Her breath catches. “Is that a promise?”
“It’s a fact.” I set her down on the couch and frame her face with my hands. “I’m going to marry you, Tilly. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week. But soon. Because you’re mine, and I want everyone to know it.”
“I’m already yours.” Her hands cover mine. “Have been since you shut down that auction.”
“I know.” I press my forehead to hers. “But I want to make it official, want to give you my name. We’ll plan a weekend getaway so we can find the perfect ring at an antique shop, then I want to stand in front of everyone and claim you properly.”
“I’d love that.” Her voice is certain. “Whenever you’re ready, my answer is yes.”
The trust in her words makes my jaw ache. I kiss her, and the taste of her fills my senses. Salt from earlier tears. Coffee. Something sweeter underneath that’s just her.
“Will you marry me, darling?” I ask in a whisper against her mouth.
“I’ll marry you right now if that’s what you want. We can take care of the details tomorrow at the courthouse.”
We snuggle together on the couch until late into the evening, talking about our future with her body warm against mine. She rests her head on my shoulder. Soon, her breathing is slow and even, sleep pulling her under.
I’ve spent too many years believing happiness was something I didn’t deserve. Something I had to earn through suffering and isolation. But existing here with this woman in my arms, in the home I built with my own hands, I finally understand what Alban tried to tell me.
Punishing myself doesn’t honor what I lost. Building a life does.
Tomorrow, I’ll start mapping a weekend road trip with antique shops along the way. I envision something simple and beautiful, a ring with decades of love in its history. Something that saysyou’re mine, and I’m yours, and this is forever.
But tonight, I hold her close and let myself believe I’m allowed to keep her.
Home is wherever she lets me stay.
And she’s letting me stay forever.
Chapter nine
Epilogue - Tilly - One Year Later
The late February sun slants through the shop windows, painting everything gold. I step back from arranging a display of vintage valentines, satisfaction warming my ribs as the layout finally clicks into place. Twelve months since opening day, and this space still surprises me with new possibilities.
Davin appears in the doorway with two mugs of tea. The sight of him here, comfortable in my domain, never gets old. He crosses to me and sets one mug on the counter, then his palm settles warm on my lower back, fingers kneading the tight muscles.
“You’ve been on your feet for hours,” he says.
“I’m pacing myself. There’s a difference.” I lean back into the pressure of his touch, and tension releases from my spine in increments. “Besides, we open in an hour.”
“We don’t open. You open. I’m here to make sure you don’t rearrange the entire shop before customers arrive.” His otherhand comes around to rest on my hip, thumb stroking the curve through my sweater. “Again.”
“That was one time.”
“It was last week.” His mouth finds the curve of my neck, breath warm against my skin. “And the week before that.”
Heat floods my face. The shop is empty, but the windows face the square. Anyone walking by could see us. “Davin—”
“Say you’ll take a break after the mentorship session.” His teeth graze my earlobe. “Come home with me. Let me take care of you properly.”
Want and heat fill my pussy, sharp and immediate. “That’s not fair.”
“I know.” He pulls back, and his eyes hold that dark promise that still makes my knees weak. “But I’m not playing fair today.”
I move through the shop, checking details. The mentorship table holds notebooks and pens I ordered in bulk. The reading nook has fresh flowers. The armoire still anchors the wall, and every time I see it, something in my throat goes tight with memories of the night he moved it here, the way his competence made me feel safe enough to want impossible things.
My fingers trail across the carved shop sign hanging above the counter, an antique ring glittering on my finger. One year since he gave me the sign. One year since he made permanence feel possible instead of terrifying.
