She studies me for a long moment. Then something soft spreads across her face. Something that looks a lot like hope. “Now what?”
I take her hand. “Now we go home.”
Her lips curve into a smile. “To Wolf Valley?”
I nod. “To Wolf Valley.”
The boarding line moves. I lace my fingers through hers, and Fern squeezes my hand like she never plans to let go. Neither do I.
My apartment back in Tidehaven, my stuff, all of that can wait because right now… the only thing that matters is my woman.
ELEVEN
Fern
Five Years Later…
“Mommy! Mommy! They’re kissing again!”
I look down to see my four-year-old daughter tugging on the hem of my dress, her bright eyes wide with delight.
Across the lawn, the bride and groom are locked in another kiss while their guests cheer and clap. Rose petals drift through the warm summer air, and the late afternoon sun turns everything golden.
“Of course they are,” I laugh softly, bending down to brush a curl away from my daughter’s face. “They just got married.”
“But they already kissed,” she says as if that should have been the end of it.
I grin. “When you love someone, you tend to kiss them more than once.”
She considers that very seriously.
“Oh,” she says finally.
Behind her, the big wooden doors of Fernwood Estates stand open, twinkle lights glowing inside even though the sun hasn’t quite set yet. The scent of fresh flowers floats through the air, peonies and wild roses arranged in tall centerpieces on the reception tables.
Five years ago, this place was nothing more than an abandoned property with a leaning barn and weeds taller than me.
Now it’s my dream come to life. My very own wedding venue. The best decision I ever made.
Well… the second best.
“Mommy,” my daughter says suddenly. “Daddy said you forgot to eat again.”
I sigh. Of course he did.
Before I can respond, a deep voice rumbles behind us.
“That’s because she did.”
My heart does the same thing it always does when I hear Jackson’s voice. Even after five years. Even after two kids. Even after thousands of mornings waking up beside him.
I turn around, and there he is. Six-foot-four of broad shoulders and quiet intensity, dark hair still cropped short, green eyes focused entirely on me like I’m the only person on this entire property.
Some things never change.
Jackson Carter still looks at me like I hung the moon. He’s holding a plate of food in one hand, and our baby boy is balanced easily on his other hip.
Our son, one year old and full of stubborn determination, grins at me around the fist he’s currently chewing on.
