Page 199 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

He doesn’t want me preserving life.

He wants me living it.

“You thought of everything,” I murmur.

He shrugs like it’s nothing.

Like carving a declaration of love into wood is casual.

“What about your fans?”

“You’re the only fan I care about, Clara.”

“Is that so?” I tease. “What about all the noise you’re making with these sunflowers?”

“Damn straight. And it’s taken on a life of its own already. Agent says the brand’s already shifted,” he adds. “Sunflower prints are flying. The nonprofit’s growing. Donations coming in from people I haven’t talked to in decades.”

My head snaps up.

“What are you going to do with it?”

“Expand the nonprofit,” he says without hesitation. “Programs for runaways. For kids who don’t have anyone. Studio space. Supplies. Books. Mentors. I don’t have to do anything but sign the papers.”

My vision blurs.

He’s not just building a life with me.

He’s building something bigger than both of us.

“That’s some opportunity you’re building for others to have a future, Grey. That’s marvelous,” I say softly.

He steps closer, voice low. “You inspired it, Trouble. Now I just wanna work on building this life with you and protecting it.”

Just like the table.

Just like me.

I look back at the sunflower and something inside me shifts.

This isn’t just furniture.

It’s a statement.

It’s roots.

It’s permanence.

“This is ours,” I whisper.

He moves behind me, arms wrapping around my waist, his mouth pressing gently to my temple.

“It is.”

Not Manhattan.

Not headlines.

Not the noise.