EPILOGUE
Clark
Spring in the mountains was my favorite time of year.
The snow melted, the meadows turned green, and wildflowers exploded across the valley in riots of color. The air smelled like pine and new growth, and the whole world felt like it was waking up after a long sleep.
I stood in my workshop—our workshop now, really, since Mav had claimed one corner for his photography equipment—putting the finishing touches on a rocking chair I'd been building. It was almost five-thirty and I'd told Mav I'd come get him at five.
He'd been out in the back meadow since two o'clock, photographing wildflowers. I'd checked on him around four and he'd waved me off, completely absorbed in getting the perfect shot with the mountains in the background.
That was Mav—once he got in the zone, the whole world disappeared.
I set down my tools and headed out to collect him. I found him exactly where I'd left him, crouched low with his camera, the late afternoon sun turning his hair gold. He was muttering to himself, adjusting settings, completely oblivious to everything around him.
God, I loved him.
Four months. It had been a little over four months since he'd broken down in a snowstorm on my property. Four months since I'd let him stay "just for the night" and then couldn't imagine asking him to leave. Four months since I'd fallen completely, irrevocably in love with him.
And what a four months it had been.
Watching him build his photography business had been incredible. He'd gone from terrified and doubting himself to confident and booked solid through June. He had a website, business cards, and a growing portfolio. He'd done weddings, family portraits, and local business marketing.
The town had embraced him completely. People requested him specifically now. "Get that young photographer," I'd overheard Marion telling someone. "Clark Gibson's boy. He's wonderful."
Clark Gibson's boy.
Yeah. He was.
"Getting the shot?" I called out.
He jumped slightly, then turned and grinned at me. My chest ached with how beautiful he was—happy and healthy and so completely different from the lost, restless man who'd shown up in December.
"Almost. The light's perfect right now." He lifted the camera and pointed it at me. "Don't move."
"Mav."
"What? You're photogenic. It's not my fault." He was grinning, snapping photos, and I shook my head but let him.
"How much longer are you going to be out here?"
"Maybe another twenty minutes? Why?"
"Because dinner's in an hour and you still need to shower." I crossed to him, settled my hand on his lower back. "And you've been out here since two."
He glanced at his watch and his eyes went wide. "Oh. I didn't realize."
"I know you didn't." That was the thing with Mav—when he was working, everything else ceased to exist. Including basic things like eating and drinking water and keeping track of time. "That's why I came to get you."
"I'm fine, I just—"
"Baby." I let my voice drop into that tone. "When did you eat lunch?"
He bit his lip, and I already knew the answer.
"I had breakfast."
"That was eight hours ago."
"I know, but I got caught up in editing and then the light was so good I had to come out here and—"
"And you forgot to take care of yourself again." I wasn't mad. This was just Mav. Brilliant and passionate and terrible at remembering his own needs. "Come on. Let's get you fed."
He let me take his hand and lead him back toward the house, and I felt that familiar surge of contentment. This was my life now. Taking care of this man. Making sure he ate and slept and didn't work himself into the ground. And I loved every minute of it.
***
Over dinner—chicken and vegetables that I'd started before going to get him—Mav told me about his day.
"I think I got some really good shots. The wildflowers are perfect right now, and with the mountains in the background..." He was gesturing with his fork, animated and excited. "I'm thinking I could do a series. Maybe sell prints at the summer festival."
"That's a great idea."
"You think people would buy them?"
"Absolutely. Your work is beautiful, Mav. People would be lucky to have it."
He blushed, like he still wasn't used to compliments. "I also got an email today. Someone wants me to photograph the summer festival. Like, officially. For the town."
"That's huge."
"I know. That's why I'm nervous." He put down his fork and looked at me. "What if I can't handle it? What if—"
"Hey." I reached across the table and took his hand. "You can handle it. You've been handling everything so far."
"With your help."
"With my help," I agreed. "But you're the one doing the work. You're the one with the talent. I'm just here to make sure you don't forget to eat."
He laughed, and the sound filled the kitchen. "Is that all you're here for?"
"Well." I squeezed his hand. "I have other uses too."
"Oh yeah? Like what?"
"Come here and I'll show you."
He was out of his chair and in my lap in seconds, and I pulled him close, kissed him slow and thorough. He melted against me, and I felt him relax in a way he only did when we were alone like this.
