"You're my fiancée," he said."Specifically."
"Even better," she said.
"You okay with wild?"he asked, pulling back just enough to look into her eyes.
She looked around the cabin one more time.At the furniture they had chosen together.At the little lamp she'd insisted on because its shape made her feel strangely calm.At the door that opened onto the porch that opened onto the path that led back to the cottage that was now theirs in a way it had never quite been before.
She looked back at him, at this man who had stood beside her through the worst of it and was still standing, still steady, still hers.
"Yeah," she said."I'm okay with wild.As long as you're in it with me."
"Nonrefundable," he said."All sales final.No exchanges or returns accepted."
She laughed again, the sound coming easier now, lighter.
Outside, the pines stood tall around the clearing, dark silhouettes against a sky scattered with stars.Inside, the light was warm and steady, wrapping around them both like a promise.
She lifted her left hand and stared at the ring for a long moment, studying the way the light caught the stone, the way the band sat against her skin.She had looked at every blueprint, plan, and permit along the way with the same careful attention, trying to memorize each detail, to hold onto the reality of what they were building.
"It looks like it belongs there," she said softly.
"It does," he agreed."Just like you belong here.Just like we belong together."
She slid her hand back into his, their fingers intertwining, the ring a small warm presence between them.
"Come on," she said, a smile tugging at her mouth despite the tears still drying on her cheeks."Show me your calendar.We have some very important dates to argue about, and I need to start a new list."
He groaned, tipping his head back in theatrical despair."Of course you do."
She smiled up at him, her heart full in a way she hadn't known it could be, steady in a way she had almost forgotten was possible.
They stepped out onto the porch together, into the circle of light, their shadows stretching long across the wooden boards and out into the waiting night.The path unspooled before them, marked by the soft glow of cabin lights, leading back toward the cottage and everything that came next.
Behind them, through the window, the cabin stood ready and warm, waiting for its first guests.Waiting to offer someone else what it had given them tonight: a place to begin again.
Sabrina squeezed Colby's hand as they started down the steps.
Home, she thought again.
Not a building.Not a business.Not a dream deferred or a life rebuilt from ash.
Just this.Just him.Just the two of them, walking the path they had made together, toward a future they were choosing with every step.
The stars wheeled overhead, ancient and patient, and somewhere in the pines an owl called out, soft and sure, as if blessing the night.
Epilogue - Sabrina
The bell over the flower shop door jingled twice before Sabrina realized she was holding her breath.
The sound was cheerful, innocent, the kind of bright little chime that belonged to Saturday mornings and leisurely errands, not the thundering pulse she could feel at the base of her throat.She had been wound tight for days now, she realized, ever since the date had been set in ink rather than pencil, ever since the wedding had become something real enough to plan rather than dream about.
"Relax," Bree whispered at her shoulder, close enough that Sabrina caught the familiar scent of her perfume, something floral and warm that always made her think of art studios and paint-stained fingers."We're here for peonies, not a parole hearing."
Sabrina huffed out a laugh that released some of the tension coiled in her chest."Peonies are high stakes."
"They're round and fluffy and pink," Bree said, her voice carrying that particular blend of affection and exasperation that close friends perfected over time."They are the literal opposite of high stakes.They are the stakes you send to kindergarten with a juice box."
The florist appeared from the back room before Sabrina could formulate a response, arms full of vases that clinked softly together as she walked.She was a woman in her fifties with silver-threaded hair and the kind of capable hands that suggested decades of coaxing beauty from stems and soil.
