“Sunshine,” he murmured, brushing a thumb across my cheek, “let’s go somewhere quieter.”
I nodded before he even finished the sentence.
The main house suddenly felt too full, too many voices, too many memories clinging to the walls, too much fear still humming under my skin.
“We can go back to the loft over Petals and Pines,” I whispered.
Eric’s expression softened. “Yeah,” he whispered. “Let’s get you there.”
Asher pushed off the counter and gave me a gentler version of his usual smirk. “Text when you’re settled. And try not to break the loft this time.”
I managed the smallest laugh—thin, fragile, but real.
Eric took my hand, threading our fingers together, warm and steady and familiar. We stepped out into the night air, crisp and quiet now that the chaos had calmed. The path back to town was lined with towering snowbanks, the sky soft with stars peeking through thinning clouds.
Behind us, Maple Valley’s main house, once a place of fear, faded into the background. Ahead, the lights of our small town glowed like a promise. Eric squeezed my hand.
“You’re safe,” he murmured. “And tonight, we go home.”
For the first time since returning to Val-du-Lys,homedidn’t feel like a place I was running from. It felt like something I was choosing. Someone I was choosing. Someone choosing me right back.
EPILOGUE
Four Months Later
Harmony
Late spring had softened everything. The snow was gone from the ridge, replaced by green that felt almost unreal after the winter we’d survived. The orchard below was alive again with buds growing on the trees, bees drifting lazily through the air, the promise of fruit not yet formed but inevitable. The world had kept going. Somehow, so had we.
Eric parked at the crest of the hill and cut the engine.
“There,” he said quietly.
I stared. The house rose from the ridge like it had always belonged there; with clean lines, warm wood, wide windows that caught the afternoon light just right. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t trying to impress anyone. It was solid. Thoughtful. Built with intention. Built by him.
“It’s finished?” I whispered.
He nodded, watching my face more than the house. “It is.”
We’d spent the last four months living above Petals and Pines, surrounded by half-assembled furniture, fabric samples, paint swatches taped to the walls. I’d helped him choose everything, from the sofa that fit just right to the dining tablewide enough for family, and the king-size bed frame we argued about and then both loved. It hadn’t felt like decorating. It had felt like building a life. A labor of love.
He came around to my side and laced his fingers through mine. “Come on.”
The front door opened easily, like it recognized us.
Inside, the house was warm with late-afternoon light and something else. Candles flickered along the entry table. Soft, golden light danced against the walls. Fresh flowers filled the air with a clean, delicate scent.
I blinked. “Eric…”
“Sandy,” he said, a smile tugging at his mouth. “She insisted.”
Of course she had.
Every room felt finished. Lived-in. Ours. The kitchen windows framed the valley below. The living room held the couch we’d tested a dozen times. Down the hallway, the bedroom doors waited quietly, full of futures we hadn’t named yet.
My chest felt tight, not with fear but with something fuller. He stopped in the center of the living room and turned to face me.
“Harmony,” he said softly.
