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“Sorry, I didn’t want to hurt your fragile chef ego.”
I smirk, sitting back in my chair. “Fine. Next time, I’ll give you the burned toast and call it rustic garlic bread.”
She grins, then tilts her head at me. “I was thinking, instead of getting married in Cozy Creek, what if we held an event at the cabin?”
The question lands softer than I expected. No fanfare. No dramatic pause. Just her, curious and open, asking as if she already knows what my answer will be.
“I’ll marry you on the streets of New York, Harp. I want this to be the wedding of your dreams. I’m already marrying the woman of mine.”
She grins wide, and I watch how she tucks her hair behind her ear. I love how her foot’s resting against mine under the table, and she wiggles her toes to let me know she’s there. This woman. This life. She’s more than I ever could’ve imagined.
She leans forward, elbow on the table, chin resting in her palm. “I still want to get married when the leaves change. October.”
“I can imagine it already. It’ll be as beautiful as you.” I reach across the table and take her hand, my thumb brushing over her mother’s ring.
We finish eating and sit together for a while, chatting about her plans as the candle burns low.
I stand, placing our dishes in the sink and lead her to the couch, where we curl up together. Her head is tucked beneath my chin, and a blanket is draped over us like a shield from the rest of the world.
I don’t know how long we stay like this. An hour maybe. Or longer. It doesn’t matter. The clock doesn’t run the same way when we’re together.
When I glance down at her, I notice her long lashes are resting against her cheeks and her breathing is even. Her hand rests on my chest, fingers twisted loosely into the fabric of my shirt. I just keep holding her because I can, because I want to.
Harper said she wants to get married in the fall, and now all I can see is changing leaves and her in white, laughing as she walks toward me while I wait. I let out a smooth breath as I smile. She shifts against me, and I press a kiss to the top of her head, breathing her in.
“Sleeping Beauty,” I whisper as I run my fingers through her soft hair.
There was a time I didn’t know how to rest without bracing for impact, without scanning rooms for exits. I didn’t know how to live without replaying everything I should’ve done differently. Regret haunted me like ghosts, but now they no longer exist.
Now I’m lying with the woman I love pressed against my chest, and she’s my peace. Harper will always be my purpose.
I smile at the stillness, the steadiness, and the softness I never thought I’d get. Harper shifts again, and I tighten my arm around her like a vow.
I used to think love was about standing in front of the fire for someone else. Now I know it’s about walking through it with them.
From the beginning, I thought I was saving her, but loving Harper is what saved me.
EPILOGUE
NICK
The flowers are already there when I arrive. Peonies and ranunculus this week. Last week, it was tulips. The week before that, wild roses. They’re always fresh, always delivered on Friday, and are exactly what my sister would’ve picked. I didn’t bring anything. I never do. Because I’m not the one who sends them.
Brody does.
He doesn’t know I know, but I do. I’ve known for a while now. I knew it the second I saw the arrangement that matched the ones she used to buy herself every Friday, like it was her little holiday. My sister didn’t need a reason to buy herself flowers, and she sure as hell didn’t need a man to spoil her. They were a reminder that she deserved pretty things regardless of the situation she was in, regardless of her mood. She called it self-care.
I stand at her grave, with my hands in my pockets, as the silence presses in from all sides of Sleepy Hollow Cemetery. She requested to be buried there because she loved the story so damn much. When we were kids, she used to tell me that if she ever died before me, she’d haunt me for life. Right now, I wish she would because I’d love to talk to her just one last time.
Her headstone is simple and elegant, just like her.
EDEN GRACIE BANKS
Let light stay.
She used to sign her emails with that, even her professional business ones.Let light stay.
I never understood it and thought it was soft and sentimental, but now I think maybe it was brave. It means more now that she’s gone than it ever did when she was alive.