And the mountain.
And Silas James, the sheriff, who stands off to one side in his dark uniform pants and a clean flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, a small notebook in his hand. He agreed to officiate with a straight face and a quiet promise not to make it weird. He’s the closest thing we have to family up here, and he knows better than to ask too many questions.
I stand at the railing in the simple cream sweater dress I ordered online, soft wool that skims my body and falls just below myknees. No veil. No heels. Just the ring on my finger and the wild curls I left loose because Beck once said he loves the way they catch the light.
He steps out behind me wearing dark jeans and a charcoal button-down rolled to his elbows. No tie. No jacket. Just him, broad shoulders, steady hands, the faint scent of pine soap clinging to his skin.
He stops when he sees me. For one long second he doesn’t move. Then he crosses the porch in three strides, cups my face in both hands, and kisses me like we haven’t already spent the whole day wrapped around each other.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “You look like you walked out of every dream I never knew I had,” he says. Voice low. Rough. Honest.
I smile, shaky and bright. “You look like home.”
He exhales a small laugh. He kisses me again, quick this time, then steps back and offers his hand. “Ready?”
I take it.
We walk to the fire pit together. Beck strikes a match and touches it to the kindling. Flames catch fast, greedy orange tongues licking up the dry wood. Warmth blooms between us, pushing back the evening chill.
Silas clears his throat. “Beck. Sabrina. You asked me to stand here and make this official. I’m not much for speeches, but I’ve seen enough of life to know when two people belong together. You’ve both been through hell. You chose each other anyway. That’s all that matters to me.”
He nods to Beck.
Beck pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. He unfolds it carefully. He looks at me. “I wrote mine last night,” he says. “While you were asleep. Didn’t want to forget anything.”
I reach into the hidden pocket of my dress. I pull out my own folded page. “Me too.”
Silas gives a small smile. “Go ahead, then.”
Beck begins, “Sabrina Ironwood.” His voice cracks on my future name. He smiles, small and crooked, and tries again. “Sabrina. I promise to love you when the storms come, literal and otherwise. I promise to hold you when the grief shows up uninvited. I promise to laugh at your terrible coffee and drink every cup anyway. I promise to chop the wood, start the fires, and keep the lights on, figuratively and literally, so you never have to feel alone again. I promise to fight for us. To choose us. Every single day. I promise to grow old with you right here, watching the seasons change, watching your hair go silver, watching our life unfold like the wildflowers that come up every spring after the snow melts. I was alone a long time. Thought that was enough. Then you crashed into my world and showed me what enough really looks like. You’re my home. My heart. My forever. I vow to spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt that.”
Tears slip down my cheeks before he finishes.
He reaches out and thumbs them away gently, then waits.
I unfold my paper with shaking fingers. “Beck Ironwood,” I begin. My voice trembles at first, then steadies. “I promise to love you when you’re quiet and when you’re loud. When you’re grumpy in the mornings and gentle at night. I promise to trust you with my broken pieces, the ones my brother left behind, andlet you help me carry them without apology. I promise to steal the blankets and argue about it just so you’ll pull me closer. I promise to burn the coffee and still make it every morning because it makes you smile. I promise to stand beside you through every storm, blizzard or otherwise, and never run again. I was running for so long I forgot what standing still felt like. You gave me that. You gave me roots. You gave me a place to belong. You’re my safe harbor. My wild heart. My forever. I vow to spend the rest of my life choosing you, every day, every night, every hard morning and every soft evening, until the stars burn out above this mountain.”
When I finish, the fire crackles steadily. The sky deepens to indigo. Stars prick through.
Silas nods once. “By the power vested in me by the state of Montana, I pronounce you husband and wife. Beck, you may kiss your bride.”
Beck steps closer. He takes both my hands. Then he kisses me.
Slow. Deep. Claiming.
When we part, Silas claps Beck on the shoulder. “Congratulations, you two. I’ll leave you to it. Whiskey’s on me next time I’m up this way.”
He tips his hat and heads down the steps, boots crunching on the snow-dusted path until the sound fades.
Beck pours whiskey into the two glasses. He hands me one. “To us,” he says.
“To us,” I echo.
We drink. The burn is sharp and sweet. Then he sets his glass down. He pulls me against him. “Dance with me,” he murmurs.
There is no music.
Just the crackle of the fire. The sigh of wind through the pines. The distant call of an owl.
