He shifts, turning his chair to face mine, both of his hands now holding mine. “I want you in my life forever, Atlee. I want to build something with you that lasts, something that’s just ours. I know it’s fast, and I know there’s still a lot we’re figuring out, but I’ve never been more certain of anything in my life.”
Tears well up in my eyes, spilling over before I can stop them. Not sad tears, but the opposite. Tears of a joy so intense it almost hurts, of a certainty that matches his own.
“Yes,” I whisper, the word catching on a half-laugh, half-sob. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
The smile that breaks across his face is like a sunrise, slow at first, then brilliant, transforming his features with a joy that steals my breath. He pulls me from my chair onto his lap, his arms circling my waist, holding me like he never intends to let go.
“I love you,” he says against my hair, his voice rough with emotion. “God, Atlee, I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” I whisper, framing his face with my hands, memorizing every line and plane of it in this moment. “More than I ever thought possible.”
When he kisses me, it tastes of salt and promises. His lips are gentle at first, reverent, but the kiss quickly deepens into something more urgent, more needful. The day’s fear and adrenaline transmute into desire, into a desperate need to reaffirm that we’re alive, we’re together, we’re whole.
“We should go inside,” I murmur against his mouth when we finally break apart, both of us breathing hard.
“In a minute,” he says, pulling me closer against his chest, his heartbeat strong and steady beneath my ear. “Let’s just stay here for a bit longer.”
So we do, wrapped in each other’s arms as night falls fully around us, the mountains fading into silhouettes against the star-studded sky. Despite everything—the danger we’ve facedand the challenges still ahead—I feel a peace I’ve never known before.
Because no matter what comes next, we’ll face it together. Not just as Devlin and Atlee, but as husband and wife. Building a life, a future, a home that’s ours alone.
Forever sounds just about right.
EPILOGUE
LENNON
I checkmy watch for the third time in as many minutes, mentally calculating how late I’ll be for dinner at this rate. Atlee is going to kill me. She’s been planning this dinner with Aubree for weeks, some kind of celebration for their upcoming joint wedding shower. Being maid of honor for my sister and bridesmaid for her soon-to-be sister-in-law means twice the responsibility, and I’m already failing spectacularly.
The email from Shawn had come just as I was packing up to leave the office. “Just need your eyes on this before you go,” he’d said, and of course, “this” turned out to be a sixty-page brief that needed immediate revisions. By the time I finished, the sun was already setting behind the mountains, casting long shadows across the winding road to Grizzly River Ranch.
I’m so focused on my lateness that I almost miss the concerning thump coming from the front passenger tire. By the time I register what’s happening, the car is already pulling sharply to the right, the unmistakable flap-flap-flap of a flat tire forcing me to ease onto the shoulder.
“Perfect,” I mutter, putting the car in park and dropping my head against the steering wheel. “Just perfect.”
For a moment, I consider calling Atlee, but I can already picture her stressed expression as she tries to manage dinner preparations while sending someone to rescue me. No, better to handle this myself.
I grab my phone and step out of the car, shivering slightly in the early evening chill. Spring hasn’t fully committed to Grizzly River yet. The days are warm, but the evenings still carry the coldness of winter. The light is fading fast, turning the deserted stretch of road into something from a horror movie—lonely woman, isolated location, no cell service.
Wait. No cell service?
I stare at my phone in disbelief. One bar, flickering in and out like it’s taunting me. Of course.
Gritting my teeth, I pop the trunk and rummage around for the jack and spare tire. I’ve changed a flat before, once, in broad daylight, with my dad standing over my shoulder, barking instructions. How hard could it be to replicate that experience in near-darkness, alone, on a deserted road?
I’m struggling with the lug wrench, cursing under my breath, when headlights appear in the distance. For a split second, fear spikes through me. Then the lights slow, and a familiar pickup truck pulls in behind my car.
Relief floods through me, followed immediately by a different kind of tension as Carson steps out of the driver’s side, his tall frame silhouetted against his headlights.
“Car trouble?” he calls, walking toward me with that easy, loose-limbed stride of his.
“Just a flat,” I reply, trying to sound casual, like I’m not secretly pleased to see him. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
He reaches me, looking down at the tire and the wrench in my hand with barely concealed amusement. “Clearly.”
“I was doing fine before you showed up,” I lie, tossing my hair back from my face. “But feel free to help if you’re so inclined.”
“Wouldn’t dream of interfering with your mechanical expertise,” he says, but he’s already taking the wrench from my hands, our fingers brushing, and I try to ignore the sparks that fly between us. “Just happened to be driving by.”
