Epilogue
SOPHIA
Two Years Later
The morning light filters through the bedroom window, bathing our cabin in the soft golden glow that first made me fall in love with this mountain. I stretch, savoring the momentary stillness before the day begins in earnest. The space beside me is empty, but still warm. Wyatt hasn't been up long.
Today marks two years since I first arrived in Grizzly Ridge, clipboard in hand and certainty in my heart that I knew exactly what needed fixing. Two years since I met the stubborn, principled man who would become my husband.
I smile at the gold band on my finger, still new enough to catch my attention when it catches the light. Six months married, and the novelty hasn't worn off. I doubt it ever will.
A delicious aroma wafts up the stairs—Wyatt's famous sourdough pancakes. Special occasion breakfast. He remembers even the small anniversaries, marking them with quiet gestures that mean more than grand displays ever could.
Slipping from bed, I pull on one of his flannels over my sleep shorts and pad downstairs.
The sight that greets me in the kitchen steals my breath, as it often does.
Wyatt at the stove, his broad back to me, humming softly as he flips pancakes.
He's wearing only jeans, his hair still rumpled from sleep, feet bare against the wooden floor we refinished together last summer.
"Morning, wife," he says without turning, somehow always sensing my presence.
"Morning, husband." I wrap my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek against the warmth of his back. "Smells amazing."
He turns in my embrace, spatula still in hand, and drops a kiss on my forehead. "Happy anniversary. Two years since you stormed into my office and turned my life upside down."
"I did not storm," I protest with a laugh. "I waited very patiently for three hours while you deliberately kept me waiting."
"Best decision I ever made." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his touch as gentle now as it was the first time. "Gave you time to fall in love with my office chair."
"And then with you," I add, rising on tiptoes to kiss him properly.
When we part, his eyes are dark with a heat that still sends shivers through me. "Breakfast first," he says, voice rough. "You'll need your strength for later."
"Promise?" I grin, stealing a piece of bacon from the plate on the counter.
"Always."
We eat at the kitchen island, trading sections of the local newspaper, a comfortable routine we've settled into. The front page features an article about Brennan Logging's innovative sustainable harvesting tracking system, now being adopted by companies across three states.
"Mike called last night while you were in the shower," Wyatt says, refilling my coffee mug. "The Forest Service has officially approved our expansion into the eastern sector. Said our environmental impact assessment was the most thorough they've seen."
Pride swells in my chest. "That's the third approval this year. The sustainable certification is really opening doors."
"All thanks to your modernization plan." He reaches for my hand across the island, squeezing gently. "I'd probably still be fighting digital tracking if you hadn't shown me a better way."
Two years, and sometimes I still can't believe the transformation—not just in Brennan Logging, but in the man himself.
The company has grown by thirty percent, adding jobs while actually reducing their environmental footprint.
And Wyatt has embraced change without sacrificing the core values that make him who he is.
"We should celebrate," I suggest, thinking of the news I've been waiting to share. "Maybe dinner at Maggie's tonight?"
He studies my face, that perceptive gaze seeing more than I sometimes intend to reveal. "What's that look about? You're plotting something."
"Maybe." I take a deliberate bite of pancake, making him wait.
"Sophia Brennan," he says, using the full name that still gives me butterflies, "what are you up to?"
I set down my fork, suddenly nervous despite having planned this moment for days. "I have an anniversary present for you. Well, two actually."
Reaching into the pocket of his flannel that I'm wearing, I pull out a small envelope and slide it across the counter. "This first."
He opens it carefully, brow furrowing as he pulls out the official letter inside. His eyes scan the text, then widen, snapping up to meet mine.
"The state forestry commission?" His voice holds disbelief mixed with pride. "You got the consulting contract?"
I nod, unable to contain my smile. "Signed yesterday. They want our model for sustainable digital integration implemented across all state-managed forests. It's a three-year contract, all work I can do from here. No travel required."
He's around the island in an instant, lifting me into his arms and spinning me in a circle that makes me laugh. "I'm so proud of you," he murmurs against my hair. "So damn proud."
