Chapter 12
The landing zone had been cleared in the park, and as they touched down, Dylan could see the full scope of what awaited them.
Anne O’Hara stood at the front like a general who’d won her war, her face shifting from maternal concern to something that looked dangerously close to satisfaction.
Behind her, Sophie and Raven flanked her, their expressions suggesting they’d already written several versions of what had happened in that cabin.
The moment the rotors began to slow, Anne was moving, reaching them before they’d even properly disembarked.
“Thank God,” she breathed, pulling Aidan into a hug that could have cracked ribs, then surprising Dylan by embracing her with equal fervor. “When the storm came in so fast, and then you didn’t answer your phones—”
“We’re fine, Mom,” Aidan said, his arm settling around Dylan’s shoulders with a naturalness that sent whispers rippling through the crowd. “The hunting cabin saved us.”
“The cabin,” Anne repeated, and something in her tone made Dylan look at her sharply. The older woman’s blue eyes held a gleam that had probably been responsible for five marriages and counting. “Of course. Your grandfather always said that cabin would serve its purpose when the time was right.”
“Mom,” Aidan warned, but Anne had already shifted into full maternal orchestration mode.
“You must be freezing. Both of you. Sophie, tell Simone we need the private dining room. Raven, call Colt, have him meet us there—”
“Mom, he’s your son, not our doctor,” Aidan protested. “We don’t need medical attention because we got cold.”
“You spent the night in a storm that dropped two feet of snow,” Anne countered with the authority of someone who’d raised five boys and knew exactly how to override objections. “You’ll see your brother, you’ll eat hot food, and then you’ll tell us everything.”
The “everything” came loaded with enough subtext to sink a ship.
“Anne,” Mick O’Hara’s voice cut through the chaos with quiet authority. He’d approached more slowly, his weathered face revealing relief and something else—a knowing look that he shared with his son over Dylan’s head. “Let them breathe. They’re safe. That’s what matters.”
But Laurel Valley had its own momentum when drama presented itself, and Dylan found herself swept along in a tide of concerned citizens toward The Lampstand.
She caught glimpses of familiar faces—Rose from the bakery pressing a bag of warm pastries into her hands, Bernie Watson nodding approval like they’d passed some test, Mrs. Whitfield from the historical society watching with the satisfaction of someone who’d seen this coming five years ago.
The Lampstand’s private dining room had been transformed into command central.
Colt waited with his medical bag, Simone had laid out enough breakfast food to feed the town, and what appeared to be the entire O’Hara clan had materialized with the efficiency of people who understood that family drama required full attendance.
“Sit,” Anne commanded, and Dylan found herself obeying before she could form a protest.
Colt’s examination was perfunctory, his hands gentle as he checked for signs of hypothermia or frostbite while rolling his eyes at his mother’s hovering. “They’re fine, Mom. Though I’m curious how you managed to stay so warm in that cabin with just the wood stove.”
The question hung in the air like a lit fuse. Dylan felt heat climb her neck that had nothing to do with the coffee Simone had placed in front of her.
“We shared body heat,” Aidan said calmly, meeting his brother’s gaze directly. “For survival.”
“Survival,” Duncan repeated from his perch by the window, his artist’s eye taking in every detail of their body language. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
“We’re calling it two people not freezing to death,” Dylan said, finding her voice and the courage that came with it. “Though I’m sure the town has already written a much more interesting story.”
“Several versions, actually,” Sophie admitted with characteristic honesty. “Bernie Watson has you engaged. Rose thinks you’re already secretly married. And Mrs. Johannson is convinced this was all a plot to trap Aidan into marriage.”
Dylan nearly choked on her coffee.
“Speaking of marriage,” Hank said with the subtlety of a sledgehammer, “When a man spends the night with a woman, even in survival situations, there are certain expectations—”
“Hank,” Aidan warned.
“I’m just saying,” Hank continued, “that our grandfather would have expected you to make an honest woman out of her.”
