Page 26 of Snug with the Mountain Man
He grumbles something unintelligible and pulls the blanket higher. I shift to look up at him, to really look, and my heart clenches all over again.
His eyes are soft. He looks tired, and happy, and completely mine.
“I love you,” I whisper.
He kisses me, slow and deep. “Love you too, sunshine.”
Outside, the night wraps around our little cabin like a promise.
Inside, I fall asleep wrapped in his arms, knowing this is forever.
And I wouldn't change a damn thing.
Epilogue Two
Ford
Five Years Later
It’s the first week of October, and Pine Hollow is ready for fall. The leaves have gone golden, the air’s sharp and clean, and downtown is crawling with flannel shirts, cider cups, and kids sticky from kettle corn.
I’m parked by the edge of the Fall Festival, watching Maisie laugh with Bonnie over some oversized gourd she claims looks like a butt.
She’s glowing. She’s six months along, and somehow, even more beautiful than when I saw her again for the first time. Hair falling loose down her back, cheeks flushed from the cold, sweater stretched over her belly. She’s the only woman who could turn me inside out with a smile and knock me breathless with a laugh.
And now she’s carrying our baby.
I never thought I’d get to say that.
Bonnie hands her a cider and catches me watching. She smirks and walks off, giving me space.
Maisie turns and catches me mid-stare. “That look better be about how much you love me and not about how many donuts I just ate.”
“It’s both,” I say, walking over. “You love those donuts, and I love you. Seems fair.”
She smiles up at me, that slow, secret kind of smile that always makes my chest feel too small. “It’s weird, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“I was thinking about how I didn’t even want to come back here.”
“And now look at you,” I murmur, tucking a curl behind her ear. “Small-town queen. Local flower shop legend. Knocked up and still stealing my breath.”
Maisie blushes, swatting me lightly. “You’re such a flirt.”
There’s music playing somewhere nearby, a live band doing a slow cover of something folksy. People are gathered around fire pits, sipping cider, and holding hands. It’s one of those postcard-perfect evenings, and Maisie’s standing in the middle of it all like a dream I somehow caught with both hands.
“Dance with me,” I say gruffly, surprising even myself.
She blinks.
I take her cider, set it on a nearby hay bale, and pull her into my arms. She goes easily, curling against me, her baby bump nestled between us.
We sway right there in the middle of the grass, under twinkle lights and a sky that looks like it was painted just for us.
“I can feel her kicking,” Maisie whispers.
My throat tightens. “Yeah?”
