The snow had picked up outside, tapping gently against the window. Inside, everything was quiet, warm, and ordinary in the most extraordinary way.
“I’ve got more to teach, but I’ve got more to learn too. Like how to make your tea without oversteeping it. Like which parts of Mary Oliver make you cry and which ones make you smile before you even finish the line.”
He gave a small laugh. “And how to b-bake your own bread.”
“God help us both,” I said. “But yeah. That too.”
We sat like that for a while, letting the silence speak. I thought about Montana—about the cold, the dry crackle of fire wisdom passed from one generation to the next. I thought about Forestville—mossy and tucked beneath trees, full of people who stayed and people who came back when they thought they never would. I thought about what I used to be and what I still carried, and I thought about this man beside me who had weathered his own flames and come out the other side.
“I want both.”
“B-both?”
“To teach. And to come home to you.” I tipped my head until it rested lightly against his. “A foot in each world. Just not so deep in one that I ever lose the other.”
He closed his eyes, the smallest smile forming at the corners of his mouth. “Okay,” he whispered. “That s-sounds like a good l-life.”
“It sounds like ours.”
“It d-does.”
EPILOGUE
CALLOWAY
Six Months Later
Fraser asked me to marry him on a rainy spring day in April, and I immediately said yes, then promptly burst into tears. But when those had dried, I said yes all over again.
We didn’t want a big wedding. Neither of us had the patience for unnecessary pomp or extended rituals. Neither of us liked being the center of attention. So we kept it small and quiet—quieter than most people thought we could manage in a town like Forestville, but this town had a way of protecting its own when it mattered most.
We were married at the courthouse on a June morning, with cloud cover thick enough to feel cozy instead of ominous. The air smelled like blooming honeysuckle and wet bark, and the sidewalks still glistened from the rain that had passed through earlier.
Fraser wore a button-down the color of moss, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. I wore navy, my favorite. Neither of us bothered with ties or jackets.
We didn’t exchange rings. We’d talked about it but settled on matching silver bands to wear on chains around our necks instead. Practical. Private. Ours. We’d pick them up later that week, after the jeweler in the next town over had finished engraving the inside of each withDay by Day.
Eleanor, with her perfectly coiffed silver hair and a bouquet of wildflowers from her garden, stood beside me. Officially, she was my witness. Unofficially, she was my person.
We’d debated inviting our parents, but if I invited mine, Fraser would have to invite his, including his brothers, and that would bring a tension neither of us wanted. So I’d called my mom and explained that we wanted to keep it very small. Much to my surprise, she’d understood, and they had sent a sweet gift—proof that even after all these years, people could still surprise me.
Fraser’s best man was, to everyone’s surprise, Macallister Heald—gruff and grim and dressed in what he insisted were his “formal boots.” They’d grown close over the last few months, and the fact that the town hermit had agreed to appear not only in public but even give a speech spoke volumes about his affection for Fraser.
Jamie cried through the entire ten-minute ceremony. They wore a suit jacket covered in patches and pins, half of them references I didn’t understand, and hugged me three different times afterward. “You did it,” they whispered. “You let yourself be loved again.”
It was only the fifth time I cried that day.
Brianna baked us the most amazing wedding cake with lemon frosting, and when we cut it, Fraser smushed a bit on my nose and then kissed it off. I was horrified. He was delighted. Everyone else cheered.
Martinez flew in to be there, representing Fraser’s old crew. He was still limping from his latest mishap on the line, wherehe’d broken his ankle. He told Fraser he looked stupidly happy and then offered to fight anyone who questioned the legality of our marriage. Fraser told him no one was questioning anything. Martinez flexed anyway.
We took pictures in front of the courthouse steps, the two of us standing close in the way we always did, like magnets, like gravity. My hand resting over Fraser’s heart, his arm around my waist.
Later, we had our wedding dinner at Sunshine Corner. Ennio served roasted chicken with lemon and rosemary, and the most amazing potato gratin I’d ever tasted in my life.
Macallister gave a short, dry toast after the ceremony that amounted to, “Don’t screw it up.” It still made me cry because I understood like no one else what it had cost him to stand up there and speak. When I hugged him, he awkwardly patted my back but didn’t push me away.
After dinner, we walked home. No fanfare. No limo. Just the two of us, hand in hand, beneath the stars. The pavement still held the memory of midday warmth, and somewhere nearby, someone played an acoustic guitar.
