Page 28 of Revival in Laurel Valley

“I want a porch,” Grant said, his hand moving slowly up and down her spine. “One that wraps all the way around the house. Where we can sit in the evenings and watch the sunset over Twin Peaks. Where we can have coffee in the morning and listen to the birds wake up.”

“I want Sunday dinners with the O’Haras. All of them. Loud and chaotic and wonderful, with kids running around and too much food and everyone talking over each other.”

“I want to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life.”

Liza lifted her head to look at him. “Is that a proposal?”

“Not yet.” His smile was tender and sure. “When I propose, it’ll be just right. Somewhere that means something. Maybe by Forgiveness River, where old grudges die and new beginnings start. Or maybe in your bakery, surrounded by the smell of cinnamon and home, where you first looked at me like you wanted to devour me.”

“I did want to devour you. Still do.”

“I know. I could see it in your eyes.” He pulled her closer. “But when I ask you to marry me, I want to do it right. I want you to have the story you can tell our kids someday. I want it to be perfect.”

“I don’t need perfect,” Liza said, her voice thick. “I just need you.”

“You have me.” He kissed her forehead, her eyelids, the tip of her nose. “You’ve had me since the moment you said your donuts would melt in my mouth and looked at me like I was the most interesting thing you’d seen in years.”

She laughed, and the sound filled the small cabin with warmth and light. “You were. You are.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

That afternoon, the satellite phone rang.

The sound shattered their cocoon, pulled them back into the world they’d been pretending didn’t exist. Grant reached for it reluctantly, his other arm still around Liza.

“Yeah?” His voice was hoarse from disuse and other activities.

“It’s Lane. Tac team is in position. FBI’s here coordinating with state police. Everything’s ready.” A pause, and then: “Wyatt’s on his way to you now with a vehicle. He’ll brief you on the plan and drive you back. ETA about two hours.”

Grant looked at Liza, saw his own reluctance reflected in her eyes. “We’ll be ready.”

After he hung up, neither of them moved for a long moment.

“I don’t want to leave,” Liza finally said, her voice small. “I know we have to, but I don’t want this to end.”

“This isn’t ending.” Grant pulled her closer, buried his face in her hair. “This is just beginning. We’re going back to start our life together. Our real life. The one we’ve been planning in whispers.”

“After we deal with a psycho trying to kill us.”

“Minor detail.” But his smile was strained.

When they were dressed and ready, when the supplies were packed and the fire was banked, Grant pulled Liza into his arms one more time.

“Whatever happens tonight,” he said quietly, his hands framing her face, “these two days with you—they’ve meant everything.”

“We’re both coming through this,” Liza said, her hands gripping his shirt. “We’re going to make it.”

“Yeah.” He pulled her close. “We are.”

They heard the SUV approaching, the sound of tires on the rough forest road. Reality was here, patient and inevitable.

Together, they walked out to meet it.

Wyatt O’Hara stepped out of the vehicle, his hair catching the afternoon light. He took one look at them—at Grant’s protective stance, at Liza tucked against his side—and his expression softened.

“Heard you two had quite the adventure,” he said, his voice warm despite the seriousness of the situation.

“That’s one word for it.” Grant helped Liza into the back seat, his hand lingering on hers.