Page 18 of The Hang Up (Lilac Harbor #3)

EIGHTEEN

Lena

Five Years Later…

A breeze flows off the lake tonight, soft and sweet and warm enough to keep the windows open. The scent of summer clings to the air, grilled peaches from the stand by the highway, honeysuckle curling around the back porch, a hint of sawdust from Holden’s workshop out back.

And something else.

Home.

Real, full-hearted, happily ever after home.

I rest my hands on the edge of the kitchen counter, the marble cool against my palms, and watch them. My husband, barefoot in flannel pajama pants and a black T-shirt, twirling our four-year-old daughter around the kitchen in slow, looping circles.

She squeals with laughter, her wild brown curls bouncing, her tiny hands gripping Holden’s strong ones like she never wants to let go.

“Again!” she yells, head thrown back, cheeks flushed with joy.

Holden grins, his eyes catching mine over the top of her head.

“Daddy needs a break, baby bear,” he says, breathing a little heavier, but still smiling. “You’re getting big.”

“I’m four!” she announces proudly, puffing her chest out. “That’s not big!”

Holden chuckles and sets her down gently, brushing her curls off her forehead before dropping a kiss there.

“You’re perfect,” he says softly.

My heart squeezes so tightly in my chest that I have to press a hand over it because this is everything.

This kitchen, with its soft white cabinets and sunflower yellow tile backsplash we picked out together.

The squeaky floorboard in front of the fridge that Holden keeps promising to fix.

Hazel’s artwork pinned to the fridge door, some with glitter still clinging to the edges.

The sound of laughter. The love in this place is so tangible that it settles into every surface.

This life is ours, and it was worth every single second it took to get here.

Hazel races toward me, arms outstretched, her pink unicorn socks slipping on the hardwood as she slides into my legs. “Mama! Daddy’s tired.”

“Poor Daddy,” I say, scooping her up and resting her against my growing bump. “We’ll have to give him a cookie later.”

Hazel gasps. “A big one?”

“The biggest.”

She throws her arms around my neck and presses a sticky kiss to my cheek. “I love you, Mama.”

“I love you, too, bug.”

Holden walks over, brushing his hand across the small of my back as he reaches for the bottle of water on the counter.

“She wore me out.”

I grin up at him. “You’re the one who taught her how to dance like that.”

“She inherited your stubbornness.” He smirks before taking a long sip.

“She inherited your dimples,” I shoot back.

We lock eyes and laugh.

It’s always been like this between us, easy, playful, and real. But now, with five years of marriage under our belt, a little girl with his eyes and my sass, and another baby due in less than two months, it feels even deeper, like we finally made it to the good part.

Hazel wiggles in my arms. “I wanna bake!”

I smile softly. Baking with Hazel always reminds me of baking with my dad when I was a kid. I like to think he’s smiling down on us each time we do it.

“Not tonight, sweet pea. It’s bedtime.”

“Awww.” She pouts dramatically, lower lip wobbling.

Holden leans in and kisses it. “You can help Mama tomorrow at the bakery.”

She perks up. “Okay!”

We get her ready for bed together, brushing teeth and reading the same book we’ve read a thousand times. Holden does the silly voices, and I smooth Hazel’s hair while she giggles.

When our daughter is finally asleep, snuggled beneath the soft quilt Arlowe made for her, we tiptoe out of the room and close the door behind us.

Holden wraps his arms around me from behind, pressing a kiss to the curve of my neck. “She’s magic,” he murmurs. “Just like her mom.”

My heart melts. “You’re just saying that because I’m pregnant and emotional,” I tease, leaning into his warmth.

“I’m saying it because it’s true.”

We make our way back to the kitchen to clean up. We’ve made this place a home in the last few years. Holden is still a woodworker and spends half of his days in his shop out back, and the other half wherever Hazel and I are. It’s the perfect routine.

“I’ll get that,” he tells me as he pours us both a glass of lemonade.

I smile, lowering myself carefully onto the couch. My back aches, and my ankles are already starting to swell. It’s been a long day at the bakery, but a good one.

I opened my own place two years ago. The Sugar Nest. It’s tucked right in the heart of downtown, two blocks from Clay & Cupcakes.

Auden and Arlowe helped me design the front window display.

Holden built the counter and shelving by hand.

It smells like vanilla and sweet dreams the second you walk in, and most days, I feel like I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

I still help at Clay & Cupcakes, but I also love having a place that we built, that’s just ours. Holden calls it my baking empire, and I love the sound of that.

Business is good.

Life is even better.

“Are you okay?” Holden asks, crouching in front of me and setting the lemonade on the coffee table. His hand rests gently on my knee, his eyes searching mine.

I nod, brushing a stray curl from my face. “Just tired.”

“Let’s go sit on the porch.”

I smile and let him help me up. He grabs a throw blanket and wraps it around my shoulders before we step outside. The night air is cool but not cold. The stars twinkle, and the lake is serene under the moonlight.

Our two rocking chairs sit side by side at the edge of the porch. The same ones he carved all those years ago.

He helps me into mine, and sinks into his, our fingers finding tangling in the space between.

We rock in comfortable silence for a few minutes, listening to the crickets and the soft rustle of the trees.

“I still can’t believe you kept that ring,” I say quietly, watching it glint on my finger in the moonlight. The wood is smooth and warm against my skin. I still wear it, even now, alongside the diamond band he insisted on buying when his business took off.

“I knew it would matter someday.”

I look over at my husband, and the sight of him, broad shoulders, scruffy jaw, those eyes that still make my knees weak, makes my throat tighten.

“You were right,” I whisper. “Some things are worth the wait.”

Holden’s eyes soften. “You’re the best thing that ever happened to me, Lena.”

Tears prick the corners of my eyes. “Even after I yelled at you in the town square?”

He grins. “Especially then.”

We both laugh, and I lean over, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Our hands rest together over my bump, feeling the small kicks and flutters beneath.

“Think it’s a boy or girl?” he asks softly.

“I don’t know,” I murmur. “But I already love them.”

He brushes his thumb across the back of my hand. “They’re going to have the best mom.”

I close my eyes and soak in the moment. The porch, the lake, the stars, the warmth of the man who’s loved me through every broken piece of my life.

I think back to the girl I was all those years ago. The one who thought she had to carry everything. The one who thought love wasn’t safe, or possible, or hers to claim.

I’m not that girl anymore. I’m stronger now. I’m softer, too.

And I’ve never been happier.

“Holden?” I whisper.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love our life.”

His smile is slow and sure. “Me, too.”

And as he pulls me closer beneath the blanket, the lake stretching quiet and endless before us, I know without a doubt that this love, this family, this life we built together...

It was always meant to be.

And it was absolutely worth the wait.