“You can’t call it,” Duncan protested. “It should be the oldest?—”
“It should be whoever hasn’t been best man yet,” Colt interjected.
“Slow down,” Dylan laughed, but she was crying too, her hand finding Aidan’s like an anchor. “We just got engaged thirty seconds ago.”
“In this family, that’s thirty seconds too long to wait for wedding planning,” Sophie said, hugging her tightly. “Welcome to the O’Hara chaos, officially.”
“Wouldn’t a spring wedding be lovely,” Anne said. “The flowers are beautiful then.”
“I was thinking next week,” Dylan said, winking at Aidan. “Before the storm comes.”
“You heard the woman,” Aidan said, making his brothers laugh.
“Ten days until the restoration shop opens,” Dylan said, looking up at Aidan. “Think we can plan a wedding and launch a business at the same time?”
“We can do anything,” he said, his arm around her waist, the ring on her finger catching light with every movement. “We found a centuries-old ring in a freak snowstorm. Everything else is easy.”
But it wasn’t about easy, Dylan thought as she looked around the room at these people who’d become hers. It was about choosing the hard things—the staying, the trusting, the building something that would last longer than fear.
The storm had brought clarity, just as Anne had said. But the real clarity had come in the quiet after—in the warmth of being held, in the certainty of being chosen, in the courage to say yes to a future that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.
Victoria Pemberton chose that moment to appear in the doorway, elegant even at eight in the morning, her expression carefully composed. She took in the scene—Dylan’s tear-stained face, the ring catching light on her finger, Aidan’s protective arm around her, the family surrounding them like a living wall.
“I heard the helicopter,” she said quietly. “I wanted to make sure everyone was all right.”
“We’re perfect,” Aidan said, and the simple certainty in his voice made Victoria’s composure flicker.
Her gaze found the ring on Dylan’s finger, and something shifted in her expression—surprise, maybe, or recognition of a battle that had been lost before it was even fought.
“Congratulations,” she said, and to her credit, it sounded genuine. “It’s a beautiful ring. A beautiful story.”
“Thank you,” Dylan said, meaning it. This woman had loved Aidan once, or thought she had. That meant she had good taste, even if she’d thrown it away for ambition.
“My father’s doing better,” Victoria said, already retreating. “We’ll be heading back to New York tomorrow. If the two of you are ever looking for investors, the door is always open. You both do exceptional work.”
“Thank you,” Dylan said.
After she left, the room seemed to exhale.
“Well,” Anne said with satisfaction. “We need to start wedding planning. I accept your challenge of a week.”
As the morning dissolved into laughter and planning and the cheerful chaos of family, Dylan found herself standing at the window, looking out at Main Street where life was returning to normal after the storm. The snow sparkled in morning sun, making everything look new, transformed, possible.
Aidan came up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. “Any regrets?”
“None,” she said, turning the ring on her finger, feeling the weight of centuries, the promise of tomorrow. “You?”
“Only that it took us five years to get here.”
“We got here at exactly the right time,” she said, leaning back into his warmth. “Any sooner and I might have run.
“We could elope,” he suggested. “Drive to Vegas, get married by Elvis, send everyone postcards.”
“Your family would hunt us down. I can wait a week if you can.”
He sighed. “Pure torture. I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night holding you in my arms.”
“Funny,” she said, burrowing into his chest. “I slept like a baby. Safe and protected.”
