When she finally breaks the kiss, her forehead rests against mine, her voice soft. “Five years, and you still look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you can’t believe I’m real.”
I smile. “Maybe I still can’t.”
She laughs quietly, wrapping her arms around my neck. “You’re stuck with me, Hawthorne.”
“Best decision I ever made.”
We kiss again, slower this time, the fire crackling behind us and the world shrinking down to this — her breath, her touch, the sound of her quiet laugh when I lift her onto the counter and she whispers my name.
The rest can wait. Tomorrow, I’ll sand another table, she’ll handle more orders, and life will keep rolling along, steady and good.
But tonight, it’s just us.
The man who built walls to keep the world out, and the woman who walked right through them.
The love we made from quiet mornings and sawdust and stubborn hearts.
The home we built with our own hands.
Maeve pulls back just enough to meet my eyes, a soft smile curving her lips. “You happy?”
“More than I ever thought I’d be.”
“Good,” she whispers. “Because so am I.”
