Chapter 10
TEN
Ledger
Five Years Later…
Wolf Valley looks different in winter. Quieter. Softer. Snow sits on the rooftops and settles in the pines like powdered sugar. Smoke curls from chimneys. The world moves a little slower.
But some things? They haven’t changed.
Kids are still laughing in the yard behind Koa and Lula’s house. Lula still insists everyone eat second helpings. Koa still grills in a t-shirt in thirty-degree weather because he refuses to admit he’s cold.
And Daisy? She still hums when she’s happy.
I can hear it drifting from the kitchen now. Soft. Absent-minded. Content.
It’s been five years since that night at our tiny kitchen table when we talked about the future and came up with a plan.
We kept our word.
I’m still in the Navy, and I have a few more years left until the day I can sign my last stack of paperwork and walk out with honor, career complete, head clear, future open.
And through all of it, Daisy stayed. We weather the distance, the goodbyes, the homecomings, the countdown clocks until we can see each other again or until we have to leave. We’re growing through all of it. Separately and together. Stubbornly and gently.
Now?
Now I’m home.
For the next month anyway.
Everything feels right. It’s like a puzzle piece falling into place. That’s always how things have felt between Daisy and me.
A sudden laugh bursts in the living room, high-pitched and bright. I smile before I even turn.
A small pair of feet thunder across the hardwood.
“Uncle Ledger!”
A dark-haired whirlwind barrels into me, giggling, arms wrapping around my leg. Leo, one of the twins. I scoop him up easily, tossing him into the air enough to make him shriek-laugh before settling him on my hip.
Koa’s boys think gravity is a mild suggestion.
Koa steps in behind him and shakes his head. “You’re making me look bad. Again.”
“You came that way,” I reply.
He snorts.
We meet eyes, sharing that same unspoken thread that’s always there: brotherhood, history, home.
“It’s good to have you back here,” he says as he claps my shoulder.
“Feels good,” I admit as Leo scampers off to play with his brother.
He smiles. “Lula says Daisy’s glowing.”
My gaze drifts toward the kitchen automatically.
She is.
Her hair is a little longer now, still dark, still curling, still escaping hair ties like it’s morally opposed to being tamed. Faint laugh lines decorate the corners of her eyes. Her curves are still the softest, most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.
She’s talking to Lula while stirring a pot of soup, waving the spoon for emphasis. Lula laughs, swats at it, then leans into her side like a sister. A smear of flour streaks Daisy’s cheek, and I smile at my little ball of chaos.
She’s still sunshine, just… steadier now. Grounded. Loved.
“I’m going to check on my girl,” Koa says, and I nod distractedly.
When she notices me watching, her mouth softens into that smile I’ll never stop wanting to earn.
She crosses the room like she belongs in my orbit, because she does, and rises onto her toes. I bend automatically, kissing her slowly.
“Hi,” she murmurs.
“Hi.”
Her hand slides into mine. It still fits.
“Everything okay?” she asks.
“Perfect,” I say honestly.
We finally finished renovating her Grandma’s house last year. Rebuilt the porch, replaced the roof, and fenced the garden so Bean can play king of the backyard. Daisy expanded the salon, hired another stylist, and still renames the plants.
And me? I’m balancing deployment orders, training, and spending time with my girl.
The back door bangs open, and Koa comes in with one of the twins on his hip and the other glued to his leg
“Dinner’s ready!” Lula calls.
The table fills quickly with our family. This is a big change from how Lula and I grew up. Back then, it was just the two of us. Now we both have spouses and kids. We have friends and a community here.
I reach over for Daisy’s hand as we all sit at the table. She studies me with that soft, knowing look that says she understands the old ghosts without me naming them.
“Happy?” she asks.
I don’t even hesitate. “When I’m with you? Always.”
Her expression melts. “Me too.”
“Dig in!” Lula orders.
I squeeze Daisy’s hand before releasing it and piling food on her plate.
We eat in chaos. The kids talk and giggle, food is spilled across half the table, and Beans keeps trying to jump into my lap to steal food.
I grin through the whole meal.
Later, when the dishes are washed, the kids are tucked into piles of blankets in the living room, and the house has settled into that warm nighttime hush, Daisy and I step outside onto the porch.
Snowflakes drift lazily in the porch light, and I smile at the sight. Daisy slips under my arm, tucking herself into my side, head resting on my chest as Bean sits at our feet like a wise, slightly greying guardian.
We stand there in comfortable silence.
I think of the scared, exhausted woman who once leaned against a front door with bills in her hands and too much weight on her shoulders.
I think of the man who only knew purpose when it was written in orders.
And then I think of now. Of roots, of laughter, of unconditional love woven quietly into every day.
“I wouldn’t change any of it,” she whispers.
“Me neither.”
She tilts her face up, and I kiss her slowly and surely. Somewhere in the dark, a wolf howls, and inside the house, a child giggles quietly, fighting sleep.
We break the kiss, and I rest my cheek against her hair, close my eyes, and let the truth settle fully in my bones: I am home, I am loved, and whatever comes next—tomorrow, next month, next year—we’ll face it together.
We’re sunshine and order. Chaos and calm.
Daisy and I, we’re forever.