“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever found.” I tilt her face up. Everyone is watching us, but I don’t care. “I love you. I’m staying. This is home now.”
“Home is wherever you are,” she says. The certainty in her voice makes my chest tighten.
I kiss her, slow and claiming. Her fingers dig into my shirt. Her breath catches against my mouth. The crowd erupts in whistles and applause. Red shouts something inappropriate that makes Eddie laugh.
When I pull back, Tilly’s smiling through tears. “Help me hang it?”
“Of course, darling.”
We mount the sign above the counter together, her directing while I handle the heavy lifting. When it’s secure, she steps back to admire it. I stand behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, and breathe in the moment.
“Perfect,” she says.
“Yeah.” But I’m not looking at the sign. I’m looking at her reflection in the window, at the way she owns her space without shrinking or saying sorry. “It is.”
Hours pass. Tilly sells three major pieces and takes orders for custom sourcing. Customers flow through in steady waves. By late afternoon, exhaustion softens Tilly’s features. She leans against the counter, and I move behind her, letting her rest her weight against my chest.
“Tired?” I ask.
“Completely.” But her smile is pure satisfaction. “And so happy I could cry.”
“You already did.”
“I might do it again.” She turns in my arms and presses her face into my shirt. “Thank you for this. For all of it.”
My arms tighten around her, and for a moment, we just stand there while the shop buzzes around us. She’s letting herself rest. Letting herself lean. The trust in that surrender makes my pulse kick hard.
Alban and Neve say their goodbyes, heading to their hotel room with promises to get together for lunch tomorrow. The last customers leave with bags full of vintage treasures.
Tilly locks the door and turns to face me. Her hair has come loose from its tie. Exhaustion lines her features, but her smile is unshakable.
“We did it,” she says.
“You did it.” I cross to her and pull her against my chest. “I just helped.”
“You did more than help. You made me believe I could.” Her arms wrap around my waist. “Thank you for shutting down the auction for me. Thank you for staying.”
“Thank you for letting me.” I stroke my hand up and down her back. “For trusting me with your dreams.”
She pulls back enough to look up at me. “Take me home.”
“Which home?”
“Ours.” She laces her fingers through mine. “The cabin. Our bed. Home.”
The possessive language anchors deep. Our cabin. Our bed. Our life.
“Let’s go home.”
We drive through town as dusk falls over the mountains. Snow covers everything. Smoke curls from chimneys. Lights glow warm in windows.
Lovesbury has become home. Not just the place I ran to after the fire, but the place I chose to build a life. With her.
At the cabin, I carry her over the threshold because the symbolism matters. She laughs against my neck, her breath warm on my skin.
“We’re not married,” she says.
“Not yet.” The words come easy, natural. “But we will be.”
