“I’ve amended my opinion,” Honey said primly. “Solely when it comes to children.”
“You’ve changed, Ms. Baxter.”
“I fear you may be right,” she replied, just before three little girls barreled into her, wrapping her legs in a tangle of hugs and giggles.
“Why are you painting an apartment you’re moving out of?” Melly asked.
“I always wanted to.”
There was something satisfying about leaving behind a mark. She wasn’t running away. She wasn’t just disappearing. She was heading somewhere she wanted to be, with someone who wanted her there.
“Should we paint a room at home?” Brooke asked hopefully, already eyeing the roller. “I think the living room would look cute in purple.”
“I think that’s a lovely idea.”
Ethan appeared in the doorway, an empty cardboard box tucked under one arm.
“Last call,” he said, scanning the room and then the girls. “Anything left?”
“Just this paint,” Ruby said, nudging her tray with her foot. “And half a dozen other colors Honey discarded because they weren’t ‘quite right.’”
“I got it,” Ethan said, stepping inside. His eyes met Honey’s, and for a moment, the noise around them blurred. Ruby muttered about a dozen trips to the hardware store, and the girls bickered over who got the roller next.
This was what she was leaving for. Standing in the flickering light of her nearly-empty apartment, Honey knew it was worth it.
“Let’s go home,” Ethan said softly.
She took one last look at the painted wall. A mark she’d left behind, and a future she was walking toward.
And then she followed Ethan out the door.
Home.
Epilogue
Ethan
One Year Later
Watching Honey work was amazing.
Watching Honey trynotto work was even better.
She was supposed to be relaxing today. Ethan and the girls had sworn they could handle it without her, and, for the most part, she’d let them.
He knew she was trying, but her “relaxing” looked a lot like walking slow laps around the orchard with a coffee in one hand and a checklist in her mind, pretending she wasn’t absolutely dying to straighten the drink table.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, equal parts admiration and awe. She’d gotten better at letting go, but the part of her that wanted everything to shine hadn’t dimmed, and honestly, he wouldn’t want it to. That was Honey—sharp, efficient, and full of her own kind of magic.
Since expanding to host orchard events, they’d organized three proposals. All of them had gone off without a hitch—champagne toasts under the blossoms, candlelitstrolls through the rows of trees, even one with a flash mob and goats in silk bowties.
This one, Ethan promised her, would be no different.
The orchard was in full bloom, the late spring trees dressed in ivory and blush petals. A stone path curled through the grass, leading toward the pergola he’d built himself—copper and graceful, wrapped in fresh greenery, white roses, and tiny strings of light that would start to glow as dusk rolled in.
He ran a hand along the pergola frame and found that nothing but his heart was off balance.
He gave the drink table a final check, adjusted the cider bottles like he actually cared about symmetry, and turned toward the woman he couldn’t believe he got to love.
