Epilogue
Sawyer
three months later
I’ve run into burning buildings without hesitation.
I’ve cut through doors with a chainsaw while the roof threatened to collapse.
I’ve carried strangers out of smoke thick enough to blind a man.
None of it compares to standing on the rooftop of Devil’s Peak Fire & Rescue in a dress shirt that suddenly feels too tight, waiting for the woman who changed my life to arrive on a fire engine.
The guys insisted.
“Full spectacle,” Axel said.
“She’s marrying a firefighter,” Ash added. “We’re doing it right.”
So here I am. Rooftop deck strung with white lights. Mountain range stretching behind us like a painted backdrop. Folding chairs lined up in uneven rows. Half the town gathered with lemonade and phones ready.
And me.
Thirty-seven years old.
Hands steady in a crisis.
Not steady now.
Ash nudges me with his elbow. “You look like you’re about to respond to a five-alarm.”
“I am,” I mutter.
He grins. “Relax. She already said yes.”
“Shut up.”
Below us, someone revs an engine.
The crowd shifts.
Music cuts.
Then the siren wails once — not emergency, just for show.
Every head turns toward the ladder truck rolling slowly into the parking lot below.
And there she is.
Standing on the back step like she owns the world.
White dress catching the late afternoon sun. Hair loose, wind tugging it free around her shoulders. Lacee standing beside her in a pale blue dress, grinning like she planned this entire production.
And at Tessa’s feet?
A Dalmatian.
The new puppy Sparks. Axel’s idea, apparently.
“Tradition,” he’d said.
The truck stops. The ladder lowers partway — not dramatic, just enough to make a point. The crowd laughs.
Tessa lifts her skirt slightly and climbs down carefully, Sparks hopping beside her, tail wagging like he understands the assignment.
My lungs forget how to function.
“She’s going to make you cry,” Ash whispers.
“I don’t cry.”
He snorts. “You absolutely do.”
She looks up.
Finds me.
And smiles.
It isn’t shy. It isn’t hesitant. It’s sure.
Six weeks ago, she stood on this same rooftop at a benefit and said yes to forever.
Tonight she’s walking toward me like she’s known all along.
Lacee takes her hand, guiding her toward the stairs that lead to the roof.
The small crowd starts clapping rhythmically.
Axel leans in. “You good?”
“No,” I say honestly.
He grins. “Perfect.”
The rooftop door opens.
First Lacee appears in a flowing soft pink dress, glowing and proud.
Then Tessa steps out.
Everything else fades.
She doesn’t look delicate. She looks powerful. Like she chose this. Like she chose me.
The wind lifts her veil slightly. The mountains behind her glow gold in the late sun. Sparks trots ahead, then circles back like he’s escorting royalty.
She walks down the aisle slowly. Every step lands in my chest.
When she reaches me, she doesn’t look at the officiant.
She looks at me.
“You clean up well,” she murmurs.
My mouth curves. “You’re late.”
She arches an eyebrow. “I arrived on a fire engine.”
“Fair.”
Her eyes soften just a little. “You okay?”
“I am now.”
Her fingers slide into mine.
The officiant clears his throat. The ceremony begins. Words about partnership. About choosing each other daily. About building something not in place of the past — but alongside it.
I don’t drift.
I don’t brace.
I stay.
When it’s my turn to speak, I don’t look at the crowd.
I look at her.
“I thought loving again meant losing something,” I say, voice carrying in the open air. “I thought it meant letting go of what I had.”
Her eyes shine but don’t waver.
“You didn’t replace anything,” I continue. “You expanded it. You walked into a house that still carried smoke and you didn’t try to air it out. You just lit a candle and stayed.”
Her fingers tighten around mine.
“You didn’t ask me to forget,” I say quietly. “You asked me to live.”
A breeze lifts her hair across her cheek. I brush it back gently.
“I don’t promise you easy,” I say. “I promise you real. I promise you steady. I promise that when it gets hard, I won’t retreat. I won’t hide behind duty. I won’t give you half of me.”
She swallows.
“I choose you,” I finish. “Fully.”
Her breath shakes slightly when she begins her vows.
