Epilogue
George
Three Months Later
The garage is supposed to be my space. My sanctuary. A place where I can get my hands dirty and my head clear without anyone hovering.
But the second I step inside, I see him.
Beckett is under my truck, legs sprawled, his broad back flexing as he works on something I didn’t ask him to fix. There’s a smudge of grease on his forearm, a wrench in his grip, and a cocky I own this place energy radiating off him like heat off asphalt.
I cross my arms and lean against the doorframe. “You know, I can fix my own truck.”
He grins without looking up, completely unbothered. “Yeah, but then what excuse would I have to hang out here and admire you?”
I roll my eyes, but my stomach does that annoying little flip it does every damn time he opens his mouth and ruins my best scowl.
The air smells like motor oil, metal, and him—sweat, cedar, something earthy that clings to my skin long after he’s gone.
I touch the small weight in my back pocket, excitement bubbling in my stomach.
Three months. Three months of arms wrapped around me in sleep, of peeling back every scar—his and mine—and realizing we weren’t broken. Just rough-cut and finally shaped into something solid together.
Still, I can’t shake the feeling that this is too good to be real. That the universe doesn’t let people like me have something this steady. This permanent.
But then I look at him, this ex-SEAL who somehow became my home, and I know I’d be an idiot to waste another second wondering if I deserve this.
So I drop to one knee.
Beckett chokes.
I watch his brain short-circuit in real time as he scrambles out from under the truck, blinking like he’s taken enemy fire.
“George,” he says, voice tight. “What the hell are you doing?”
I smirk. “You were gonna ask. I just beat you to it.”
His jaw tightens, and his hands fly to his lean hips. “Stand up.”
“Not until you answer me.”
His nostrils flare. “George.”
I sigh dramatically, pull the ring from my back pocket, and hold it up between us. “Beckett Lawson, will you?—”
Before I can finish, he’s digging into his jeans… and pulls out a ring.
My mouth drops open. “You?—”
“Was gonna ask you tonight.” He lifts a brow. “Got a whole speech in my truck. Kinda sweet, actually. You’d have cried.”
Silence.
We both burst out laughing.
Because, of course, we’d do this ass-backward.
I shake my head, still grinning as I finally stand.
Beckett cups my face, tilting it up to his. His hands are rough from wrenching bolts loose, but they’re as steady as hell, like him. “Guess we’re sharing everything now, huh?”
“Guess so,” I murmur against his lips before he kisses me breathless.
A loud crunch disturbs our moment.
We both turn to see Cheese Puff chewing Beckett’s ring box.
He groans. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I laugh, really laugh. Because somehow, this is my life now: a grumpy ex-mercenary, a garage, a ring, and a goat with expensive taste.
And me?
I have a wedding to plan.
If the town stays standing long enough for me to walk down the damn aisle.
Lucky me.
Thank you for reading!