"I still can't believe how beautiful she is," I say, thinking of the car sitting in our garage. "Grandpa Joe would be amazed at what you accomplished."
"What we accomplished," Diesel corrects, ever generous with credit. "You did half the work."
"Under expert supervision," I counter with a smile.
He shrugs, that small half-smile playing at his lips. "You're a natural. Could probably run Grizzle & Grind yourself these days."
The comment, casual as it is, sends a little thrill through me. We haven't discussed it formally yet, but I've been spending more and more time at the garage, learning everything I can. After leaving my soul-crushing marketing career behind, I've discovered a passion for mechanical work that rivals my love for the written word.
"Maybe someday," I say, letting the possibility hang between us. "When we expand."
His eyes light up at the mention of our shared dream. Expanding Grizzle & Grind has been a frequent topic of our late-night conversations—adding a restoration wing specializing in classics, maybe even a showroom. Dreams that feel increasingly possible with each passing day.
"Speaking of expansion," Diesel says, voice dropping lower as his hand drifts to my still-flat stomach. "How are you feeling today?"
Warmth floods through me at the gentle gesture. Eight weeks pregnant—our biggest secret, shared only between us until today. "Good. Morning sickness seems to be holding off."
"Good." The tender concern in his eyes makes my heart swell. "Let me know if that changes. And if you get tired during the party?—"
"I'll rest," I promise, placing my hand over his. "But I'm fine, truly. Just excited to tell everyone."
The soft smile that spreads across his face is still my favorite thing in the world. "Me too," he admits. "Though Roman's going to be insufferable when he finds out he was right."
I laugh, remembering Roman's prediction the night Diesel brought me to Sunday dinner at Iron Vine Estate for the first time. "You two will be making babies within the year," he'd declared after his third glass of wine, earning him a smack from his wife Christine and a death glare from Diesel.
"He'll be even worse when he finds out the other news," I point out, my left hand rising automatically to touch the ring that now adorns my finger—a simple, elegant band Diesel slipped onto my hand just last week during a sunset hike to our favorite lookout point.
The proposal had been perfectly Diesel—straightforward, heartfelt, without unnecessary frills. Just the two of us, the mountains, and a question that felt like the most natural next step in the life we're building together.
"Worth it," Diesel says, catching my hand and bringing it to his lips, kissing the ring that symbolizes our commitment. "Let him gloat. I'm too happy to care."
The simple admission, so freely given when once he'd guarded his emotions like precious treasure, fills me with quiet joy. This is what love has done for both of us—opened us, softened us, made us more ourselves than we ever were before.
"I love you," I tell him, because I never tire of saying it.
"Love you too." He kisses me again, quick but deep, before glancing at the clock. "I should change. Then I'll help you set up the backyard."
As he heads upstairs, I move to the kitchen window, looking out at the garden we've cultivated together. Spring flowers bloom in carefully planned beds along the stone path that winds toward the row of pine trees at the edge of our property. Aswing hangs from the sturdy oak branch, built by Diesel with our future child in mind.
Our future child. The thought still feels surreal, wonderful, terrifying. I place my hand over my stomach, imagining the life growing inside me. A new beginning, another branch on the family tree that started with Grandpa Joe.
The sound of a car approaching pulls me from my reverie. Looking at the clock, I realize it's already nearly two—time slipping away while I was lost in thought. Through the window, I see Sage's SUV pulling into our driveway, followed closely by Roman and Christine in their sleek sports car.
Diesel comes downstairs, freshly changed into the blue button-down I love on him, just as the first knock sounds at the door.
"Ready?" he asks, taking my hand.
"Ready," I confirm, squeezing his fingers.
Our friends flood in—Sage with her new boyfriend Jabari, Roman and Christine, Marcus with his latest girlfriend, Noah Kane and Talia, his wife, even Sheriff Parker and his family. The cabin fills with laughter, conversation, the warmth of community we've both found in this small mountain town.
We give tours of the renovated cabin, accept compliments on the work we've done, serve food and drinks, and bask in the glow of friendship that surrounds us. Through it all, Diesel stays close, his hand finding mine in quiet moments, our eyes meeting across the room in silent communication.
Finally, as everyone gathers on the back deck with glasses of champagne (sparkling cider for me, though no one's noticed the substitution yet), Diesel clears his throat.
"Sandra and I wanted to thank you all for coming today," he begins, his deep voice carrying easily across the space. "This past year has been... transformative for both of us."
I step closer, leaning against his side as he continues.