“She’s already an honest woman,” Aidan said, his jaw tightening.
“You know what he means,” Duncan chimed in, enjoying himself far too much. “The family ring, a night alone, the whole town watching—seems like the universe is trying to tell you something.”
“The universe needs to mind its own business,” Dylan muttered, but she was fighting a smile.
“Did you at least find the ring?” Wyatt asked, attempting to shift the conversation to safer ground.
The room went silent with sudden completeness. Aidan reached into his pocket, pulling out the box that had survived centuries and storms and the weight of expectation.
When he opened it, the collective intake of breath sounded like wind through pines. The ring caught the morning light streaming through windows, silver warming to gold, the ancient claddagh design seeming to pulse with life.
“My God,” Anne breathed, her hand going to her heart. “I haven’t seen it since your grandmother wore it.” Her eyes filled with tears that she didn’t try to hide. “She’d be so happy, Aidan. She always said you’d know when the time was right.”
“The time for what?” Dylan asked, though she suspected she knew.
“For the last O’Hara bachelor to stop being a bachelor,” Colt said with medical precision. “It’s practically a biological imperative at this point. We’re all married. Aidan’s the last holdout.”
“No pressure though,” Wyatt added with a grin that suggested the opposite.
“You could propose right now,” Sophie suggested helpfully.
“For heaven’s sake,” Aidan said, but Dylan noticed his hand had moved to cover the ring box protectively.
“It would solve the scandal,” Raven mused, her elegant features arranged in false innocence. “You did spend the night together. Unchaperoned. In a cabin. During a blizzard. Very romantic, but also very—”
“Very none of anyone’s business,” Dylan finished, but her heart was racing because everyone in the room was looking at them with expectation that felt like gravity, pulling them toward something inevitable.
“And we’re adults. In the twenty-first century.
It’s not 1892. No need for a shotgun wedding. ”
“It’s Laurel Valley,” Sophie said as if that explained everything.
“Though if you were engaged,” Anne went on as if no one else had spoken, “it would certainly quiet any inappropriate speculation about last night.”
“Mom,” all five brothers said in unison.
But Anne O’Hara hadn’t raised five boys without learning how to read the unspoken, and her gaze found Dylan’s with surprising directness.
“I’m not trying to pressure anyone. I’m just saying that sometimes storms bring clarity.
Sometimes being forced to stop running and just…
be still with someone…shows you what’s been true all along. ”
The words hit Dylan like physical things, each one finding its mark. She’d been running for thirteen years. Last night, trapped in that cabin with nowhere to run, she’d finally understood what staying might feel like.
“Speaking of storms,” Mick said quietly. “There’s another one coming midweek. Supposed to be worse than last night’s.”
“Better get the important things done before then,” Duncan said with studied casualness. “You know, in case anyone gets trapped again.”
Dylan looked around the table at these people who’d become family without her quite noticing—the brothers who teased but would defend, the wives who’d pulled her into their circle, the parents who’d made space for her at their table before she’d even known she wanted it.
Then she looked at Aidan, who was watching her with those green eyes that had undone her from the beginning, his expression a mixture of exasperation and something deeper, warmer, more permanent.
“Are you proposing?” she asked him directly.
The room went still as held breath.
Aidan studied her for a long moment, then his mouth curved in that slow smile that had been undermining her defenses for five years. “Would you like me to?”
“I asked you first.”
“So you did.” He stood, pulling her to her feet with him, the ring box still in his hand.
Around them, his family leaned forward like flowers toward sun.
“Dylan Flanagan, would you like me to propose to you in front of my entire meddling family and half the town, or would you prefer something more private?”
“I’d prefer honesty,” she said, her voice steadier than her pulse. “Are you asking because they expect it, or because you want to?”
