Her words touched me, truly. More than I could put into words.
I kissed her again, longer this time, without a sleeping child between us. Her arms came around my neck. My hands found her waist, pulling her closer. When we finally parted, we were both breathing unsteadily, foreheads pressed together.
"Goodnight, Cole."
"Goodnight, Emma."
I waited until she was inside, until I heard the lock click softly into place. Then I walked back to the truck, where the stars still blazed overhead, where everything had irrevocably, beautifully changed.
Driving back up the mountain, I realized I wasn't afraid anymore.
Not of wanting. Not of needing. Not of letting someone matter so much that their absence would wound me deeply.
Emma Reed had seen my rough edges and hadn't flinched. She'd climbed my mountain, met my bees, kissed me under my stars. She'd looked at my cobbled-together family and hadn't seen something broken, she'd seen something worth joining.
And somehow, miraculously, she'd chosen to stay.
The Stubborn Brother constellation was probably up there somewhere, watching. I imagined Rebecca laughing at me from wherever she was. I was finally letting someone in.
For the first time in fifteen years, the cabin didn't feel like a fortress.
It felt like a home waiting to be filled.
12.Emma
The park ranger's words were still echoing in my head when I realized I'd been holding my breath for thirty seconds. Maybe longer. Apparently, that's how long it takes for a fairytale to die.
It had been three weeks. Twenty-one days of something I'd forgotten existed: uncomplicated happiness. The kind that sneaks up on you while you're busy convincing yourself you don't deserve it. Ever since the night we kissed, Cole had become an active constant in my life.
It started small. Cole showing up at my door on a Wednesday morning, coffee in hand.
"You didn't have to do this," I said, accepting the cup like it was made of gold.
"Sarah insisted." He leaned against my doorframe, all broad shoulders and soft eyes. "She said your coffee maker sounds like a dying animal."
"It does not."
"Her words were 'angry robot having a nightmare.'"
"She's six. What does she know about coffee makers?"
"Apparently more than you." He smiled, and my stomach did that fluttery thing I'd convinced myself I was too old for. "Ready?"
That became our routine. Morning pickups in his truck, Sarah providing running commentary from the backseat about everything from cloud shapes to the injustice of bedtimes.
"Uncle C, did you know that octopuses have three hearts?" she announced one morning.
"I did not know that," Cole said.
"And if they lose an arm, they grow it back."
"Convenient."
"Why can't people do that?"
"Evolution is unfair," I offered.
"Very unfair," Sarah agreed solemnly. "I'd like a backup arm."
