Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Nolan
S pring mornings in Elk Ridge paint the mountains in watercolor shades of green and gold. Today, those colors stream through the Coffee Loft's windows, catching on the wooden sign I've spent weeks carving. The words "Wishes Made Real" curve around a mountain laurel design, each petal and leaf detailed with care.
I pause in the doorway, taking in the scene before me. Old Joe holds court at his usual table, teaching three tourists about where to find the best fishing spots. Sara's morning delivery has left the pastry case gleaming with possibility. And there's Kathryn, moving through it all like she was born for this. She’s greeting regulars by name, adjusting Marie's fresh flowers, making everyone feel like they belong.
She's also wearing my flannel again (I've stopped pretending I'll ever get it back), sleeves rolled up as she shows a young couple the Wishing Wall. Her hands move animatedly as she explains the tradition, and I catch myself smiling at her enthusiasm. Some things never change.
Other things change completely.
Six months ago, I wouldn't have believed you if you'd told me I'd be here, holding a sign I carved for the woman who turned my world upside down. Six months ago, I was too busy building walls to notice someone worth letting in.
"You're doing that staring thing again." Aunt Evie appears beside me, a knowing smile on her face. "Though I suppose you've earned it."
"Just admiring our success."
"Mmm." She eyes the sign. "And creating more excuses to visit? As if you need them."
"It's a business partnership."
"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"
Before I can respond, Kathryn spots us. Her whole face lights up—the way it always does, the way that still makes my heart skip—and she weaves through the morning crowd to reach us.
"Is that my sign?" She reaches for it, then stops. "Our sign?"
"Your sign." I hand it to her carefully. "Though I retain artistic privileges for any future woodworking needs."
"Making yourself indispensable?" Her fingers trace the carved laurel petals.
"Just ensuring my supply of free coffee."
"As if you pay anyway." But she's smiling that soft smile that's just for me.
Aunt Evie clears her throat. "Well, I can see when three's a crowd. Though..." She glances meaningfully at the ring box burning a hole in my jacket pocket. "Sometimes crowds have their uses."
She disappears into the morning bustle, leaving me wondering—not for the first time—how she always knows everything.
"She's plotting something," Kathryn says, still admiring the sign.
"When isn't she?"
"True." She looks up at me. "But she did get one thing right."
"Oh?"
"Bringing us together." She steps closer, coffee and vanilla and home. "Even if we were too stubborn to see it at first."
"I saw it." I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was just..."
"Difficult?"
"Cautious."
"Stubborn."
"Strategic."
She laughs, the sound mixing with coffee grinders and morning chatter and everything that makes this place special. "Well, whatever you want to call it, I'm glad you got over it."
"Me too." The ring box feels heavier by the second. "Though I was thinking..."
"Always dangerous."
"Maybe we could make it official."
She raises an eyebrow. "The partnership? Pretty sure Aunt Evie already handled the paperwork."
"Not exactly what I had in mind."
Understanding dawns in her eyes as I reach for my pocket. "Nolan..."
"I had this whole speech planned." The box feels warm in my palm. "About wishes and coffee shops and how you turned my whole world upside down in the best possible way."
"Had?"
"Have." I take her hand. "But looking at you here, in our coffee shop, wearing my shirt and that smile that makes me forget how to breathe... I just want to ask. Simply. Honestly."
The morning light paints her in gold as I sink to one knee, and suddenly the whole shop goes quiet.
"Kathryn Taylor, will you?—"
"Yes." Her eyes shine with tears and laughter. "Yes, you ridiculous man. Even without the speech."
"I didn't actually ask yet."
"Then hurry up." She tugs me to my feet. "Some wishes shouldn't wait."
The ring slides perfectly onto her finger, and the shop erupts in cheers. Old Joe wipes his eyes. Sara appears with champagne from somewhere. Aunt Evie looks suspiciously unsurprised.
But all I see is Kathryn, radiant and real and mine.
The lodge dining room glows with celebration. Aunt Evie has outdone herself, filling every surface with flowers from Marie's shop and setting out her best china. The scent of Declan’s pot roast—the same one he made the night Kathryn first joined us for dinner—fills the air with memory and promise.
"To the happy couple!" Connor raises his glass, grinning. "And to Nolan finally getting over himself."
"To Kathryn," Jameson adds, "for being stubborn enough to wait him out."
Kathryn laughs beside me, the sound mixing with the warmth of family and firelight. She's traded my stolen flannel for a soft sweater the color of mountain laurel blooms, but she still looks like she belongs here. Like she's always belonged here.
"If we're done roasting the groom-to-be," Aunt Evie stands, her own glass raised, "I'd like to say something."
The room quiets, respect for our matriarch evident even in celebration.
"When Kathryn first arrived at our lodge," my aunt begins, "I knew she was special. Not because of her business plans or her corporate credentials, but because she saw the magic in this place. In our community." Her eyes grow misty. "And in my stubborn nephew, who needed someone to remind him that some things are worth the risk."
"Aunt Evie..." I start, but she holds up her hand.
"Let me finish, dear. Your mother would be so proud of the man you've become, of the love you've found. She always said the best things in life come when we're brave enough to open our hearts." She turns to Kathryn. "Welcome to the family, sweetheart. Though if I'm honest, you've been part of it since that first dinner."
Kathryn squeezes my hand under the table, and I feel her engagement ring press against my palm.
The evening unfolds in waves of laughter and stories. Declan brings out a cake decorated with coffee beans and mountain laurel flowers. Connor teases me about all the custom furniture I'll be making after the wedding. Through it all, Kathryn glows with happiness, fitting seamlessly into the controlled chaos of Callahan family celebration.
When the noise gets a bit much, I catch her eye and nod toward the porch. She follows without hesitation, another small proof of how well we've learned to read each other.
The mountain air carries the first hint of spring flowers. I wrap a blanket around us both as we settle into our favorite rocking chairs—the ones where we first started falling in love.
"Happy?" I ask, though her smile has already answered.
"Perfect." She leans into me, her head finding its place on my shoulder. "Though I still can't believe you managed to surprise me with the proposal. I usually see right through you."
"I can be sneaky when properly motivated."
"Mmm." She plays with my fingers. "And were you properly motivated?"
"By the thought of forever with you?" I press a kiss to her temple. "What do you think?"
Below us, Elk Ridge twinkles like earthbound stars. The Coffee Loft's lights shine steady and bright, a beacon of community and connection. Of wishes made real.
"Remember your first night here?" I ask softly.
"When you made fun of my shoes?"
"When I tried not to notice how beautiful you were." I pull her closer. "How right you felt in this place."
"And now?"
"Now I notice everything." I turn her face to mine. "How you hum while you make coffee. How your eyes light up when a wish comes true. How you've made every part of my life better just by being in it."
"Smooth talker." But her voice catches.
"Honest talker." I brush away a tear that's escaped. "And I honestly can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you."
Inside, we can hear our family laughing, the sound carrying through the open windows. The mountains stretch endless before us, painted in twilight shades of promise.
"I love you," Kathryn whispers against my lips. "Even when you're stubborn."
"Especially when I'm stubborn?"
"Especially then."
Some love stories start with coffee cups and wish cards.
Some begin with impractical shoes and mountain views.
But the best ones? They never really end at all. They just keep growing, like mountain laurel in spring, blooming more beautiful with each passing season.