Chapter 12
Sienna
Five Years Later…
The paintbrushes are sticky, the glitter is everywhere , and I just discovered dried peanut butter on the back of my shirt, thanks to a mirror and a suspiciously guilty-looking three-year-old.
In other words, it's a typical Tuesday afternoon in the Lightfield household.
“Finn, sweetie, you cannot paint the dog,” I call without turning around. “She doesn’t want to be pink.”
“I asked her first,” he grumbles, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the studio with a tub of bubblegum-colored paint and our very patient golden retriever, Marigold, beside him. A small streak of pink adorns her fluffy tail, and the look she gives me is somewhere betweenresignationand“send help.”
Wren is curled in my lap with her favorite paintbrush (yes, the pink one) clutched in one hand and her thumb in her mouth. She’s fighting a nap and losing the battle fast. Her dark curls are damp with sweat, and her cheeks are flushed. She’s our little firecracker—opinionated and wild—but she’s still my squishy, snuggly baby girl when she slows down.
“Ten more minutes, and then it’s clean up,” I say gently, smoothing her hair back. “We’ve got dinner with Uncle Camden and Aunt Lymric tonight, remember?”
“Do we have to?” Finn groans from the floor. “Uncle Camden always makes me try weird cheese.”
“Last time, it was goat cheese,” I remind him, biting back a smile.
“He said it came from a goat’s butt, ” Finn says dramatically.
“Did not,” a low voice rumbles from the doorway.
I look up to see Kye leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching the chaos unfold with that soft, smitten smile he reserves for the kids and me.
He’s got a bit of sawdust in his hair and a pencil tucked behind his ear, and he looks unfairly hot for someone who spent the last three hours wrestling a reclaimed farmhouse door into place.
“Hey,” I say, my heart doing that flutter it always does when I see him, even now. “How’d it go?”
“Door’s in. Sanded, stained, sealed. I even managed not to throw it across the yard when the hinges fought back.” He crosses the room and leans down to kiss the top of Wren’s head, then mine. “You?”
“We survived glitter-mageddon.”
“Brave woman.”
He holds out his hand. I slide Wren into his arms—she’s already snoring—and he cradles her like she weighs nothing. That image never gets old: this massive, broody man who once preferred solitude carrying his tiny daughter like she’s his whole world. Because she is. They both are.
“She’s out,” he says quietly, kissing her forehead.
“Think she’ll nap long enough for us to sneak a minute alone?” I ask, arching a brow.
Kye smirks. “I like how you think.”
“Gross,” Finn mutters, still painting the flower chair with determined concentration.
“Also,” Kye says as he gently sets Wren on the old daybed we keep in the corner of the workshop for moments like this, “guess who got another custom order request?”
I perk up. “Who?”
“The Bed & Bark Inn.”
My jaw drops. “The fancy dog hotel with the spa?”
“Yep. They want three elevated pet beds, a matching food station, and possibly a boutique shelving unit to display their ‘luxury canine products.’”
Finn perks up. “Can I come with you when you drop it off? I want to meet the bulldog from their commercials!”
Kye ruffles his hair. “Deal. But only if you promise not to tell the owner she looks like her dog again.”
“That was one time, ” Finn says defensively.
I laugh, standing and stretching my legs. “That’s amazing. They found us online?”
Kye nods, quiet pride in his eyes. “Through the website. The photos you took of the cherrywood dresser got a ton of traction.”
We started Sunlight & Timber small—just the two of us working out of the garage and studio space behind the cabin. But now? We’ve got a small storefront in downtown Wolf Valley, a growing waitlist of clients, and enough projects to keep us busy full-time. And the best part? We’re doing it together.
I walk over to the window, looking out over the valley below. The view never gets old—miles of trees, endless sky, and the wraparound porch where we eat popsicles with the kids in summer and cuddle under blankets in the winter. This house, this life… it’s everything I ever wanted. Everything I didn’t think I’d find.
Kye comes up behind me, sliding his arms around my waist and pressing a kiss to the curve of my neck.
“You thinking about something?” he murmurs.
“Just… everything,” I whisper. “How far we’ve come.”
He holds me tighter. “You built this with me, Sunshine. Every bit of it.”
I tilt my head back to look up at him. “Remember when you made up an entire business to keep me around?”
He grins. “Best impulsive lie I ever told.”
“Well, it worked,” I say, turning in his arms to face him fully. “I’m pretty attached.”
