I thrust my hips against his, delighting in the growing hardness in his pants. “Wait until I tell you about the soundproof panels I’m having installed in your office.”
His eyes fly wide with delight, and he spins me so we fall onto the bed. “You get hotter with each new idea.”
I kiss him to shut him up, and he lets me, both of us shedding clothes between breaths. He flips us so I’m lying on top of him, and he winds thick fingers through my hair.
“Look what you built,” he murmurs, and I squint out the window and then back down at his erection. I arch a brow.
“I meant all of this,” he says, kissing my forehead.
He takes his time with me, his movements reverent, slow, and deliberate. His fingers trace the inside of my thigh, and I part my legs to straddle his hips, inviting him to reach higher, deeper. When Asher pushes inside my body, it’s like a slow slide home, and I exhale as if I’ve been waiting for this.
“You feel like part of me,” he says into my shoulder.
“So do you.” We move together and know each other’s rhythms. There’s no performance here, no need to prove anything—just two people who worked to be in this moment and are now enjoying the hell out of soaking in it.
His pace quickens beneath me, and I rock against him, chasing that edge. His hand on my lower back presses down, anchoring me, grounding me in this moment, in this place, in this man. The sensation tips me over, and I come with his name catching in my throat, and he follows a few thrusts later, breathing hard against my neck.
We collapse into the pillows, tangled and sweaty and utterly satisfied. “I love you,” I say again. I can’t seem to stop saying it now that I’m allowed to.
“I know.” He pulls me closer, impossibly closer. “And I love you. Every eccentric, brilliant, brave part of you.”
The house settles around us—creaking floorboards, wind in the eaves, the distant sound of crickets. I think about that girl who arrived in Fork Lick lost and broken, convinced she didn’t have what it took to live on her own.
She planted herself here. Let her roots sink deep into soil that wanted her, that needed her. And from those roots, everything has grown—a business, a home, a family that spreads across two cities bound together with love and laughter and unruly farm animals.
Asher’s arm circle around me, and I savor the strength we built together.
Tomorrow, my sisters will wake up in rooms I prepared for them. They’ll taste food made from ingredients grown and crafted by people who care. They’ll experience the life I built—not despite my rocky beginning, but because of it.
Epilogue
Asher
The gravel crunches under Eliza’s tires as Eva’s family pulls away from Pierce Acres. I see my lady go very still.
She’s waving, one hand raised in that perpetual gesture of farewell that’s become muscle memory over the past year. In what has now become tradition, the Storm sisters descended on Fork Lick to take over Tapped Out the first week of May. Each time they leave, Eva stands at the end of the driveway with the same expression on her face—happy for them, happy for herself, sad for the distance.
I wait till the truck disappears around the bend, taking Esther and Koa and Eila and Ben and Eden and Nate Eliza and Reed with it. Then I step closer and rub my scruff against her cheek—a habit I’ve picked up that she seems to like, the slight burn of beard against soft skin.
She leans into the touch, eyes still tracking the now-empty road.
“Eva.”
“Mm?”
“I want to show you something, if you’d like to see.”
She turns to face me, eyes slightly red-rimmed but hopeful. “Don’t you have to hibernate or something now that we have peace and quiet again?”
“I would rather show you this and then hibernate. Together.”
She studies my face as if she’s trying to decide if I’m joking or serious. I am both; life with Eva is equal parts delight and urgent. I’ve had a ring picked out for weeks—a simple band with a vintage stone that we found among the detritus on Pierce Acres. It’s old, already part of her history, worn smooth by someone else’s hand who loved it, cherished it as I do her.
I hope it finds a new home on her finger.
“Okay,” she says, nodding and pulling herself together. “Show me.”
I lead her into the maple grove, following the path we’ve walked a hundred times. The trees are green, spring asserting itself with bright fragrance. Somewhere in the canopy, birds are already staking out territories, building nests for the season ahead.
