"Pass," Ryder says.
"You're no fun since you became Fire Chief." She says it with mock disappointment, but there's real pride underneath. "All responsible and official."
The promotion came through two weeks ago. Chief Walsh's retirement became official, and Ryder accepted the position without hesitation. No NHL scouts, no last-minute offers, no looking back. Just a choice, made with both eyes open and zero regrets.
He'd turned to me the night the town council made it official and said, "This is what I want. Staying here. Building this. With you."
And I'd kissed him and said, "Good. Because I already applied for a mortgage."
We're still living in his cabin while we figure out logistics—whether to renovate here or build something new, whether to keep the crooked cabin as a rental or let Sage stay permanently. Future planning would've terrified me six months ago.
Now? It feels like the most natural thing in the world.
"Earth to Piper." Sage waves a hand in front of my face. "You're doing that thing where you zone out and smile at Ryder like he hung the moon."
"She does that a lot," Ryder says, not bothering to hide his grin.
"Because you're obnoxiously perfect together and it's disgusting." Sage stands, brushing brownie crumbs off her shorts. "Fine. No double date. But you're both coming to Sunday dinner at Tessa and Gage's. And before you say no, Tessa already said you're coming, and you don't say no to a pregnant woman."
"Tessa's pregnant?" I sit up straight. "Since when?"
"Since three weeks ago, but she just told everyone today." Sage's grin is pure mischief. "Baby Grayson's getting a sibling. The Ashwood Falls baby boom continues."
After she leaves—taking the rest of the brownies with her, because apparently we "don't deserve them" after refusing the double date—Ryder and I sit in comfortable silence, watching the sky fade from gold to pink to deep purple.
"Your sister is a menace," I say eventually.
"She's your best friend."
"Also true." I lean my head against his shoulder. "How's it feel? The promotion being official?"
"Terrifying. Right. Like I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be." His arm comes around me, warm and solid. "Dad would've been proud."
"He would've been insufferable about it," I correct. "Based on every story Sage has told me, he would've thrown a party and made a speech and probably embarrassed you in front of the entire fire department."
Ryder laughs, and the sound rumbles through his chest. "Yeah. He would've."
We're quiet again, and then he shifts slightly, reaching into his pocket. "Speaking of being where we're supposed to be..."
My heart stops. Completely stops. Because he's pulling out a small box, and the evening light catches on the edges, and oh my God, is this happening?
"Ryder—"
"Before you panic," he interrupts, opening the box to reveal not a ring, but a key. A cabin key, brass and slightly worn. "I wanted to make it official. This is your home now. Not just because you're staying here, but because I want you to stay. Permanently. No more talking about 'Ryder's cabin' or 'your place.' Just ours."
The key sits in his palm, and somehow it means more than any ring could. It's a promise of ordinary mornings and shared coffee and building something real together. It's choosing each other every day, not because of fake dating rules or social media strategy, but because this is what we both want.
"You already gave me a key six months ago," I point out, voice suspiciously thick.
"That was a spare. This is different." He closes my fingers around it. "This is me asking you to stay. To build this life with me. To put up with Sage living next door and Morris crashing our backyard and the entire town being invested in our relationship."
"That's a lot of commitments."
"I know." His thumb traces circles on my wrist. "Think you can handle it?"
I look at the key in my hand, then at the man who gave it to me. Ryder Lockwood, Fire Chief, terrible dancer, the most genuine person I've ever met. The man who chose his hometown over fame, who showed me what real connection looks like, who made me believe in second chances.
"I don't know," I say slowly, fighting a smile. "What about all those rules we had?"
