Page 13

Tessa

Sawyer Holt is building our forever. Out past the old vegetable garden, where there’s a tangle of tomato vines and a suspiciously bold family of squirrels, he’s hammering away at a new addition to the cabin. A real-deal construction site with planks of fresh wood, a wheelbarrow full of nails, and the faint scent of sawdust trailing on the spring air.

When I first met him, he wouldn’t have let me step foot inside his cabin if the weather hadn’t intervened. Now? He’s giving me an office, a sunroom, and a bedroom big enough for the two of us and rooms for anyone else who might join us someday.

And I’m still in love with him in ways I don’t fully have the vocabulary for.

I step out onto the porch, coffee in hand, and watch him work. His T-shirt clings to his back, the sleeves hugging his biceps just right. His hair’s longer now, shaggier, and his beard’s a bit fuller. He catches me staring. He always does.

“You’re not even pretending to be subtle,” he calls out, not looking up from his work.

“I stopped pretending a long time ago.”

He pauses, leans back on his heels, and grins over his shoulder at me. “Want to come out here and ‘supervise’?”

I sip my coffee slowly. “Is that code for ‘sit on your lap while you pretend not to be distracted by my cleavage’?”

He wipes sweat from his brow and grins wider. “Maybe.”

God, I love him.

I walk down the steps and cross the yard barefoot, the grass cool and damp under my feet. Spring in Pine Hollow smells like rain and promise. Wildflowers dot the hills, the birds won’t shut up, and the trees are that impossible shade of green they only wear for a few golden weeks before summer heat kicks in.

He sets his hammer down just in time for me to settle into his lap on the wide wooden beam he’s been using as a makeshift bench.

“You smell like wood,” I murmur against his jaw.

“Occupational hazard.”

He wraps his arms around me, warm and strong, and presses a kiss to my temple.

“So,” I say, pulling back to look at him. “How long until my new office is ready? I have deadlines.”

He raises a brow. “Deadlines, huh?”

“Yes. Just because I write from the woods now doesn’t mean I don’t work. I’m a very serious woman with a very important column about sexy flannel-clad men and small-town gossip.”

Sawyer snorts. “You wrote one piece about me chopping wood, and it broke your website.”

“Don’t pretend you didn’t love the attention.”

“I hated the attention.”

“But you loved the reward system I created for every ten thousand views.”

He tilts his head. “Is that what we’re calling it now? A reward system?”

“You’re not denying it worked.”

He growls softly and buries his face in my neck. “You are going to be the death of me.”

“I really hope not. We just ordered those new sheets.”

He laughs, pulling me tighter. I stay curled against him a moment longer, then sigh.

“We should get ready,” I say. “The Spring Fling starts in an hour, and Annie will call the National Guard if we’re late.”

Sawyer groans. “Remind me why we’re going to this again?”

“Because we live here and because we love these people. Sadie’s threatening to dye your beard pink if you don’t support her cupcake fundraiser.”

“Sadie’s terrifying.”

“Yes, but her cupcakes are divine.”

I kiss his cheek and climb out of his lap. He watches me go with a look that makes my knees wobble a little, even after a year of early mornings, late nights, and snowed-in Sundays tangled under quilts.

By the time we’re both showered and dressed—me in a blue sundress, Sawyer in jeans and a fresh henley that I may or may not rip off later—we’re halfway to the truck when he stops me.

“Wait.”

I turn, “What?”

He steps up behind me, wraps his arms around my waist, and rests his chin on my shoulder. “You happy?”

I lean into him without hesitation. “You know I am.”

“Even out here with the quiet? The slowness?”

“Especially here.”

He exhales against my skin, his voice soft and full of something unspoken. “I still can’t believe you stayed.”

I turn in his arms. “Sawyer Holt, there was never a world where I left you behind.”

He kisses me like that truth matters more than anything.

* * *

Sawyer

Main Street is in full bloom—literally. Flower garlands hang from every lamppost. Tables are covered in gingham. Kids run wild with lemonade-sticky fingers, and someone’s playing bluegrass on a small stage near the bookstore.

It smells like popcorn and fried dough.

“Welcome to the Spring Fling, lovers!” Annie calls out as soon as she spots us, waving from behind her pie stand like she’s the unofficial mayor of Pine Hollow.

Sadie’s beside her, wearing a bright yellow sundress and a glittery cupcake apron. She flashes a peace sign in our direction. Reid is beside her, loading trays of pastries and already halfway through what looks like a second cinnamon roll.

“Hey,” Tessa grins, hugging Annie and squeezing Sadie’s arm. “Tell me the lemon cupcakes survived.”

Sadie hands her one wordlessly.

“I’m putting you in my will,” I tell her.

“You should,” Sadie says with a wink. “I keep your woman happy.”

Reid groans. “Please don’t start this again.”

Tessa laughs, leaning back against my chest. I rest a hand on her waist. Her laugh is my favorite thing in the world.

“You doing okay, Mr. Holt?” Annie asks with a smirk.

I nod, glancing at Tessa. “You could say that.”

Sadie arches a brow. “Any big news? Secret elopement? Tiny Holt on the way?”

Tessa chokes on her cupcake. “We’re just enjoying the quiet,” she manages. When her eyes flick up to mine, there’s a secret smile that tells me all of that will happen eventually.

Later, we walk through the vendor booths. Tessa makes me carry a tote full of handmade candles, wildflower honey, and a print of the mountains that she insists will go perfectly in the new office.

Someone asks Tessa if she’s going to write a follow-up story on how she tamed the town’s grumpiest bachelor.

She smiles sweetly and says, “Oh, he’s not tame, and I wouldn’t want him to be.”

I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from hauling her behind the pie tent and showing her what happens to women who say things like that in public.

When the sun begins to set, we find a bench near the square and sit with lemonade, our hands tangled on my knee.

“This is nice,” she says, watching the crowd.

“This is perfect.”

She glances at me. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

“Do you ever miss it? The quiet before me?”

I study her a moment. “No,” I say honestly. “I liked it. But I didn’t live in it.”

She leans her head on my shoulder. She didn’t just change my life. She became it. The world got louder when she arrived, but also brighter.

We sit in the warmth of a Pine Hollow evening, laughter ringing through the streets, lights strung from tree to tree like stars that decided to drop down for the night.

“I think,” she says after a long moment, “I was always meant to find you. I just didn’t know I was looking.”

I bring her hand to my lips, kiss her knuckles gently. “I was always waiting. I just didn’t know what for.”

She looks up at me, eyes soft and full of everything we’ve built.

“You’re my home, Sawyer.”

And that’s all I need to hear.