He pulled her toward him, and she went willingly, settling into his lap in the wide Adirondack chair. His arms came around her, holding her close, and she rested her head against his shoulder.
"I'll think about it," he said into her hair. "The fire department thing."
"That's all I'm asking."
They sat together as the stars came out, one by one, until the sky was a tapestry of light. The bay whispered against the shore, and somewhere in the pines an owl called out, soft and mournful.
For the first time in longer than she could remember, Tessa felt at peace. Not the fragile, temporary peace of holding your breath and waiting for the next disaster. Real peace. The kind that came from knowing you were exactly where you were supposed to be, with exactly the person you were supposed to be with.
"Hey," Brian said softly.
"Mm?"
"Your three months are almost up."
She smiled against his shoulder. "I know."
"What are you going to do?"
She lifted her head to look at him, at this man who had become her anchor in a storm she hadn't seen coming. "I'm staying here with you.”
His answer was a kiss, soft and sweet, that tasted like wine and promises.
"I worried you’d change your mind," he said against her lips. "I’m glad you didn’t.”
"Then you'd better clear out your closet," she said. "Because I'm going to need closet space."
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest and into hers, and she laughed with him, because for the first time in a very long time, the future felt like something to look forward to instead of something to survive.
The copper moon rose over the bay, full and bright, and Tessa Callahan finally, finally felt like she was home.
Chapter Eighteen
The vintage motorcycle shop smelled like oil and leather and possibility.
Brian stood in the doorway, watching Hank guide Tessa through the main floor, pointing out the 1952 Indian Chief they'd just finished restoring, the wall of vintage parts organized by decade, the workbench where Colby was currently elbow-deep in a carburetor rebuild. This had been their dream for fifteen years, since they'd first met at an EMT training in Missouri and discovered a shared obsession with machines that had no business still running.
Their dream. All three of them. But Hank and Colby had been the ones to make it real.
"This is incredible," Tessa said, running her fingers along the chrome of a 1947 Harley Knucklehead. "I had no idea you guys were this serious."
"Serious is an understatement." Colby looked up from his work, grinning. "Hank's been collecting parts since before I met him. The man has a storage unit in Kentucky that's basically a museum."
"Had," Hank corrected. "Everything's here now. Or at the farm. Bree's very patient about the engine block in the spare bedroom."
"She's a saint," Colby agreed. "Sabrina would murder me if I tried that."
As if summoned by her name, the back door opened, and Sabrina Hartley Landon stepped through, carrying a cardboard tray of coffees from Lila's. She was smaller than Colby, delicate in a way that seemed at odds with the steel he knew lived in her spine. She'd survived an arsonist, an ex-husband's betrayal, and the loss of everything she'd built, and came out the other side with three retreat cabins and a man who looked at her like she'd hung the moon.
"Coffee delivery," she announced. "And Lila sent brownies because apparently we all look like we need feeding."
"Lila's not wrong." Colby wiped his hands on a rag and crossed to her, dropping a kiss on her forehead before taking the tray. "You're an angel."
"I'm a woman who knows what side her bread is buttered on." Sabrina's eyes crinkled with warmth. "Keep the mechanics happy, and they fix things for free."
"She's not wrong either," Hank said. "I rebuilt her entire irrigation system last month."
Brian accepted a coffee and watched the easy rhythm of it, the way these people had woven their lives together without losing the threads of who they were individually. Hank, with his quiet intensity and his artist wife. Colby with his easy charm and innkeeper wife. Two couples, four lives, all intersecting at this shop they'd built from nothing.
