Chapter 43
forty-three
. . .
Rowan
Winter’s settled over the farm.
Frost clings to the barn roof, catching the early light like someone dusted the world in sugar. I stand on the back porch with a mug in my hands, steam curling around my face as I watch Bramble nose at a patch of frozen grass.
How the hell did I get here? And I don’t mean that in a regretful way. Just…marveling.
From high school hallway glances and stolen afternoons that always felt like borrowed time, to six years of silence, distance, damage—most of it my own doing. Somehow, we found our way to this.
Her sleepy humming inside the kitchen, the smell of cinnamon, this view. Us.
We’re not the same people we were. She’s stronger, sharper in a way that only comes from learning how to stand alone. And me? I’m still working on it. But with her, it’s hardly work. It’s want.
She’s not just the girl I used to love. She’s the woman I’m building a life with. The one I want mornings and fights and babies and forever with.
Frost crunches beneath my boots as I cross the yard to check on Echo. She’s already at the fence, waiting for me like she does every morning, her breath forming clouds in the cold air.
“Hey, girl,” I greet her, offering the apple I’ve been hiding in my pocket. She takes it delicately, her warm muzzle tickling my palm. “Cold enough for you?”
I run my hand along her neck, checking her blanket to make sure it’s secure. Violet fusses over this horse like she’s made of glass, and I find myself doing the same. Not because Echo needs it, but because loving what Violet loves is second nature.
The back door creaks open, and I turn to see her silhouetted against the warm light of the kitchen, bundled in one of my old flannel shirts, her hair loose around her shoulders.
“You’re going to freeze out here,” she calls, hugging herself against the chill.
“Worth it for the view,” I call back, grinning when she rolls her eyes.
“Breakfast is almost ready,” she adds, waving me back toward the house. “I made that French toast you like.”
I give Echo one last pat before jogging back to the porch, stomping my boots on the mat before stepping inside. The warmth of the kitchen envelops me immediately, the scent of maple and coffee making my stomach growl.
“You spoil me,” I say, wrapping my arms around Violet from behind as she stands at the stove.
She leans back into my chest, tilting her head up for a kiss. “Mmm, you’re freezing,” she complains, but doesn’t pull away.
“Warm me up then.” I press my lips against her neck, making her shiver for reasons that have nothing to do with the cold.
She turns in my arms, spatula in hand. “Breakfast first. Then maybe I’ll consider warming you up appropriately.”
I grin, stealing another quick kiss before releasing her. “Deal.”
She turns back to the stove, flipping something golden and fluffy in the pan like she hasn’t just completely wrecked me with a smile and a spatula.
I sink into one of the chairs at the table, taking a long sip of coffee and watching her move around the kitchen with that grace she always has.
My shirt hangs off her shoulder, legs bare except for those fuzzy socks with the cats on them.
Outrageous. I’ve seen her in lace, and somehow this is hotter.
“Stop looking at me like that,” she says without turning around.
“Can’t help it. You’re a vision.”
She huffs, but I catch the tiny smile she tries to hide as she turns and slides a plate in front of me.
“What time are we heading over to your parents’?” I ask.
“Dad said any time after ten. He wants help hauling the Christmas stuff down from the attic.”
“Right.” I nod, chewing slowly. “You think he’ll be in a decent mood?”
She snorts. “Define decent. He’ll be grumpy about the ladder, the cold, and probably the fact that you’re better at lifting things than he is now.”
“So…normal, then.”
“Exactly.”
Her dad is still a man of few words and smiles when it comes to me, even though I think he respects me in his own way. He doesn’t hate my guts. At least, I don’t think he does. That’s probably as close to approval as I’m ever gonna get.
Still, though. Today matters. It’s not that I need some ceremonial blessing to know I’m all in with Violet. I already know that. But this is her family. She’s given me everything—her time, her trust, her whole damn heart. The least I can do is look her dad in the eye and tell him how serious I am.
Violet and her mom are busy stringing the garland, working in sync as they carefully balance the glass baubles and tinsel. Their voices are light, filled with laughter, as they share inside jokes and reminisce about past Christmases.
I linger by the doorway, my hands in my pockets.
It’s like I’m watching something that’s too intimate for me to fully understand.
I really am grateful for it, though. This is exactly what I want with Violet.
What I’ve wanted since I first laid eyes on her all those years ago. To be part of something real and whole.
But first, there’s one more thing I need to do.
I glance over to Violet’s dad, sitting at the dining table. Taking a deep breath, I cross the room and pull out the chair across from him.
“Mr. Larkin,” I say, keeping my voice low enough that Violet and her mom can’t hear over their chatter. “Got a minute?”
He looks up. “Suppose I do.”
I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how dry my mouth is. “I wanted to talk to you about Violet.”
His eyes, the same shade of green as hers, fix on me with that penetrating stare that always makes me feel like I’m seventeen again.
“What about her?” he asks, voice neutral but gaze vigilant.
I lean forward, clasping my hands on the table. “I know I haven’t always been what you wanted for her.”
He doesn’t deny it, just waits for me to continue.
