I tenderly kiss her. “Good to know. And would you be okay if I refer to you as my girlfriend?”
She settles her hand on my face, her palm brushing against my beard. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And then we’re kissing again—because I’ve waited long enough for Kate to come back into my life.
Her guests can wait a little longer to see her again.
Epilogue
Kate
Eight Months Later
“Where are we going?”I ask Noah as he leads me toward the small barn on the ranch, where he performs his car-restoration magic.
“You’ll see soon enough.”
He completed the Mustang last fall. It’s gorgeous. And fun to drive around town in. I haven’t seen the Thunderbird. He’s still working on it, and I’m not even allowed a sneak peek until it’s finished.
I expect us to keep walking along the path that leads to the river. It’s where we hang out when the weather is warm. But instead of heading down the fork in the path toward the river, Noah walks me to the closed barn doors.
“Are you ready?” he asks.
“Ready for what?”
“This.” He slides open the door, revealing the Thunderbird. Unlike the last time I saw it, the car is no longer rusty and sad looking. Now it’s freshly painted, shiny, proud.
“Wow, it’s gorgeous.” I enter the barn and look inside at the car. The last time I saw the interior, it was dirty white and in need of repairs and new parts. It’s still white, only now the upholstery is free of holes, bright and clean. It actually resembles the color it’s supposed to be.
The car’s exterior was originally Neptune green (a.k.a. mint green), but we both agreed that wasn’t very manly. It’s now red.
I’m positive Charlotte and John would approve.
Noah nods at the Thunderbird. “You ready for a test drive?”
“As if you have to ask.” I open the passenger side and lower myself onto the seat. The car even smells new.
Noah climbs into the driver’s side and turns over the engine. The sound isn’t as smooth as his truck or my car. He didn’t upgrade the engine to a modern-day equivalent—although he did soup it up a bit. He wanted to keep things as authentic as possible.
He carefully pulls out of the barn and slowly drives along the wide gravel path leading to the driveway. Once we’re on the road, he presses his foot on the accelerator.
And I’m grinning like crazy.
A year ago, when I first saw the car rusting in Charlotte’s yard, I never expected to one day be riding in it. But back then, I never expected to make Copper Creek my permanent home either.
Noah steers us down a road that eventually leads to a steady incline. Surprisingly, the car doesn’t complain.
At the top of the hill, he pulls into a gravel parking lot that I recognize. It’s the beginning of a hiking route we’ve used several dozen times. The view is amazing from up here. The trees below and in the area are now in full bloom. The river curves through the valley, still high from the melting snow in the mountains.
The sun is low in the sky. In another half an hour or so it will be sunset.
Noah climbs out of the car and opens my door. He then leads me to the front of the vehicle and we lean against the hood, looking out at the valley in front of us.
“I’ll never grow tired of the view here,” I say.
“Me either. I loved Seattle, but it’s nothing like Copper Creek.”
I laugh. “Including the winter.” I won’t lie. Winters in Montana aren’t my favorite part about living here, especially when it comes to my leg. Winters in Beverly Hills are so much better.