“I’m asking,” he said, his free hand coming up to frame her face with a tenderness that made her chest ache, “because you captivated my attention when you walked into my garage five years ago looking for a job. Because knowing you, being friends with you, captured my heart. And because loving you has been an honor I’ll cherish for the rest of our lives. ”
“Wow,” she said, hearing sniffles from the onlookers. Tears streamed down her own cheeks. When was the last time she’d cried? She couldn’t remember. But she could trust Aidan with her heart.
He dropped to one knee right there in The Lampstand’s private dining room, with his entire family as witness. “I’m going to do this properly.”
He opened the ring box, the ancient silver catching light like captured stars.
“This ring has been in my family for three hundred years. It’s seen famine and feast, crossings and arrivals, love and loss and love again.
It’s not just a ring—it’s a promise that some things endure.
That some loves are worth the storms. That some people are worth staying for, worth building with, worth choosing over and over again. ”
Dylan’s vision blurred, but she didn’t need to see clearly to know what her answer was.
She’d known it last night in the cabin. Known it this morning when she’d woken in his arms. Maybe known it five years ago when she’d reorganized his disaster of an office and he’d laughed instead of getting angry.
“I need you to know,” she said, her voice carrying clear despite the tears, “that I’m not saying yes because we got caught in a storm, or because people think I’m a fallen woman, or because your family expects it.
I’m saying yes because you’re the reason I stopped running.
Because you made Laurel Valley feel like home.
Because I love you, and I’ve been loving you so long I forgot what it felt like not to. ”
“Is that a yes?” he asked, though his grin suggested he knew.
“Yes, Aidan O’Hara. Yes to the ring, yes to your overwhelming family, yes to staying, yes to all of it.”
He slipped the ring onto her finger, the metal warm as a blessing, fitting perfectly as if it had been waiting for her all along.
Then he was standing, pulling her into a kiss that would probably be talked about in Laurel Valley for the next fifty years—the kind of kiss that made married couples remember their own beginnings and single people believe in possibilities.
When they finally broke apart, the room erupted. Anne was crying openly, Mick was shaking Aidan’s hand with the vigor of a man who’d been waiting for this moment, and the brothers were engaging in the kind of cheerful chaos that suggested celebrations and bachelor party planning.
“I call best man,” Wyatt announced.
“You can’t call it,” Duncan protested. “It should be the oldest—”
“It should be whoever hasn’t been best man yet,” Colt interjected.
“Slow down,” Dylan laughed, but she was crying too, her hand finding Aidan’s like an anchor. “We just got engaged thirty seconds ago.”
“In this family, that’s thirty seconds too long to wait for wedding planning,” Sophie said, hugging her tightly. “Welcome to the O’Hara chaos, officially.”
“Wouldn’t a spring wedding be lovely,” Anne said. “The flowers are beautiful then.”
“I was thinking next week,” Dylan said, winking at Aidan. “Before the storm comes.”
“You heard the woman,” Aidan said, making his brothers laugh.
“Ten days until the restoration shop opens,” Dylan said, looking up at Aidan. “Think we can plan a wedding and launch a business at the same time?”
“We can do anything,” he said, his arm around her waist, the ring on her finger catching light with every movement. “We found a centuries-old ring in a freak snowstorm. Everything else is easy.”
But it wasn’t about easy, Dylan thought as she looked around the room at these people who’d become hers. It was about choosing the hard things—the staying, the trusting, the building something that would last longer than fear.
The storm had brought clarity, just as Anne had said. But the real clarity had come in the quiet after—in the warmth of being held, in the certainty of being chosen, in the courage to say yes to a future that terrified and thrilled her in equal measure.
Victoria Pemberton chose that moment to appear in the doorway, elegant even at eight in the morning, her expression carefully composed.
She took in the scene—Dylan’s tear-stained face, the ring catching light on her finger, Aidan’s protective arm around her, the family surrounding them like a living wall.
“I heard the helicopter,” she said quietly. “I wanted to make sure everyone was all right.”