Natalie said, standing again. “That’s exactly what I want.”

As they began talking colors and music and menus, the tension that had long pulsed beneath the surface seemed to lift. Outside, the sky began to brighten just enough for the sun to pierce the clouds. Inside, two women sat close over tea and flour and dreams, planning not just a party, but a life that was slowly, beautifully, beginning again.

27

The day of the party arrived. The trees that circled the sanctuary stood like proud guests. Songbirds waited on branches, their calls light and sharp, notes flitting through the canopy like threads being sewn into the morning. The sky was a pale, hopeful blue, smeared at the edges with soft cloud. Sunlight poured like honey across the open clearing beside the lodge, where volunteers and neighbors had gathered since dawn to help string lights, unpack tables, and warm spiced cider in enormous metal pots. By early afternoon, the party was in full swing.

Rustic tables groaned under platters of baked goods, charred vegetables, gamey cuts of venison stew, and no fewer than six kinds of pie at Olivia’s insistence. Jars filled with wildflowers and flickering tea lights lined the pathways, and a wooden platform, hastily built by Mason and Davey the day before, served as a makeshift dance floor.

Children in boots and wool sweaters chased one another through the soft mud, their laughter spilling through the clearing like music. A small local band played in the corner nearthe edge of the lodge porch, fiddle, upright bass, acoustic guitar, and an old harmonica that rasped out joy like a memory reborn.

Natalie floated through the crowd, radiant. She wore a pale cornflower-blue dress that hugged the curve of her belly just enough to make the pregnancy visible for those paying attention. Her cheeks were pink with the chill in the air and the sheer energy of the afternoon. Her hair was swept back in a soft braid, pinned with tiny sprigs of lilac. A soft mohair shawl kept out the chill and the ring on her finger glinted every time she gestured or lifted a cup of cider or reached out to clasp someone’s hand. She was beaming. Glowing. Alive in a way that made people turn to one another and whisper things like,she looks so happy. And she was.

As the music carried through the trees, Natalie greeted every guest, offering hugs, laughter, and pieces of the story they all wanted to hear. She told it like a good memory, softened at the edges by time: the fire, the rebuilding, the friendship that had turned to love, and the new life growing inside her. Every sentence was woven with gratitude, humility, and the wonder of how far they had all come.

“I’m so happy for you,” said a woman who ran the local feed store, squeezing Natalie’s hands tight. “We all saw it. You and Mason, it was only a matter of time.”

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