Chapter 12
“We’re perfect,” Aidan said, and the simple certainty in his voice made Victoria’s composure flicker.
Her gaze found the ring on Dylan’s finger, and something shifted in her expression—surprise, maybe, or recognition of a battle that had been lost before it was even fought.
“Congratulations,” she said, and to her credit, it sounded genuine. “It’s a beautiful ring. A beautiful story.”
“Thank you,” Dylan said, meaning it. This woman had loved Aidan once, or thought she had. That meant she had good taste, even if she’d thrown it away for ambition.
“My father’s doing better,” Victoria said, already retreating. “We’ll be heading back to New York tomorrow. If the two of you are ever looking for investors, the door is always open. You both do exceptional work.”
“Thank you,” Dylan said.
After she left, the room seemed to exhale.
“Well,” Anne said with satisfaction. “We need to start wedding planning. I accept your challenge of a week.”
As the morning dissolved into laughter and planning and the cheerful chaos of family, Dylan found herself standing at the window, looking out at Main Street where life was returning to normal after the storm. The snow sparkled in morning sun, making everything look new, transformed, possible.
Aidan came up behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist, his chin resting on her shoulder. “Any regrets?”
“None,” she said, turning the ring on her finger, feeling the weight of centuries, the promise of tomorrow. “You?”
“Only that it took us five years to get here.”
“We got here at exactly the right time,” she said, leaning back into his warmth. “Any sooner and I might have run.
“We could elope,” he suggested. “Drive to Vegas, get married by Elvis, send everyone postcards.”
“Your family would hunt us down. I can wait a week if you can.”
He sighed. “Pure torture. I didn’t get a wink of sleep last night holding you in my arms.”
“Funny,” she said, burrowing into his chest. “I slept like a baby. Safe and protected.”
They stood together watching the town wake up properly, watching neighbors emerge to clear snow and exchange gossip about the helicopter rescue and what it might mean.
By noon, everyone would know. By evening, it would be settled fact—Dylan Flanagan and Aidan O’Hara, engaged after a dramatic storm rescue, the ring found, the last bachelor claimed, another chapter in Laurel Valley’s love stories.
“I love you,” Aidan said against her ear. “I’ve loved you since you walked into my life and started fixing things I didn’t even know were broken.”
“I love you too,” she replied.
“Our business, our family, our future,” he said. “We make a heck of a team.”
Our. Such a small word to carry so much weight.
But as Dylan stood there in his arms, wearing a ring that had crossed oceans and centuries to find its way to her finger, surrounded by family that had chosen her before she’d known she wanted to be chosen, she understood that some weights weren’t burdens.
Some weights were anchors, keeping you steady in storms, keeping you moored to what mattered. Dylan had spent thirteen years running from the possibility of loss.
Now, she was ready to stand still long enough to see what grew.