Page 24 of Pumpkin Spice & Orc Cinnamon Roll

DROGATH

I ’ve closed multimillion-credit deals with colder hands than I have right now.

Not that I’m nervous, mind you—no. That would imply fear, and I don’t scare easy.

What I am is… keyed up. Like the low hum of a storm right before the first strike.

My hands are steady, my breath even, but my heart's thudding like it’s trying to pound down the damn door of my ribs, and I can’t for the life of me decide if that’s romantic or just wildly inconvenient.

The ring box in my pocket is empty. Intentionally.

Because Tessa doesn’t need a diamond. Hell, she’d probably make a face if I gave her one—say something like This looks like it costs the same as a greenhouse and gives me fewer herbs. Which is why I didn’t go near a jeweler.

Instead, I’ve got roots. Literally.

In a small satchel slung across my back, I’m carrying a young maple sapling—its roots wrapped in damp moss, its leaves still golden-orange from the early harvest. I picked it from the glade myself two weeks ago, the moment the plan started forming like a slow burn in my chest.

This proposal won’t be flashy. It won’t be scripted. But it will be hers.

The path is lined. I made sure of that. Took a day off from meetings, bribed the twins with candied chestnuts and a gallon of cider to help me string golden leaves from the orchard trees all the way into the grove.

I carved the lanterns myself—rough-hewn, sure, but the flame inside each one flickers warm and soft through little heart-and-leaf cutouts.

The whole thing glows like the forest itself is leaning in to watch.

And now I wait, just past the bend, kneeling on one leg in a blanket of leaves that crunch and whisper every time I shift my weight. Which, unfortunately, is often.

I hear her before I see her.

That unmistakable laugh—half sunshine, half mischief—floating toward me on the breeze.

It’s followed by light footsteps and the unmistakable sound of Tara whispering, Shut up, he said to give her space, not hover like a woodland stalker.

Which means at least two things: one, she absolutely followed Tessa here, and two, she absolutely does not care that I asked her not to.

Tessa rounds the bend a moment later, eyes wide, mouth parted in that little oh she makes when something takes her by surprise.

Her curls are tied back with a ribbon I’ve seen before—the same one she wore the first time we kissed for real, the kind of detail that shouldn’t undo a man but somehow absolutely does.

She sees the leaves first, then the lanterns, and then—finally—me.

Kneeling.

Holding the sapling.

Not a ring. Not a speech. Just this young, spindly tree with its roots wrapped up and ready for planting.

Her steps slow, then stop altogether as she takes it all in. Her hand covers her mouth, and for a second, I panic that maybe this was too much. Too weird. Too me.

But then she lets out a soft laugh that turns into something suspiciously like a sob, and she starts walking again—fast.

“Don’t cry yet,” I mutter as she gets close, my voice lower than I mean for it to be. “I practiced this in the mirror and everything.”

“Oh my gods, you did not, ” she breathes, eyes already glassy.

“Don’t worry, I looked terrifying,” I assure her, and that earns me a laugh that steadies my pulse just enough to speak.

I hold out the sapling.

“I don’t have a diamond,” I begin, voice rough, steady, mine . “Because you don’t need something cold and glittering that sits on a shelf. You need something that grows with you. Something that digs in. That stays.”

She kneels too—right in front of me—hands curled around mine, fingers brushing the moss at the base of the sapling.

“I made you promises once before,” I say, softer now. “And I broke them.”

She doesn’t flinch.

“So I’m not gonna promise you riches. Or perfect days. Or that I’ll never screw up again—because I will. I’m still me.”

She lets out a watery, “You’re impossible.”

“But I will promise this,” I continue. “I will never leave again. Wherever you are—this town, this glade, that shop—you’re it. You’re the place I put down roots.”

Tessa sucks in a sharp breath like she’s about to speak—maybe something teasing or clever—but instead she just lets out a tiny, wrecked sound and tackles me.

Literally tackles me.

One second she’s kneeling, and the next she’s got her arms wrapped tight around my neck and she’s knocking me flat into the leaf bed with a force that nearly jars the sapling out of my hands. The forest erupts in a whirl of golden leaves and stunned silence.

From the bushes, “ YESSSS! ”

Tara’s voice cuts through the trees like a horn blast, followed by an extremely undignified shriek of laughter and the sound of someone tripping over a branch.

“You said you weren’t gonna spy, ” Tessa calls, not lifting her head from my chest.

“You said you weren’t gonna tackle, ” Tara calls back. “We all lie sometimes!”

I groan and bury my face in Tessa’s shoulder. “She’s going to retell this story forever. ”

“You know she’s drawing sketches already,” Tessa mumbles against my coat.

From farther off, Bramley’s voice pipes up, gruff as ever. “Wasn’t crying. Just got sawdust in my eyes from those damn lanterns.”

“No one believes you!” Tara yells back.

Tessa lifts her head at last and looks down at me, cheeks flushed, eyes shining, curls wild from where they’ve escaped her ribbon. “You asked,” she whispers, voice shaking. “You really asked.”

“Figured you were getting tired of waiting on me.”

She leans down, presses her forehead to mine, breath warm and steady now. “I was never waiting, Drogath. I was hoping. ”

I let the sapling roll to the side, just for a second, so I can wrap both arms around her and kiss her like this ridiculous, heartfelt, absurd moment deserves. Like we deserve.

When we finally pull apart, we’re both breathless, surrounded by golden leaves and the faint smell of cedar smoke drifting through the trees.

Someone starts clapping. I think it’s Bramley.

Someone else is definitely crying now. Might be Maude from the co-op.

Or Tara. Or hell, even me a little. I won’t admit it.

Tessa brushes hair back from her face and looks down at the sapling between us, nestled gently in the leaves.

“So,” she says, wiping her nose on my sleeve without asking. “Where do we plant this thing?”

I grin, sharp and crooked. “Wherever you damn well want. It’s your forest now too.”

She grins back. “Then I want it here. So we can come back next fall and see how it’s grown.”

I nod once. “Then here it is.”

And as we dig together, our fingers coated in rich earth, laughter still ringing around us, I think—no, I know —this is the only kind of legacy I ever needed.

Her.

And the roots we’re building. One season at a time.