He leans down to kiss me, slow and lingering. I melt into it. I always do.
Behind us, Finn yells, “Ew! Again?”
We laugh and break apart as Wren stirs on the couch with a sleepy little whimper. Kye checks on her while I set a timer on my phone for clean-up.
Life is messy and loud and chaotic around here. There’s always paint on the floor, fingerprints on the windows, and at least one glitter-covered pet.
But it’s also full of love. Of laughter. Of late-night kisses and morning cuddles. We’ve built something real—in the studio and our lives.
I never had a crush before Kye.
Now?
Now I have a forever.
And every day, even five years in, I still can’t believe I get to be his.
Later that night, the house is finally quiet.
Wren is asleep in bed, her unicorn nightlight casting a soft pink glow over her room. Finn passed out in the blanket fort we built in the living room, surrounded by stuffed animals and cookie crumbs. And Kye… Kye’s already in our bedroom, the door cracked, warm lamplight spilling into the hall like an invitation.
I close the dishwasher with a soft click and pad barefoot across the hardwood floors, the hem of my sleep shirt brushing my thighs.
It’s one of Kye’s shirts, faded and worn soft from years of use. The logo on the front is nearly unreadable, but I don’t wear it for the design—I wear it because it still smells faintly like sawdust, cedarwood, and him.
When I step into our bedroom, I pause.
Kye is sitting at the edge of the bed, shirtless, flannel pajama pants slung low on his hips, hands braced on his knees like he’s been waiting for me. His gaze sweeps over me slowly—possessive, reverent, hungry. It still makes me shiver.
“You always this quiet when you’re up to something?” he murmurs, voice low and rough.
I lean against the doorframe. “Maybe I am up to something.”
That earns me a slow grin—the one that starts in one corner of his mouth and spreads like a spark catching fire. He stands and crosses to me in three long strides, stopping inches away.
“You’re wearing my shirt,” he says like he’s just realized. His hand brushes the hem, fingertips trailing lightly along my bare thigh. “You know what that does to me?”
“I was counting on it,” I whisper.
He groans softly, cupping the back of my neck and pulling me in for a kiss—slow, deep, claiming . I melt into it, my hands sliding up his chest and over hard planes and warm skin. Every muscle in his body tenses under my touch like he’s holding himself back.
“God, Sienna,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead to mine. “Five years, and I still lose my mind every time you walk in the room.”
“Good,” I whisper. “Because I still get butterflies every time you look at me like that.”
He lifts me suddenly, and I wrap my legs around his waist instinctively, breath catching as he carries me to the bed like I weigh nothing. He lays me down gently, bracing his weight on his forearms as he settles over me.
I arch into him, tugging the shirt over my head and tossing it aside.
His breath catches. “You’re not wearing anything underneath.”
I smile up at him, shameless. “Told you I was up to something.”
“Fuck,” he mutters, kissing down my neck and across my collarbones. His hands are everywhere—familiar and thrilling, tracing every curve, relearning every inch of me like it’s the first time.
The heat between us builds slow and steady, like always—no rush, no need. We’ve got time. We’ve got each other.
When he finally sinks into me, it’s with a reverence that makes me ache. He moves slowly at first, like he’s savoring it. I cling to him, lost in the way he fills me completely—in every sense of the word.
“I love you,” he murmurs against my throat.
“I love you,” I whisper back, breathless. “Always.”
We move together in a rhythm we’ve built over the years—sweet and sensual but still laced with a hunger that never fades. He grips my hips tighter. My nails dig into his back. He kisses me again—messy, deep, desperate —and I gasp into his mouth as pleasure curls low in my belly, building fast.
“I’ve got you,” he breathes, forehead pressed to mine. “Let go, Sunshine.”
And I do.
I fall apart in his arms, every nerve singing, my heart so full it feels like it might burst. He follows soon after, groaning my name like a promise, a prayer.
When we finally collapse into the pillows, tangled, sweaty, and breathless, he pulls me close, arm wrapped tightly around my waist.
I rest my head on his chest, heart still racing, and smile against his skin. “Remind me to wear your shirts more often.”
Kye chuckles, voice rumbling under my cheek. “You wear nothing under them one more time, and I’ll never let you leave the house again.”
“Might be worth it.”
Even now, five years in, I still can’t believe this is my life.
Because it’s everything I ever dreamed of.
And more.
We fall asleep like that—wrapped up in each other, the house quiet, the air still scented with love and sawdust. And maybe a little glitter.