Epilogue
EVERETT
ONE YEAR LATER
The Mountain Bloom Festival is in full swing when I find her.
Rowan's standing at the wildflower booth, talking to Mrs. Patterson about native plant restoration. She's wearing a sundress I've never seen before, her hair loose around her shoulders. Her hiking boots are scuffed now, broken in from a year of weekend treks through my timber stands.
Our timber stands. She corrects me every time I say it wrong.
"There he is." Mama appears at my elbow, a basket of her famous blueberry muffins hooked over one arm. "You gonna stand there staring all day or you gonna do something about it?"
"Working up to it."
"Work faster. I want grandchildren before I'm too old to spoil them."
I shoot her a look. She grins, unrepentant, and wanders off to harass some other poor soul.
The ring box is burning a hole in my pocket.
I've been carrying it for three weeks, waiting for the right moment.
There were a dozen opportunities. Coffee on the porch at sunrise.
The overlook where I first showed her the valley.
The exact spot in the timber stand where I pressed her against a tree and changed both our lives.
But none of them felt right. None of them captured what she means to me.
Rowan spots me and waves. Her smile lights up her whole face. That smile still knocks the breath out of me, even after a year of waking up to it every morning.
"Hey, stranger." She links her arm through mine when I reach her. "Mrs. Patterson was just telling me about the invasive species problem on the south ridge."
"Was she."
"I told her I'd take a look next week. Maybe we can work it into the management plan."
"We."
She raises an eyebrow. "You got a problem with that?"
"No, ma'am."
The truth is, I don't have a problem with anything anymore.
Rowan transferred to the Reno office eight months ago.
She drives forty-five minutes each way, three days a week.
The other two days she works from the cabin, her laptop set up at my kitchen table, surrounded by the same paperwork that used to terrify me.
The county renewed Cole Timber's operating license last month. Ten-year certification, the longest they offer. Rowan wasn't involved in the decision, obviously. But she helped me organize the records so thoroughly that the review board didn't have a single question.
We make a good team. In the woods. In the office. In bed.
Especially in bed.
I pull her away from the booth, away from the crowd, toward the gazebo at the edge of the festival grounds. The gazebo I renovated with lumber from my own land. The gazebo where my parents got married forty years ago.
"Ev." She laughs as I tug her up the steps. "What are you doing?"
"Something I should've done months ago."
I turn to face her. The late afternoon sun catches the gold in her hazel eyes. She's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen, and I still can't believe she chose me.
"Rowan Cafferty." I pull the ring box from my pocket. Her breath catches. "A year ago, you showed up at my operation with a clipboard and a bad attitude."
"I did not have a bad attitude."
"You called me a problem to be solved."
"You were a problem."
"Still am." I open the box. The diamond catches the light. "But I'm hoping you'll agree to solve me permanently."
Her hand flies to her mouth. Tears well in her eyes.
"I know it's fast," I say. "I know we've only been together a year. But I've known since that first night on my porch that I was gonna love you for the rest of my life. I just needed time to convince you I was worth keeping."
"Ev—"
"You don't have to answer right now. I can wait. I'm good at waiting. Did it for thirty-five years before you showed up."
"Everett Cole." She grabs my face with both hands, the same way I grabbed hers the first time I kissed her. "Shut up and put the ring on my finger."
I do. It fits perfectly. Mama helped with the sizing.
"Yes," Rowan says. "In case that wasn't clear. Yes, I'll marry you. Yes, I'll keep solving your problems. Yes, I'll spend the rest of my life arguing with you about sustainable forestry and beetle infestations and whether your father's record-keeping was actually that bad."
"It was that bad."
"It was terrible." She's laughing and crying at the same time. "But I love you anyway."
I kiss her. Long and deep, right there in the gazebo, in front of God and the festival and anyone who cares to watch. When I finally pull back, she's flushed and breathless.
"I love you too," I say. "In case that wasn't clear."
"It was pretty clear."
"Good." I rest my forehead against hers. "Now let's go tell my mother before she bursts from spying on us behind the muffin booth."
Rowan glances over my shoulder and laughs. Mama's not even pretending to hide. She's standing fifty feet away with her phone raised, probably filming the whole thing.
"She's gonna want to plan the wedding," Rowan says.
"Probably already started."
"She's gonna want it here. At the festival."
"Probably."
Rowan looks at me. At the gazebo. At the mountains rising behind the festival grounds, covered in the same trees my grandfather planted eighty years ago.
"I'm okay with that," she says quietly. "Getting married here. In front of the whole town. On your land."
"Our land."
She smiles. Squeezes my hand. "Our land."
We walk back toward the festival together. Mama meets us halfway, tears streaming down her face, arms already open for a hug. Within minutes, we're surrounded by neighbors and friends, everyone wanting to see the ring and offer congratulations.
Hank claps me on the shoulder. "About damn time."
"Shut up."
"Told you she was a keeper. First day she showed up, I told you."
"You told me she was trouble."
"Same thing."
Mrs. Patterson insists on seeing the ring three times. The mayor wants to know if we'll hold the reception at the community center. Someone shoves a beer in my hand and a plate of festival food in Rowan's, and suddenly we're seated at a picnic table surrounded by half the town.
I look at Rowan across the table. She's deep in conversation with Mama about venues and guest lists and whether we want a spring or fall wedding. Her cheeks are flushed. Her eyes are bright. The ring sparkles on her finger every time she gestures.
A year ago, I thought she was here to destroy everything I'd built.
Turns out she was here to build something better.
"Hey." I reach across the table for her hand. She takes it without pausing her conversation, her fingers lacing through mine like they belong there.
They do belong there.
She belongs here. With me. On this land. In this life.
The sun sets over the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and gold. The festival music kicks up. Somewhere nearby, kids are laughing, chasing each other through the wildflower displays.
Mama catches my eye and winks. I roll my eyes back, but I'm smiling.
Next year, there'll be a wedding at this festival. Maybe the year after that, a baby announcement. Grandchildren for Mama to spoil. A fourth generation of Coles to inherit the land.
But that's the future. Right now, I've got a warm beer, a plate of festival food, and the woman I love sitting across from me.
It's enough.
It's everything.