And that is everything.
SEVENTEEN
BECK
The ring arrives on a Thursday. A small package from a jeweler in Missoula arrives in plain brown paper with no fanfare, just my name scrawled on the label in black marker. I paid extra for expedited shipping and chose a plain gold band with a single small diamond that won’t catch on anything when she chops kindling or hauls wood. Simple. Strong. Like her.
I wait until dusk.
The sky bruises purple over the ridge, the last light bleeding gold across the snow that still clings in the shadows. Sabrina stands in the kitchen, humming something soft and off-key while she stirs soup on the stove. The smell of onions and thyme fills the cabin, warm and homey, the kind of normal I never thought I would have.
I step up behind her. I slide my arms around her waist. I press my lips to the side of her neck.
She leans back into me instantly. “Smells good, right?”
“Smells like home,” I murmur against her skin.
She turns in my arms. She looks up at me with that smile that still knocks the air out of my lungs every time. “What’s that look for?”
I reach into my pocket. I pull out the small velvet box.
Her breath catches.
I open it, and I hold it between us.
The diamond catches the low kitchen light with a small flash and a quiet sparkle.
“Sabrina Hart,” I say, voice rougher than I mean it to be. “I don’t have pretty words. I’ve never been good at them. But I’ve got this mountain, this cabin, this life I built alone, and now I’ve got you in every corner of it. I want to wake up to you every morning for the rest of my days. I want to fight over burnt coffee and argue about whose turn it is to start the fire. I want to hold you when the grief comes back in waves. I want to laugh with you when the snow finally melts and the wildflowers come up. I want forever. Starting right now.”
Tears shimmer in her eyes. She doesn’t blink them away.
I take the ring from the box. I slide it onto her finger, slow and careful, like I am afraid it might vanish if I move too fast.
It fits perfectly.
She stares at it for a long second. Then she looks up at me. “Yes,” she whispers. Then louder, laughing through tears, “Yes. A thousand times yes.”
I kiss her then, hard and deep and hungry, like I can pour every unspoken promise into that single moment. She kisses me backjust as fiercely. Her hands fist my shirt. Her body presses tight against mine.
I lift her onto the counter. I step between her thighs. I push the hem of her sweater up and off in one motion. Her bra follows. My shirt. Her jeans. Mine.
No slow undressing this time.
Just need.
I hook her legs around my waist. I push her panties aside. I find her already wet, already ready.
One thrust and I am inside her, deep and sudden, making us both gasp.
“Fuck,” I groan against her throat.
She clings to me. Her nails dig into my shoulders. Her head falls back against the cabinets.
I move, hard and fast and relentless. The counter creaks beneath us. Soup forgotten on the stove. The world narrows to the slick heat of her, the sound of her moans, the way she says my name like a prayer every time I bottom out.
“Beck, God, don’t stop.”
I don’t.
