Rosie stood behind her booth, bright and animated as she explained something about her herbs to an elderly woman. Her hands moved as she talked, that familiar enthusiasm lighting up her voice. She wrapped a small bundle of thyme with practiced ease, her movements fluid and sure.
My chest tightened. She looked perfectly at home here, part of the market's rhythm. Natural. Like she belonged.
God, I loved her. The realization hit me, even though deep down I'd known it for weeks. Loved her stubborn optimism, her chaotic energy, the way she made everything—even a crowded Saturday market—feel exactly like where I was supposed to be.
Pudding tugged on the leash, whining softly. He'd spotted her, too.
“I know, buddy.” I took a breath, my pulse hammering against my ribs. “Let's go.”
We approached slowly. The elderly woman thanked Rosie and walked away with her purchase. Rosie turned to reorganize her display, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. The morning sun caught the copper highlights, making them gleam.
That's when she saw us.
Her eyes widened. Then softened, lighting up in that way that made my chest ache.
Before I could say anything, Pudding lunged. The leash slipped through my fingers as he scrambled forward, paws skittering across the pavement.
“Pudding!” Rosie dropped to her knees.
The puppy barreled into her legs, pressing himself against her shins. His whole body trembled, but his tail wagged frantically. He buried his face against her jeans, hiding from the noise and movement of the market.
Rosie wrapped her arms around him, murmuring soft reassurances.
Of course.The thought settled over me with absolute certainty.She's always been his mom.
From the moment she'd leaned into my truck that first day, worried about a puppy she'd just met. From the moment she'd insisted on naming him, making him real and loved before even knowing what would happen to him.
Pudding had chosen her weeks ago. I'd just been too slow to see it.
Rosie looked up at me, her eyes suspiciously bright. “What's this?”
“Adoption visit.” I crouched beside them. “Sharon got your form this morning.”
“You're here to approve my application?” She pressed her face against Pudding's head.
“Something like that.”
She reached for the red ribbon around Pudding's neck, her fingers brushing the lopsided bow. A laugh bubbled out of her. “Did you tie this yourself?”
Heat crept up my neck. “I know it's crooked but?—”
“It looks great.” She grinned, adjusting the bow with gentle fingers. Pudding tried to bite the ribbon again, making her giggle. She stroked Pudding's ears, her voice soft but certain. “I called Lauren last night and turned down the job.”
Relief flooded through me, so intense it almost hurt. The market noise faded to background static. Everything narrowed to Rosie's face, the certainty in her voice, Pudding's contented sigh as he curled deeper into her embrace.
“The farm's home now,” she continued. “And this little guy...” She scratched under Pudding's chin. “Well, someone needs to teach him that ribbons aren't chew toys.”
“Good luck with that.” I stood, offering her my hand. She took it, rising gracefully. Pudding had given up on the ribbon and was now content to watch the market bustle leaning against her legs.
“You're really staying?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Her smile softened. “I'm really staying.”
I wanted to pull her close, kiss her right there in the middle of the market, but something in her expression made me pause. She seemed to hesitate, like there was more she needed to say.
I reached for her hand instead, threading our fingers together.
“The job felt right for who Iusedto be.” She paused, searching for words. “Or maybe... maybe for who I thought Ishouldbe? Before everything fell apart in Seattle.”
