Page 198 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

The center radiates outward in perfect, intentional detail, like something alive and still growing.

It’s enormous.

It’s breathtaking.

It’s—

“Greyson, you didn’t?” I whisper.

My fingers hover over the surface, afraid to touch it in case it vanishes.

“It was always yours,” he repeats. “You said you wanted something meaningful,” he says softly behind me. “Something that wasn’t just bought.”

I turn to look at him, and my chest feels too small for my heart.

“You made this for the show.”

“I made it for you,” he corrects.

His eyes don’t waver.

“I make everything for you now. Even when I don’t mean to.”

A laugh breaks out of me, shaky and wet all at once.

Because I came to this mountain to find him.

To confront him.

To drag him out of hiding if I had to.

I just didn’t know he was going to be my person.

I didn’t know he was going to choose me like this.

The movers step back, and I finally let my fingertips press to the carved petals.

They’re smooth.

Warm.

Solid.

Real.

And then I notice the thick, crystal-clear slab resting beside it.

“What’s that?” I ask.

“Protection,” he says. “So you can live on it. Spill wine. Host dinners. Not treat it like it’s too precious to use.”

My throat tightens.

He knows me.

He knows I’d worry about scratching it.

About ruining something beautiful.