“You tried to protect me from yourself,” she says softly. “You thought wanting me made you reckless.”
A few quiet laughs ripple through the crowd.
“You’ve never been reckless,” she continues.
“You’ve been afraid. And you still chose me anyway.
” She steps closer, voice lowering. “You didn’t need saving,” she says.
“You needed someone to stand beside you while you rebuilt.” Her hand lifts to my chest. “I’m not here to erase your past,” she whispers. “I’m here to build your future.”
I inhale slowly.
When the officiant declares us husband and wife, the rooftop explodes with cheers.
I don’t hesitate.
I pull her to me.
The kiss isn’t frantic.
It isn’t desperate.
It’s deep.
Claiming.
Her hands slide into my hair, fingers curling like she’s anchoring herself. My hand settles at her lower back, holding her steady against the wind and the world.
The crew whistles.
Someone yells, “Get a room!”
I break the kiss slowly, resting my forehead against hers.
“You’re stuck with me,” I murmur.
She smiles against my mouth. “That’s the plan.”
The reception spills into laughter and music. Tables set up along the rooftop edge. Lights flicker on as the sun dips lower.
Sparks makes his rounds like he’s part of the guest list.
Lacee pulls Tessa toward the cake table.
“She insisted on heart-shaped tiers,” Lacee tells me proudly.
“Of course she did,” I say.
Tessa overhears and shoots me a look. “You’re lucky I didn’t make it firefighter-themed.”
“I would’ve loved that.”
She laughs.
God, I love that sound.
Later, when the music shifts slower and the crowd thins into clusters of conversation, I find her near the railing overlooking Devil’s Peak.
Her veil is gone. Hair loose. Shoes abandoned somewhere near the DJ table.
She looks peaceful.
“You hiding from your own party?” I ask.
She glances at me. “Just breathing.”
I step behind her, sliding my hands around her waist.
“You regret the fire engine?” I murmur against her ear.
“Not even a little.”
“Dalmatian?”
“Absolutely necessary.”
I smile, pressing a slow kiss to her temple.
“You nervous?” she asks quietly.
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“I’ve faced worse.”
She turns in my arms, resting her palms against my chest.
“You don’t get to deflect tonight.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“You feel something,” she says.
I study her face in the dimming light.
“Yeah,” I admit.
“What?”
“Peace.”
Her expression softens.
“That scares you?” she asks gently.
“It used to.”
“And now?”
“Now it feels earned.”
She traces a line down the front of my shirt with her fingertip.
“You still think about her?” she asks carefully.
“Yes.”
She nods once. “And?”
“And it doesn’t hurt the way it used to.”
“You don’t have to bury anything to stand with me,” I whisper.
“I’m not burying anything,” I say firmly. “I’m finally building again.”
Her eyes flash at that. “You’re very certain tonight.”
“I am.”
Her breath catches slightly when I draw her closer.
“You’re my wife,” I say quietly.
She exhales slowly, like the word hits deep.
“Say it again.”
“My wife.”
Her mouth curves.
“I like how that sounds.”
“I love how it feels.”
The music shifts again behind us — something slow and overly romantic. Axel must have bribed the DJ.
“Dance with me,” she says.
I take her hand and lead her back toward the center.
The crew makes exaggerated space.
“Careful,” Ash calls. “He’s sentimental now.”
“Shut up,” I say without looking at him.
Tessa laughs softly as I pull her against me.
“You’re smiling,” she whispers.
“Don’t ruin it.”
She leans closer, lips brushing my jaw. “You’re not half-alive anymore.”
“No,” I agree.
My hands settle at her waist.
“You didn’t erase anything,” I murmur. “You gave it context.”
She tilts her head slightly.
“And you didn’t hide,” she says. “You chose.”
The wind lifts around us again. Mountain air. Laughter. Found family wrapped tight and loud and unapologetic.
I rest my forehead against hers.
“You’re my home,” I tell her.
Her breath trembles slightly.
“You’re mine,” she replies.
No hesitation.
No shadow.
Just us.
And for the first time in years, I don’t feel like a man bracing for impact.
I feel like a man standing steady in the light.
Chosen.
By her.
By fire.
And by love that doesn’t burn out — it burns strong.