Chapter 6 Leo
six
Leo
Three days later, I'm standing in my driveway watching Emma load her car for the trip back to Vancouver, and every instinct I have is screaming at me to stop her.
She's wearing jeans and one of my flannel shirts, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looks like she belongs here, like she's always belonged here. The thought of her driving away makes my chest tight with something close to panic.
"It's only two weeks," she says, reading my expression as she closes the trunk.
"Two weeks too long." I pull her against me, breathing in her scent like I can store it up for the time apart.
"I'll call every day. Video chat every night."
"Not the same as having you here."
She pulls back to look at me, her hands framing my face. "Hey. This isn't goodbye forever. I'm coming back."
"Promise?"
"I promise." She kisses me softly. "I love you, Leo MacKenzie. Nothing and no one is going to change that."
I want to believe her. I do believe her.
But the rational part of my mind keeps whispering about all the ways she could change her mind once she's back in her real life.
Vancouver has restaurants and culture and career opportunities.
I have trees and a small town where the biggest excitement is the annual timber festival.
"What are you thinking?" she asks, clearly reading my doubts.
"Nothing."
"Liar." She pokes my chest. "Tell me."
I sigh, knowing she won't let it go. "What if you get back there and realize this was just vacation madness? What if your friends convince you that throwing away your career for some mountain man is insane?"
"Then I guess you'll have to trust that I know my own mind." Her voice is firm, but not unkind. "Do you trust me, Leo?"
"With my life."
"Then trust me with this." She kisses me again, deeper this time. "I'm coming back to you. To us. Nothing else matters."
I walk her to the driver's side, opening the door for her. "Drive safe. Call when you get there."
"I will." She pauses, one foot in the car. "Leo? Start looking at ring designs."
The casual comment hits me like a lightning bolt. "Emma—"
"I'm serious." Her smile is radiant. "I want to marry you. So when I get back, you better be ready to propose properly."
She drives away before I can respond, leaving me standing in the driveway with my heart pounding and hope blooming in my chest.
Two weeks. I can survive two weeks.
The first night without her, I barely sleep. The cabin feels wrong—too quiet, too empty, too cold despite the fire crackling in the hearth. Her scent lingers on my pillow, and I find myself burying my face in it like some lovesick teenager.
She calls around ten, just as promised.
"Made it home safe," she says, and I can hear the exhaustion in her voice. "My apartment feels weird. Like it belongs to someone else."
"That's because you belong here," I tell her, settling back against the headboard. "With me."
"Leo..." Her voice catches. "I miss you already."
"Miss you too, sweetheart. But it's only two weeks."
"Thirteen days, actually. I'm counting."
That makes me smile. "Get some rest. You've got a lot to handle tomorrow."
"I'm giving notice first thing. My boss is going to flip."
"His loss."
Day three, she video calls me during her lunch break. She's sitting in some Vancouver café, looking polished in her lawyer clothes, but her eyes are sad.
"My colleagues think I've lost my mind," she says quietly. "They keep asking if I'm having a midlife crisis."
"At twenty-eight?"
"Apparently falling for a mountain man and abandoning my career counts." She tries to smile, but I can see the doubt creeping in.
"Hey." I wait until she looks at the screen. "You sure about this? About us?"
"Yes." No hesitation. "They don't understand, Leo. They've never felt what we have."
"Damn right."
Day five is harder. She texts that she's having dinner with friends who are "staging an intervention." I pace the cabin all evening, checking my phone every few minutes until she finally calls near midnight.
"How bad was it?"
She laughs, but it sounds tired. "They had a PowerPoint presentation about why this is a terrible idea. Complete with statistics about rebound relationships and rural isolation."
"Emma—"
"I told them about the bookstore. About you. About how for the first time in my life, I'm choosing what I want instead of what looks good on paper." Her voice strengthens. "They still think I'm crazy, but it doesn't matter. I know what I want."
Day seven, she calls crying.
"What's wrong?" I'm already grabbing my keys, ready to drive to Vancouver right now if she needs me.
"Derek showed up at my apartment." Her voice shakes. "With flowers and an engagement ring."
My blood turns to ice. "What?"
"He says he made a mistake with Miranda. That he wants me back. That we should get married and pretend none of this happened."
"And?"
"And I laughed in his face." She hiccups through her tears. "Then I told him about you. About us. He said I was throwing my life away for some rebound fling with a lumberjack."
"That bastard—"
"I told him that my 'rebound fling' makes me happier than he ever did.
That you see me, really see me, not just some convenient girlfriend who fits into your life plan.
" She takes a shaky breath. "Then I gave him back the spare key and told him if he ever showed up again, my mountain man boyfriend would use him for firewood. "
Despite my rage at Derek, I laugh. "That's my girl."
"Always," she whispers.
Day ten, she's packing. I watch through video chat as she wraps dishes and folds clothes, her entire life fitting into boxes.
"Having second thoughts?" I ask when she pauses, holding a photo of her and her Vancouver friends.
"No." She sets the photo in a box marked 'keep.' "Just realizing how little of this stuff actually matters to me. Most of it was about maintaining an image. The right apartment, the right clothes, the right life." She looks at the camera. "None of it was really mine."
"And Silver Ridge?"
"Feels more like home than this place ever did."
Day twelve, she ships her boxes. Day thirteen, she cleans the apartment and drops off her keys. Day fourteen morning, she texts: "Loading the car. See you in six hours."
I spend those hours like a caged animal—showering twice, changing shirts three times, checking the ring box hidden in my sock drawer a dozen times.
The jewelry store in town had limited options, but the moment I saw this one—a simple solitaire with smaller stones that reminded me of stars around the mountain—I knew it was hers.
Finally, finally, I hear her car coming up the drive.
She's barely out of the vehicle before I'm there, pulling her into my arms, kissing her like my life depends on it. She melts against me, her hands fisting in my flannel.
"Missed you," I growl against her mouth.
"Never again," she says. "Never leaving you again."
"Good. Because I bought something while you were gone."
Her eyes widen. "Leo..."
I drop to one knee right there in the driveway, pulling out the ring box.
"Emma Hartley, you crashed into my life two and a half weeks ago and turned everything upside down.
You make me laugh, you make me crazy, you make me believe in forever.
I know it's fast, I know it's insane, but I also know I want to wake up next to you every morning for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?"
She's crying and laughing at the same time. "You actually looked at ring designs."
"Woman, answer the damn question."
"Yes!" She launches herself at me, nearly knocking me over. "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!"
I slide the ring onto her finger—perfect fit, because of course it is. Everything about us has been perfect fit from the start.
"When?" she asks, admiring how the diamond catches the mountain sunlight.
"Tomorrow if you want. Or we can wait, have a proper wedding—"
"Spring," she decides. "A spring wedding in Silver Ridge, with wildflowers and mountains and everyone we love watching us promise forever."
"Spring it is." I kiss her again, long and deep. "Welcome home, future Mrs. MacKenzie."
"Best scam ever," she murmurs against my lips.
I laugh, lifting her up and spinning her around. "Damn right it was."