“But I love her. More than I’ve ever loved anything in my life. And I’m asking for your blessing to marry her.”
The words hang in the air between us. He doesn’t react immediately, just studies me with an inscrutable expression, fingers tapping slowly on the tabletop.
“You hurt her before, when she was barely a young woman,” he says, voice low but sharp. “Badly.”
I nod, surprised that he even knows, but accepting the hit. His ire toward me makes more sense now. “Yes, sir. I did.”
“And how exactly do I know you won’t do it again?”
It’s a fair question. One I’ve asked myself a thousand times.
“I spent years learning what life is like without her,” I say, holding his gaze. “And I won’t survive losing her again.”
His eyes narrow. “That’s not much of a guarantee, son.”
“No, sir, it’s not.” My voice stays firm despite the hammering in my chest. “I can’t promise we won’t have hard days. But I can promise that I’ll never walk away. That I’ll spend every day trying to be worthy of her. That I’ll put her first—always.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. Then, with agonizing slowness, he leans back in his chair.
“You know,” he says, voice gruff but softer than before, “when she was little, Violet used to say she was going to marry a prince. Had the whole thing planned out—castle, horses, the works.” A hint of a smile touches his lips.
“Her mother and I figured she’d grow out of it.
I wanted her to be her own, successful, independent woman. And she is.”
He sighs. “Then she became a teenager, and you came along.” He shakes his head. “She thought I didn’t know she was pining after you. A kid with a chip on his shoulder and trouble following him like a shadow. Suddenly, my little girl wasn’t talking about princes anymore.”
My throat tightens. I intentionally stayed ignorant when it came to Violet back then. I was desperate to be near her, but certain I’d only drag her down.
“You weren’t what I wanted for her,” he admits, confirming what I’ve always known. “Not even close. She doesn’t need you.”
I nod, accepting the truth of it.
“But,” he continues, his eyes finding mine again, “you’re what she wants. And if I’ve learned anything over the years, despite me trying to push her in different directions, it’s that my daughter knows her own mind.”
He pauses. “There’s a ring. Her grandmother’s. Violet’s admired it her whole life. Her grandmother would have wanted her to have it.”
“Mr. Larkin, I—”
“Don’t make me regret this,” he says, but there’s no real heat behind the warning. Just the protective concern of a father who loves his daughter. “Take care of her.”
“With everything I have,” I promise. “Thank you, sir.”
He gives a quick nod, then rises from his chair. “Just so we’re clear—you break her heart again, they’ll never find your body.”
I can’t help but smile. “I’d expect nothing less.”
A comfortable silence settles between us, a silent understanding that wasn’t there before. Then he claps me on the shoulder, his hand lingering for just a moment before he moves toward the living room where Violet and her mother are decorating.
I stay behind, letting out a quiet laugh while trying to swallow the lump in my throat.
I might’ve just gotten my future father-in-law’s approval, but I’m also certain he’s plotting my untimely, gruesome death in the event I fuck this up.
But you know what? I can live with that.
I’ve got nothing but time to show that I’m worthy of Violet, and if that means surviving an occasional don’t hurt her again or else stare, then so be it.
The drive home is charged. Violet’s hand is on my thigh, her thumb tracing little circles that make it impossible to think about anything other than her. I catch myself gripping the wheel a little tighter, which is maybe not ideal on these winding roads.
“You’re quiet,” she says, glancing over at me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah,” I manage, but it comes out way too clipped. She doesn’t seem to notice. “Everything’s great.”
And it really is. There’s a small velvet box hidden in my pocket, and it’s taking everything in me not to pull over right now and propose to her on the side of the two-lane highway.
“My dad was almost civil to you today,” she teases.
I chuckle, keeping my eyes on the road. “Yeah, we had a good talk.”
“About what?”
“Oh, you know. Man stuff. Sports. Weather. The proper way to stack firewood.”
She snorts. “Right. Because my father has ever cared about sports.”
“You caught me. We were actually planning my slow and painful demise.”
Her laughter fills the truck cab, bright and perfect. “That sounds more like him.”
“God, I love your laugh,” I admit, reaching for her hand as I turn down our driveway. The gravel crunches beneath the tires, and Bramble’s silhouette appears in the window, already waiting for us.
Violet glances over, that soft smile playing on her lips. “You’re being extra sweet today. Should I be suspicious?”
“Can’t a man just appreciate his beautiful girlfriend without an ulterior motive?”
“Sure…” she says, drawing out the word. “But you’ve got that look.”
“What look?”
“Like you’re plotting something.”
I try to school my features into something neutral, but it’s impossible with her watching me like that. “Maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”
She narrows her eyes playfully as I park by the porch. “Mysterious doesn’t suit you, Wolfe.”
“You sure? I beg to differ.”
I glance over at her, mesmerized by how the sunset paints her profile in gold, how her eyes get impossibly brighter as she looks at me.
“What?” she asks. “You’re freaking me out.”
That pulls a laugh out of me. “If I kiss you senseless, will you freak out less? Please say yes.”
Now she’s laughing. It’s music to my ears.
“I’ll never say no to that.”