Epilogue Ivy
Elk Ridge, six months later...
The autumn air carries the scent of Declan's braised short ribs across the lodge's wraparound porch. He's been perfecting the recipe for months, the meat so tender it falls off the bone, swimming in a rich wine sauce that even the pickiest food critics rave about. Golden hour bathes everything in warm light, making the changing leaves look like they're on fire. It's the kind of evening that reminds me why I never want to live anywhere but here.