Page 114 of Mountain Man’s Mystic Touch

My throat tightens. “That may be the most romantic thing you’ve ever said.”

“I had a year to prepare.”

The ceremony is simple. We promise honesty, respect, and a life built with enough freedom for both of us to remain ourselves. Rocco promises to listen when I know something I cannot prove. I promise not to use the planets as supporting evidence during disagreements unless the planetary influence is particularly obvious.

Our guests laugh. Rocco doesn’t.

“I want that condition defined more precisely,” he says.

The officiant tells him it is too late to amend the vows.

When he slides the ring onto my finger, his hand remains steady. Mine trembles when I place his ring, not from uncertainty but from the magnitude of being known and chosen in front of everyone we love.

Then Rocco kisses me. Nothing about it is restrained.

The guests disappear. The mountains disappear. Even the laughter fades beneath the rush of his breath and the possessive hand spreading across my back.

When he finally releases me, Jack says something about the reception still needing a bride and groom.

The day becomes a collection of moments I will carry forever. Ava’s spice cake tastes of apples, brown sugar, and enough cinnamon to make Jake point out that the recipe no longer technically qualifies as restrained. Harper’s snow globes appear at every place setting. Chloe allows herself one glass of champagne after confirming the final vendor has been paid.

Rocco dances with me beneath strands of lights as the sun disappears behind the mountains. Near the end of the song, my fingers brush the small weight inside his jacket pocket.

“You brought it.”

His eyes narrow. “Brought what?”

“The rose quartz.”

“That could be anything.”

“It has a distinctive energy.”

“It has a distinctive shape.”

“Because you’ve carried it for a year.”

He reaches into the pocket and places the stone in my hand. Its surface has become smooth from his touch.

“It doesn’t control anything,” he says.

“Of course not.”

“It doesn’t prevent danger or improve my judgment.”

“I agree.”

“I carry it because you gave it to me.”

I curl my fingers around the stone. “That’s how objects acquire meaning, Rocco.”

He considers this. “I’m still not charging it beneath the full moon.”

“We’ll revisit the issue next month.”

He smiles and kisses me again.

We leave after darkness settles over the venue. Our guests send us away beneath a shower of dried leaves and gold paper stars that cling to my hair, Rocco’s suit, and the floor of his truck.