He kisses me then, slow and unhurried, the kind of kiss that isn't about urgency or hunger but certainty. When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against mine for a moment, grounding us both.
"Drive carefully," he says.
"I will."
"And call when you get service. Let me know you made it down safe."
The fact that he's already thinking about my safety, already invested in knowing I'm okay, makes my chest tight. "I will," I promise again.
I climb into my car and start the engine, letting it warm up while Rowan brushes the snow off the windshield.
Before I pull away, I roll down the window. "Rowan?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For everything. I love you.”
A slow grin stretches across his face. “You said love.”
I grin back. “I sure did.”
I pull away slowly, watching him in the rearview mirror until the trees swallow him from view.
I’ll be back soon, mountain man.
Epilogue
Merry
ChristmasEveinMercuryRidge feels different than it does anywhere else.
The snow is fresh again, soft and quiet, blanketing the mountain in white that looks almost blue in the fading light. The town glows with lights and garland, the square filled with laughter and the low hum of carols drifting through the cold air. Children chase each other around the gazebo while their parents sip hot cider and cocoa from the stand set up near the tree.
I stop by the mercantile, accepting hugs and knowing smiles from Agnes and the other townspeople who’ve already heard that I’m Rowan’s girl.
Word travels fast in a small town.
"You look happy," Agnes says, studying me with those sharp eyes.
"I am," I tell her.
"Good." She pats my hand. "My son needed someone like you."
I laugh. “Thanks for playing matchmaker.”
By the time I drive back up the mountain, dusk has settled in, turning the sky a deep, velvety blue. The first stars blink on overhead, and the moon is already rising, fat and silver. Rowan's cabin comes into view just as the Christmas lights he strung along the porch rail flicker on—a surprise addition he must have made while I was in town.
Smoke curls from the chimney like a welcome signal.
Home.
The word is still new, but it already fits. Like everything else here, it's simple and true.
Inside, the cabin is warm and bright. A wreath hangs on the door, on that Rowan made just for us. Pine, cedar, winterberry, and a simple velvet ribbon in deep red. No frills. No shortcuts. Perfect in its quiet way.
Rowan looks up from the hearth when I step inside, his mouth curving into that familiar, steady smile that I've come to crave. “You’re home.”
"I’m home," I say, shrugging out of my coat.