"I love you," I murmured against his mouth.
"I love you too."
***
After dinner, we ended up on the porch steps with coffee. The evening was warm enough that we didn't need jackets, and Bear was sprawled at our feet, snoring contentedly.
"I've been thinking about something," Mav said, curled against my side.
"What's that?"
"I want to get a dog."
I looked down at him, surprised. "A dog?"
"Yeah. Bear could use a friend. And I've always wanted a dog but I was never in one place long enough." He glanced up at me, a little nervous. "But now I could have a dog."
"What kind of dog?" I asked.
"I don't know. A rescue, probably. Something from the shelter that needs a home." He traced patterns on my chest through my flannel. "What do you think?"
I thought about Mav four months ago—restless, rootless, convinced he couldn't stay anywhere. And now here he was, talking about getting a dog. About putting down roots. About building a permanent life.
"I think that's a great idea," I said. "We can go to the shelter this weekend. See who needs us."
"Really?"
"Really. A dog, a business, a home—you're building a whole life here, aren't you?"
"We're building a life here," he corrected, and something in my chest settled even more. "Together."
"Together," I agreed, and kissed the top of his head.
***
Later that night, in bed, Mav was restless.
"What's wrong?" I asked, running my hand down his spine.
"My parents are coming to visit in a few weeks."
Ah. That explained it.
"How do you feel about that?"
"Nervous. Terrified. Excited?" He turned to face me in the dark. "I want them to see this. To see us. To understand that I'm not running anymore. But what if they don't approve? Of the town, or the business, or... us?"
"Then that's their problem, not ours." I cupped his face. "I'm not going anywhere, Mav. And neither are you. Whatever they think doesn't change that."
"I know. I just want them to be happy for me."
"They will be. How could they not?" I pulled him closer. "Look at you—you're thriving."
"Because of you."
"Because of us," I corrected. "We're a team, baby. Don't forget that."
He was quiet for a moment, then: "Will you help me? When they're here? I don't think I can do it alone."
"Of course. We'll show them around, introduce them to people, let them see your work. Let them see that you've built something real." I kissed his forehead. "And if they can't see how incredible you are, then they're not paying attention."
He laughed, the sound muffled against my chest. "Thank you."
"Always."
***
Saturday morning, we drove to the animal shelter in the next town over. Mav had been nervous and excited all week, looking at photos of available dogs online, making lists of supplies we'd need if we added another dog to the mix.
It took him exactly ten minutes to fall in love.
A gangly six-month-old mutt—part lab, part something else, all energy and chaos—climbed into his lap the moment we sat down in the meet-and-greet room. She licked his face, wagging her whole body, and Mav looked up at me with those bright hazel eyes.
"This one," he said. "Can we get this one?"
I watched him with the puppy—his face lit up, laughing as she tried to climb his chest—and felt something warm settle in my chest.
"Yeah, baby. We can get this one."
We named her Scout and she immediately made our peaceful life joyfully chaotic. She chewed everything, chased Bear until the old dog retreated to the porch in defeat, and had approximately zero impulse control.
Mav loved her completely.
"She ate my camera strap," he said one afternoon, holding up the mangled remains.
I looked up from where I was trying to coax Scout out from under the couch. "I told you to put your stuff up high."
"I did! She jumped!"
"She's very determined."
"She's a menace." But he was grinning, and when Scout finally emerged with what looked like one of my work gloves in her mouth, Mav crouched down and she bounded over, tail wagging so hard her whole body wiggled.
"You're terrible at discipline," I observed.
"I'm great at discipline. Watch this." He pointed at Scout. "Sit."
She sat immediately, looking up at him with adoring eyes.
"See? She listens to me."
"She listens when she wants treats."
"It counts." He gave Scout a treat and she bounded off. "Admit it—you love her too."
"I never said I didn't love her. I just said she's a disaster."
"A lovable disaster."
"The most lovable." I pulled him into my arms. "Just like her person."
"Hey!"
"What? You're lovable. And sometimes disastrous."
"I am not disastrous."
"You forgot to eat lunch again yesterday."
"That's not disastrous, that's just—" He stopped. "Okay, fine. Maybe a little disastrous."
I swatted his ass lightly. "Come on. Let's make lunch before you forget again."
***