Page 21 of Promised Cowboy
She nods. “I was.”
I step closer. “And now?”
Her eyes flicker, and she swallows. “Now I don’t know.”
Silence stretches between us, thick with everything we haven’t said.
“I meant it, Lacey,” I say, voice low. “All of it. That kiss. That night. Every word.”
She closes her eyes, just for a second. “I know.”
“I haven’t changed my mind. About you. About us. I’ve waited this long. I’d wait longer. But I have to know—” I pause, searching her face. “Are you running because it’s wrong… or because it’s real?”
Her breath hitches.
And then something shifts.
She walks toward me, slow, deliberate, until she’s close enough to press her hand flat against my chest.
“It’s real,” she whispers. “That’s what scares me.”
My heart pounds beneath her hand.
“But I don’t want to be scared anymore,” she adds. “I don’t want to keep pretending I don’t belong here. I’ve never felt more myself than I do with you.”
I let out a slow breath, relief and something close to wonder blooming behind my ribs.
“I didn’t come here to ask you to stay just for me,” I say. “I came because I believe you already know this is home. You just needed to hear someone say it out loud.”
She lifts her chin. “So say it.”
I reach for her face, brush my thumb along her cheek, and smile like I’ve already won the damn lottery.
“You’re home, Lace. You’ve always been mine.”
She leans in and kisses me.
And this time, it’s not desperate or rushed.
It’s certain.
When we pull back, she lets out a shaky laugh.
“Guess we should’ve made that promise for twenty-nine, huh?”
I grin. “I’m not waiting another year.”
“Good,” she says, stepping into me fully. “Because I’m not leaving again.”
Epilogue – Colton
It’s been four months since that night on the porch. Four months in which the days have grown longer and the weight of solitude has been replaced by a new kind of home—a home built on shared laughter, hard work, and whispers of promises made under the stars.
I step out onto the porch of our little house on Silver Creek, the early morning light turning dew drops on the grass into tiny jewels. Beside me, Lacey is already awake, her silhouette framed by the soft glow of sunrise. She’s pulling on a pair of faded jeans and a loose sweater—the same one she wore the day we decided not to leave, the day we promised ourselves this was where we belonged.
“Morning, darlin’,” she says with a playful lilt that makes my heart beat a little faster.
“Morning, my love,” I reply, wrapping an arm around her waist as we stand together. We’ve made this porch a sanctuary—a place to start every day on our own terms.