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Inside, nestled in the curl of spice, was the ring.

Delilah gasped, hand flying to her mouth.

Rollo’s fingers were trembling when he picked it up, but he dropped to one knee anyway. Right there in The Spellbound Sip. Next to the table where they’d shared arguments, kisses, awkward silences, and that very first cinnamon-laced truce.

“I love you,” he said, raw and ragged. “Not just because we’re fated. Not because the forest says so. But because you see me—even the parts I still try to hide. You see them, and you stay.”

Delilah’s eyes brimmed, tears tracking slowly down her cheeks.

“So,” Rollo said, clearing his throat. “What do you say? Would you be willing to marry an old bear like me?”

She didn’t say anything.

Not at first. Shelaughed.

Bright and sudden and beautiful. Her whole body leaned back as it bubbled out of her, light and full of every good thing in the world.

Rollo blinked, stunned. “Is that a—bad reaction?”

She grabbed his shirt, hauled him up into a kiss so fierce it nearly knocked his balance. Then she whispered against his lips, “That’s ayes, you stubborn bear.”

Cheers erupted from somewhere behind them. Apparently, Nerissa had lingered just long enough to eavesdrop.

Rollo didn’t care.

He pressed his forehead to Delilah’s, both of them breathless and grinning like fools.

“You’re mine now,” he murmured.

Delilah snorted. “I’ve been yours since the moment you growled at me in that moonvine garden.”

He slipped the ring onto her finger, slow and sure.

It fit.

The tea sat untouched, the lemon mist curling like a blessing into the air.

And outside, the sun burned gold over a town that had been broken and healed—just like them.

39

DELILAH

The stars were kind tonight.

They blinked down over Celestial Pines like a string of lanterns hung just for them, suspended above the clearing behind the sanctuary where soft moss covered the earth like nature’s altar.

Moonlight spilled silver between the trees, quiet and clean, like a blessing only the forest could give.

Delilah stood still, heart thudding like a drum in her chest, one hand pressed flat over her ribs.

She wasn’t nervous.

Not exactly.

She just… felt everything. All at once.

The breeze whispering through her hair. The scent of lavender and moss from the garlands woven into her crown. The subtle shimmer of magic woven into her soft gray gown—courtesy of Missy and Junie, who had insisted a forest bride deserved a little sparkle.