Chapter 10 Derek #2
I cup her face, brushing my thumbs along her cheekbones.
“We’ve both lived through hell. My son’s mom died before he even knew her.
You were kidnapped, dragged across state lines, survived more than anyone ever should.
And Mike?” I shake my head, jaw tightening.
“He’s not a man. He’s a mistake that should’ve stayed buried.
He doesn’t belong on this porch. Doesn’t belong in your story.
I’ll fix his car better than new. And then I hope that hunk of junk carries him straight back to San Francisco without a stop, and out of our lives for good. ”
Her brow lifts. “Wait. Are you saying you’d tamper with his brakes?”
I huff a laugh. “Tempting. But no. That was a joke. Mostly.”
She lets out a shaky laugh, then leans in.
“This, Honeycrisp,” I say, brushing my lips to hers, “this is our beginning.”
She kisses me, slow, reverent, full of heat and hesitation and everything we’ve both been starving for. And when she laces her fingers through mine and leads us back inside, it feels like stitching two broken halves together.
While she bakes for May Day, her laughter drifts through the house.
I make a few quiet calls, heart pounding the whole time.
Then I climb to the rooftop and start stringing lights, weaving them through flower pots and railing slats.
I place a potted apple tree near the far edge, its blossoms pale pink, like stars caught in bloom.
She doesn’t talk about owning a bakery, not out loud.
But I’ve seen the way her hands pause when we pass the storefront window downtown, the way she touches the pie crust like it’s sacred.
So while she’s elbows deep in dough, I make a quick trip into town and meet with the realtor.
With the last of my cash tied up at the Motor-Inn, I swallow my pride and borrow just enough from Blake for a deposit to secure the deal.
The rest will come through once the inheritance clears from our marriage or from my winnings in the race.
If this is going to be her home, I want her to own a piece of it.
Literally. Annabelle will love her new bakery. She just doesn’t know it yet.
On the way back, I make one last stop.
Rusty Lantern Pub. I don’t linger. Just enough time to slip a bottle of laxatives into the inside pocket of my jacket. Spike Mike’s beer. And vanish before anyone sees me.
By the time I get home, the sun’s bleeding out over the orchard and dusk stretches long across the hills like the valley’s holding its breath.
I lead her upstairs, heart beating like I’m nineteen again and asking her out for the first time.
She’s barefoot, wearing a long summer dress patterned in tiny apple blossoms, the fabric catching the last of the light. When we reach the rooftop, she stops. Breath hitching.
She doesn’t speak.
Just stares.
The fairy lights twinkle around her like fireflies. The potted apple tree leans slightly in the breeze. And for a second, I see it—the dream she didn’t dare hope for.
“I thought we could plant it together,” I say, stepping beside her. “After the ceremony. Your brother and Emma have their cherry trees. We’ll have our apples. When it grows big enough, we’ll carve today’s date into the bark.”
Her hand rises to her chest. Her fingers tremble.
I move her closer to the tree, each step echoing with a quiet certainty, though my heart hammers like I’m walking a tightrope strung between past and future.
When she looks up and our eyes lock, time stills.
In hers, I see wonder, disbelief… and something deeper.
Something fierce and fragile and forever.
“You said you wanted a surprise,” I add, voice thick.
Her fingers touch her lips. She turns to me slowly. Her voice is barely more than a breath, trembling and raw. “This… this is breathtaking.”
I reach for her hand just as the rooftop door creaks open behind us?—
Emma waddles out first, smug and radiant, her fingers laced with Eric’s. Their baby rests on her hip, chubby-cheeked and apple juice–stained, blinking at the fairy lights like he’s seeing magic for the first time.
Then Misty steps out, serene and glowing, followed by Blake—carrying a small, leather-bound book like it’s made of gold.
But it’s not just them.
Ethan and Joanne appear next, arms linked.
Her mom dabs at the corner of her eye with a lace handkerchief.
Her dad looks stunned in a suit that doesn’t quite fit, caught somewhere between pride and disbelief.
My parents, Walter and Lena, step forward too.
Dad’s wearing that bolo tie he saves for Easter. Mom’s already weeping.
Caroline rounds out the crowd, stepping into the light to officiate the ceremony.
Beside me, Annabelle gasps.
I glance at her, barefoot, glowing in the fairy lights, and her summer dress embroidered with apple blossoms swaying in the breeze. Her lips part. I can feel her heart hammering against her ribs, synced with mine.
Blake grins, handing Caroline the book. “Hope you’re ready. Because you’re getting married under the stars.”
Annabelle turns to me, stunned. “You… you did this?”
“I had help.”
Emma winks, rocking the baby. “We figured you’d say yes if he didn’t screw it up.”
Annabelle’s eyes shimmer. “You’re unbelievable.”
“You’re breathtaking,” I whisper, lifting her hand to my chest. “You feel that? That’s what you do to me. Marry me. Right now. Beside that tree. Under this sky. Stay with me forever.”
She nods, a tear slipping down her cheek. “Yes,” she whispers. “Always yes.”
Caroline clears her throat, holding the little book like it’s scripture. “Ahem. If everyone’s ready…”
The ceremony begins.
And it’s quiet, and cozy. Like the valley itself is holding its breath.
We speak our vows, low and close, not for the crowd, but for each other. Blake and Misty press the rings into our palms. Emma rests her head against Eric, their baby tugging at his collar, babbling nonsense like he’s blessing the moment.
The apple tree beside us glows pink in the moonlight, a silent witness to everything we’re about to become.
Ethan and Joanne stand arm in arm, eyes glassy. My parents exchange a look that belongs to forty years of love and one unshakable truth—they finally see me whole.
And when I kiss Annabelle—my wife—it isn’t fire.
It’s gravity.
The world shifts, and something inside me finally clicks into place.
We celebrate the only way we know how. With pie, whiskey, music, and unfiltered laughter. The baby claps his sticky hands. Joanne squeezes Annabelle’s arm like she’s trying to make sure she’s real. My parents embrace me like I’m still the boy they raised and the man they now respect.
Blake claps a hand on my shoulder, his grin wry. “You happy?”
“Yeah,” I say, voice rough. “I really am.”
“You deserve it.”
“Thanks.”
He pulls me in for a one-armed hug. “Don’t screw it up, old man.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
But I’m dreaming now. I have to be. Because I never thought I’d get this. Not after everything I’ve done. Not after everything she’s endured.
And then—it’s time.
Goodnights are whispered like secrets. Misty’s tearful. Emma’s radiant. Joanne’s still dabbing her eyes. The baby waves his pudgy hand at us, like he knows something just changed forever.
And then, we’re alone.
I scoop Annabelle into my arms. Her dress flutters, brushing against my forearm. Her breath catches as I lift her like she weighs nothing.
“Where are we going?” she whispers, her lips brushing my ear.
I kiss the soft curve of her temple. “To make this official.”
She shivers against me, and my blood runs hotter than any bonfire.
I carry her upstairs, heart pounding, soul full.
My wife.
My future.
My reason for risking everything, because loving her isn’t just emotional anymore.
It’s political. Legal. Dangerous.
But it’s also the only thing that’s ever made me feel alive.
So even if Mike Bishop isn’t done yet?—
I’ll make sure this ends with me.