A laugh escapes her, wet and surprised. "That's when you knew?"
"That's when I knew I was in trouble." I brush hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. "The love came later. Somewherebetween teaching you to shoot and watching you tell Derek exactly what kind of man he is."
"Very specific."
"I pay attention."
"I've noticed." She pulls me down for a kiss, soft and slow. "I love you, Wolfe Hendrix. Even though you wake up at ungodly hours and speak in single sentences and keep dead animals in your kitchen."
"I love you, Sadie Chen." My mouth curves against hers. "Even though you never stop talking and you've reorganized my entire cabin and your woodpile system makes no practical sense."
"It's aesthetically pleasing."
"It's ridiculous." I kiss her again, deeper this time. "You're ridiculous. And you're mine."
"Yours," she agrees. "For as long as you want me."
"Forever, then."
Her smile is sunrise. "Forever works for me."
I lift her off her feet, and she wraps her legs around my waist as I carry her toward the bedroom. The dead rabbit is still on the table. The coffee is still cold. None of it matters.
She came to Nevada to escape Valentine's Day.
Instead, she found something worth celebrating.
And so did I.
EPILOGUE
SADIE
ONE YEAR LATER
The cabin doesn't look the same as it did a year ago.
I stand on the porch, coffee in hand, surveying the changes. Red railings that I painted myself last summer, even though Wolfe had to redo half of them because I missed spots. String lights wrapped around the eaves, still up from Christmas because I couldn't bear to take them down. The wind chime I found at the Whisper Vale craft fair, the one Wolfe pretends to hate but I've caught him listening to when he thinks I'm not looking.
This place used to be a fortress of silence. Now it's home.
The door opens behind me and Wolfe appears, barefoot despite the February cold, his hair loose around his shoulders. He's carrying his own mug, and he settles against the railing beside me without a word.
We do this most mornings now. Coffee on the porch, watching the sun climb over the mountains, existing in comfortable quiet. A year ago, I would have filled every secondwith chatter. Now I've learned that some moments are better without words.
Some moments. Not all of them.
"Happy Valentine's Day," I say, leaning into his side.
His arm wraps around me automatically. "Happy anniversary."
One year since he carried me out of a snowbank. One year since I crashed into his life and refused to leave. One year of learning each other, fighting with each other, loving each other in ways I never knew I could love another person.
Best year of my life.
"I have a surprise for you." I set down my coffee and turn to face him. "But you have to close your eyes."
"I don't like surprises."
