Page 48 of Axel Martin

43

Lark

Ishould’ve known something was up the second Axel started lighting candles. The man could barely toast bread without setting off the smoke alarm, and here he was with a dozen tiny flames flickering like a Pinterest post come to life.

“You trying to burn the cabin down or seduce me?” I asked, arms crossed, trying not to smile.

He looked up from where he was fiddling with a lighter. “Little bit of both.”

The candles were arranged on the porch in a half-circle. There was a bottle of champagne in a cooler and—was that chocolate cake?

“Did you hire someone to help you pull this off?”

“Nope,” he said, standing tall and rubbing the back of his neck. “Almost lost my eyebrows, but it was worth it.”

I blinked. “Worth what?”

He took a step closer. Then another. Until his chest nearly brushed mine and his voice dropped low—serious, sure, and a little unsteady.

“I almost lost you, Lark. That storm. The tornado. That guy with the gun. Every time I think about it, I wanna throw up and hug you at the same time.”

I swallowed hard. “Axel—”

“I need to know you’re mine. Not just in this cabin. Not just for a season. For good. Forever.”

Then he dropped to one knee.

I covered my mouth with both hands as he held out a ring. Not flashy. Not fancy. Just simple and gold and totallyus.

“Marry me.”

I stared at him, blinking fast.

“Yes,” I breathed. “Yes! Of course, yes!”

He slipped the ring on my finger. I yanked him up. And then we were kissing like the storm was coming again and we didn’t care. Only this time, the wind wasn’t raging outside. It was all inside me.

44

Axel

The wedding plans quickly got out of control.

What started as a “simple ceremony on the mountain” turned into a guest list that looked suspiciously like a military reunion, a small-town fair, and a reality TV crossover episode.

But I didn’t care.

Lark was glowing. And every time she said “fiancé,” I puffed up like a rooster in spring.

The team came in full force—Max, Nate, Jack, Fraiser, Rush showed up with a new woman on his arm and a flask in his boot.

And then there was Marley.

She showed up late, looking like she hadn’t slept, in a green dress that made Frasier forget how to blink.

“You good?” I asked him as he watched her from across the makeshift dance floor.

Frasier didn’t look at me. Just lifted his beer. “Define ‘good.’”

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