When he sets me down, I stay in the circle of his arms, gathering courage for the second announcement. "There's more."
"More than revolutionizing state forest management?" he teases. "What could possibly top that?"
Instead of answering, I take his hand and guide it to my stomach, holding it there with both of mine. His expression changes slowly as understanding dawns, wonder replacing confusion.
"Sophia?" His voice cracks on my name, a question and a prayer all at once.
"I'm pregnant," I confirm, tears blurring my vision. "About eight weeks. I took the test three days ago, had it confirmed at the clinic in Carson yesterday before my meeting with the commission."
He drops to his knees before me, pressing his forehead against my still-flat stomach, arms wrapping around my hips. When he looks up, there are tears in his eyes too.
"A baby," he whispers, awe in every syllable. "Our baby."
I run my fingers through his hair, heart so full it might burst. "Are you happy?"
He stands, cradling my face in his hands like I'm made of precious glass. "Happy doesn't begin to cover it. I didn't think it was possible to love you more than I already do, but somehow..."
He kisses me then, a kiss that says everything words can't express—joy, gratitude, love so deep it transcends ordinary experience.
When we break apart, both breathless, he rests his forehead against mine. "I thought I had everything I needed before you came into my life. I was wrong."
"Good thing I'm stubborn," I tease, blinking back tears.
"Good thing I finally had the sense to listen." His thumb brushes away a tear that escapes despite my efforts. "Any other life-changing announcements I should know about? Might as well get them all out at once."
I laugh, the joy too big to contain. "No, I think pregnancy and a career-defining contract are enough for one anniversary."
"Fair enough." He kisses me again, softer this time. "Though I did have plans for how we'd spend this morning, and they might need some adjusting now."
"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow. "Why's that?"
His expression shifts to something that still makes my knees weak after all this time. "Because now I need to worship every inch of my brilliant, beautiful, pregnant wife very, very slowly."
"I have no objections to this plan," I murmur as he lifts me into his arms.
"Good." He carries me toward the stairs. "Because I intend to take my time."
Later, tangled in sheets with afternoon light now streaming through the windows, I trace lazy patterns on Wyatt's chest as he plays with my hair. Contentment settles over us like a warm blanket.
"What are you thinking?" he asks, voice drowsy with satisfaction.
"About how differently things could have turned out." I prop myself up on one elbow to see his face better. "If you'd stayed stubborn about modernization. If I'd left after my consultation was complete. If we'd let fear keep us apart."
"Never stood a chance," he says with absolute certainty. "The moment you walked into my office, all fierce determination and city sophistication, something in me knew."
"Knew what?"
"That you were the change I needed most." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture now so familiar it feels like home. "Not the technology or the systems, though those have made the company stronger. You. Your perspective. Your heart."
My throat tightens with emotion. "You changed me too, you know. Taught me that efficiency isn't everything. That some traditions are worth preserving. That roots can be a strength, not a limitation."
His hand drifts to my stomach, palm warm against the place where our child grows. "And now we get to pass those lessons on."
"Do you hope for a boy or a girl?" I ask, covering his hand with mine.
"Healthy," he answers without hesitation. "And stubborn, like both parents."
I laugh, imagining a miniature version of Wyatt with my determination. "Poor kid won't stand a chance."
"Luckiest kid in the world," he corrects me. "To grow up on this mountain, with these trees, learning both tradition and innovation."
The image fills me with such hope it almost hurts. Our child running through forests we've helped protect, understanding both the wisdom of the past and the promise of the future.
"I love you," I whisper, the words as true now as the first time I said them two years ago. "Mountain man."
He smiles, that rare full smile that transforms his face and still makes my heart skip. "I love you too, city girl. Always will."
As he pulls me close again, I think about the journey that brought us here—from adversaries to lovers to partners to family. About how what started as a professional conflict became the love that would define my life.
And I know, with bone-deep certainty, that some changes aren't just good.
They're everything.