"Well, get used to it." He presses a kiss to the top of my head. "Because I've got a lifetime of romantic gestures planned for you."
A lifetime. With Ryder. The thought should terrify me, but instead, it feels right.
"Hey, you know when I said I love you last night…" I murmur, tracing patterns on his chest through the soft gown. "You know I meant it, right?"
His hand stills in my hair. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." I look up at him, letting him see the truth in my eyes. "I do love you, Ryder. I always have, even when I was trying my hardest not to."
"Good," he says simply. "Because I plan to spend the rest of my life making sure you never doubt it again."
"I think I'm ready for that," I say eventually.
"For what?"
"For this. Us." I gesture between us. "For taking the risk. For believing that sometimes good things can last."
His arm tightens around me, pulling me closer against his side. "They can. We will."
Looking out at the snow starting to fall on Iron Ridge, I feel something settle inside me. The restless uncertainty that's been my constant companion since Ryder walked back into my life has quieted, replaced by something that feels like hope.
Like love.
"Yeah," I whisper, turning to press a kiss to his shoulder. "We will."
Chapter Seventeen
Mia
Two weeks later, my shelter has been transformed into what can only be described as chaos.
Chaos with a healthy dose of masculine eye candy that I should totally not be looking at.
"No, no, NO!" I shout over the sound of power tools, waving my hands at the burly contractor who's attempting to install the new AC unit upside down. "The intake goes on the BOTTOM, Marcus!"
Marcus—six-foot-four of pure muscle wrapped in a flannel shirt that's seen better days—scratches his head and squints at the manual like it's written in ancient hieroglyphics.
"You sure about that, Miss Harper? Because this diagram here looks like—"
"I'm sure." I point firmly at the correct orientation. "Trust me, I've been studying how to install proper air conditioning for three years."
Behind me, the sound of hammering echoes from the new quarantine room, where two more contractors are framing walls that will finally give me the space I've desperately needed. The scent of sawdust mingles with the usual shelter aroma of dog shampoo and disinfectant, creating an oddly satisfying cocktail that smells like progress.
I check my clipboard—yes, I have a clipboard now—and move on to the next item while ignoring the constant barking from the kennels.
The plumbers should be finishing the new dog washing station any minute, the roofers are patching the leak over the cat room, and somewhere in this beautiful madness, an electrician is installing about a dozen new outlets that actually work.
It's like Christmas morning. Except instead of presents under a tree, I have competent professionals fixing every problem that's plagued this place for years.
"Mia!" Zoe appears at my elbow, vibrating with teenage excitement. "The new kennels arrived! They're HUGE! And shiny! And they have automatic water dispensers!"
I follow her gaze to where two delivery guys are wheeling in modular kennel units. They look like they belong in a luxury pet resort rather than my scrappy little shelter.
A crash from the direction of the supply closet interrupts my kennel appreciation moment.
"BAAAAAHHHHH!"
Right. The goat situation.
