“I had lunch with the Whitmores yesterday,” he went on. “I needed to face it—to hear from them what I couldn’t tell myself. That her daughter would’ve wanted me to live, not bury myself in guilt. I had to do that before I could come to you.”
His beautiful face suddenly blurred in the wash of her tears.
“Rush…”
“I want you to know I’m putting in the work,” he said fiercely, stepping closer and taking her hands in his. “I’m trying to be the man you deserve, Lily. Because I don’t just love you—I want to build a life with you.”
He eased her closer. Outside, the sunset lit the orchard, the rows of bare apple branches glowing copper against the horizon.
“I want this house filled with your laughter. I want our kids running wild through that orchard, fishing in the pond, dragging in Christmas trees too damn bigfor the door.”
She brushed away the tears as he pulled her tight into his chest, turning her so they faced the orchard. He wrapped his arms around her, his voice low in her ear. “And if you’ll let me, Lily… I want to marry you under that apple tree.”
She whirled, sobbing now, and pushed his hat back to see his eyes. Beautiful gray eyes, no longer shadowed with guilt or pain. They were pewter bright and full of love.
He dropped to one knee and pulled a small velvet box from his pocket. Inside gleamed a delicate gold ring, the square-cut diamond catching the last light.
“This was my mother’s,” he said, his voice gravely with emotion. “I want you to wear it. I want you to be my family. To build our family here, in this house. Lily Hart, I love you. Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”
For one dizzying heartbeat, she saw it all—what she’d once tried to have with Tucker, the safe but hollow life she’d clung to because she was afraid her real dream was out of reach. And Rush—the man who saw her clearly, who never made her feel foolish for wanting more. The man who, even at his most guarded, made her believe she was enough.
Her hand flew to her heart, tears streaming hot down her face. “I will,” she whispered. “Oh, Rush—yes.”
He stood up, scooping her into his arms, and kissed her through both their tears. When he spun her around the bare kitchen, she realized it didn’t feel empty anymore.
It felt like home.
Epilogue
The orchard wasin bloom again.
Lily paused at the sink and let herself soak in the view. The apple trees bent under the weight of fruit, and the blossoms drifted down like confetti in the soft September breeze. Golden hour was her favorite time of day, when the sun dipped low and painted their home in soft warmth. She felt the same grateful ache in her heart every time she saw it.
Just last year, they’d stood out there beneath the fiery maples and said their vows. It had been simple and perfect: a white dress, a fistful of wildflowers, and the man she’d once thought she could never have.
She could still see Rush waiting for her at the end of the orchard row, broad shouldered and impossibly handsome, his gray eyes locked on hers like she was the only person in the world.
There was not a single stargazer lily in sight. She’d made sure of it.
They’d eaten Texas barbecue, smoky brisket and cornbread passed down long tables under string lights, a nod to Rush’s home state, and danced until the stars faded. Tessa and Savviehad fallen asleep on a quilt under an apple tree while their parents danced in the grass. Pop had given a toast that made everyone cry. Rachel and Sarah were folded into the Hart family as if they’d always belonged there.
She’d thought the way he looked at her during the ceremony would be the moment etched into her forever, but she’d been wrong.
It was later, after the dancing and the toasts and the teasing from their sisters, when the farmhouse was finally quiet and he carried her upstairs, that time stopped.
He closed their bedroom door with his foot, set her gently on the edge of the bed and just looked at her. Not like a man about to undress his wife but like a man trying to make sense of a dream he’d been handed with both hands.
“You sure you’re real, angel?” he asked hoarsely, brushing a curl from her cheek, his thumb lingering.
“Touch me and find out,” she whispered.
He did.
Slowly at first, reverently, sliding the straps of her dress down her arms, his mouth following every inch of bare skin he revealed.
“Been wanting you like this since the second you ran into my truck in that damn wedding dress,” he murmured against her throat, easing her dress down until her breasts spilled free. Her breath hitched as he cupped them in both hands, brushing his thumbs over her nipples, making them stiffen and pout for his mouth.
“Look at you,” he said gruffly. “My wife.”
