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“Well…”

I turn to hold Lachlan’s gaze for a moment more, silently seeking confirmation once again that this is okay, that he’sokaywith sharing absolutely everything.

“The story isn’t just mine, love,” he tells me gently. “It’s ours.”

I flash him a grin, my love for him seeming older than the short amount of time I’ve had the joy of feeling it. It feels like home to me. It feels likeforever.

I turn back to my granny, meeting her eyes that are so like mine with renewed determination as I slide the journal her way. “Well…” I start again, “We havequitethe story for you.”

And not for the first time, I feel that overwhelming sense of calm touch my heart, like the caress of a gentle hand, like the whisper of a voice from long ago, longer than I can imagine—telling me that everything will be just fine.

Because Lachlan is absolutely right. It’s not just a story.

It’sours.

Epilogue

Four Years Later

Lachlan

“Now, now,” I say, holding back her chubby little fist when she reaches for the colored glass. “Don’t be touching it yet. It’s drying, see?”

“Pwetty cuwers,” she answers in her adorable wee voice.

“Aye, it’s very pretty, love,” I agree, bending to grab her by the waist so I can hoist her against my side. “But also very,veryauld.”

“Owed,” she parrots, looking serious. “No touch.”

I beam at her, reaching to tap my finger against the tip of her pert nose, which is covered in freckles. I ruffle my hand over her wild red curls, the giggle she lets out the sweetest sound in the world. Sometimes I can’t help but stare at her, this little life with her mother’s curls and my blue eyes and a fiery spirit that might be from the devil himself—so full of gratitude to have her after so many years of thinking it wasn’t in the cards for me.

“Dada?”

I shake my head, clearing away my drifting thoughts as I give her a grin. “Sorry, princess,” I tell her. “You’re just so bonnie, I can’t help but look at you for a spell sometimes.”

She giggles again, letting her face fall against my shoulder as her little arms wind around my neck. I close my eyes to breathe in the soft scent of her shampoo, feeling the fluttering of her heart against mine and wondering how I got so lucky.

“There you are,” the exasperated voice of my wife calls. “What are you doing? People will be showing up soon.”

“I was showing this wee tottie her new room,” I answer, pointing to the window that just went in yesterday. “I think she’s given it the seal of approval.”

“She’d better, since it practically took an act of God to get it out in one piece.” Key laughs, leaning in to nuzzle her nose against our daughter’s. “It will be nice for her to look at in her new big-girl bed.”

“Your mother is a stubborn thing,” I tell my wee one. “That’s where you get it from.”

“Mummy,” she calls, reaching out her chubby little arms.

“Come here, gorgeous,” Key coos, taking her from me. “Are you ready for cake?”

She claps her hands, her face lighting up. “Cake!”

“Well, she knowsthatword perfectly,” I chuckle.

“Because she’s a genius,” Key says sweetly. “She gets it from me.”

“Oh, does she now?”

“Obviously.” She presses a kiss to one round cheek. “Someone is two years old today,” she says. “Do you know who?”