Chapter 8 Davin
Chapter eight
Davin
Icarry the final piece through the door wrapped in canvas, forty hours of carving hidden from curious eyes. The shop is already alive with bodies and noise an hour before opening. My focus narrows to one person.
Tilly moves through the space directing volunteers, her hair pulled back and her cheeks flushed with exertion and excitement.
She’s wearing the violet sweater I bought her last week, the one that makes her eyes sparkle.
She owns this dream now, every confident gesture proving she belongs here.
The transformation from three weeks ago roots deep in my chest.
I set the wrapped piece against the wall behind the counter, where it won’t be disturbed. My back aches from the work, and my hands still smell like wood oil.
“Davin.” She weaves between volunteers from the bookstore arranging vintage clothing and knick-knacks and crosses to me. Her hand finds my forearm, fingers curling around my wrist. “You’re here.”
“You knew I would be.” My palm settles on her lower back, stroking the curve of her waist through the sweater. The touch grounds us both. “How’s it going?”
“Overwhelming. Perfect.” She laughs, the sound bright and unguarded. “Evelyn’s been directing people. The veterans showed up with coffee and won’t leave until everything’s secured.”
“Sounds right.” I scan the shop, cataloging details.
The armoire anchors the wall, drawing the eye.
The reading nook in the corner already holds Ruthie from the Matchmakers’ Brigade, testing the vintage chair with exaggerated sighs of pleasure.
Display cases line the walls, filled with delicate glassware and silver that catches the light.
“The place looks solid, Tilly. Really solid.”
Her eyes go bright. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”
“You could have. Just would’ve taken longer.” I spread my hand across her lower back. “I made it easier.”
“Your support made it possible.” She leans into me, her curves soft against my harder lines. Her heartbeat pulses against my ribs, steady and sure. “I love you.”
The words steal my breath every time. My jaw aches with the need to say more, promise more, claim more. “Love you too.”
John appears from near the door where the veterans have stationed themselves. “Davin. Need you to settle something. Eddie says the display case isn’t level.”
“It’s level.” But I follow him anyway, leaving Tilly to greet arriving customers.
The veterans have claimed positions near the entrance, like self-appointed security. John, Red, and Eddie stand bundled in coats despite the shop’s warmth, judging every person who enters with the critical eye of men who’ve seen too much to be easily impressed.
“The case is fine,” I say after checking it with my level. “Eddie’s just being difficult.”
“Keeps life interesting,” Eddie says. He studies the shop with narrowed eyes. “She did well here. You both did.”
The approval lands solidly. These men don’t waste words on empty praise. “Thanks.”
“Showing up. Doing the work. Not making it about you.” John nods toward where Tilly is explaining her vision to a customer, her hands moving as she gestures at the furniture arrangements. “That’s what matters.”
The door chimes. Mayor Hartwood sweeps in. Evelyn greets him, and they head toward Tilly. She pulls Tilly into a brief hug. “Darling, it’s perfect. We need a ribbon cutting. Mayor, scissors.”
Mayor Hartwood shuffles out obediently. Evelyn catches my eye and winks. “You did solid work here, Davin.”
“She did the work. I just helped build it.”
“You helped her believe she could. That’s worth more than carpentry.”
The door chimes again, and Alban walks through with Neve at his side.
My brother looks better than he has in years. His arm is around Neve’s waist, and she’s laughing at something he said.
They spot me simultaneously. Alban crosses the space and pulls me into a brief, solid hug.
“You look different,” he says when he pulls back. “Lighter.”
“So do you.”
“I have help.” He glances at Neve, who’s already examining the shop with professional interest. “You do too.”
Tilly appears at my side, and I make introductions. Neve’s smile is warm and genuine. “It’s so good to finally meet you. Your shop is beautiful. The way you’ve arranged everything creates such a welcoming flow.”
“Thank you. Davin helped with the layout.” Tilly’s hand finds mine, fingers lacing tightly. “I couldn’t have done it without him.”
“That’s what he does,” Alban says. “Builds things that last.”
The weight in his words isn’t lost on me. He’s talking about more than furniture. He’s talking about the life I’m building here, the choice I made to stop punishing myself.
“Let me show you around,” Tilly offers. Neve follows her eagerly, already asking questions about sourcing.
Alban stays beside me. “She’s right for you.”
“I know.”
“I was worried after the fire. Worried you’d stay locked in that cabin forever.” He turns to face me fully. “But you’re building again. That takes courage.”
“So does letting yourself be happy.” My voice comes out rougher than intended.
“I’m glad you figured that out.” His hand claps my shoulder. “Now when do I get to see this mysterious wrapped thing you told me about?”
“Soon.” I check the time. “After the ribbon cutting.”
Evelyn positions Tilly in front of the door, holding oversized scissors, as the crowd gathers. I stand with Alban and Neve, tracking Tilly’s movements.
“Thank you all for coming,” she says, her voice carrying across the space. “This shop has been a dream for longer than I want to admit. Opening it here, in Lovesbury, feels like coming home. Thank you for welcoming me and believing that old things can have new life.”
She cuts the ribbon, and the crowd erupts in applause. The Matchmakers’ Brigade whistles. The veterans nod in approval.
I cross to where the wrapped piece leans against the wall and lift it. The weight is substantial but manageable. I carry it to the center of the shop and set it down, then unwrap the canvas.
The crowd goes quiet.
It’s a sign that shares the same oak grain as the armoire.
Two feet tall, three feet wide, the wood sanded smooth and oiled to bring out the grain.
Tilly’s Vintage Shop is carved in letters that took me hours to perfect, each curve and line deliberate.
The detail around the border carries meaning, interlocking vines and flowers, the kind that grow wild on the mountain, the kind that survive winter and bloom again.
I want to pull her against me right here in front of everyone, show them she’s mine in ways that would make Mabel blush. Instead, I keep my hands steady on the wood and let the gift speak for me.
Tilly’s hand covers her mouth. Her eyes fill with tears.
“I thought you needed something permanent,” I say. “Something that says this place is yours. That you’re permanent here in town.”
She crosses to me, and I catch her when she reaches me, arms wrapping around her waist. She’s shaking slightly, her face pressed against my chest. The scent of lavender soap fills my lungs.
“It’s perfect,” she whispers. “It’s the most beautiful thing anyone’s ever made for me.”
“You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever found.” I tilt her face up. Everyone is watching us, but I don’t care. “I love you. I’m staying. This is home now.”
“Home is wherever you are,” she says. The certainty in her voice makes my chest tighten.
I kiss her, slow and claiming. Her fingers dig into my shirt. Her breath catches against my mouth. The crowd erupts in whistles and applause. Red shouts something inappropriate that makes Eddie laugh.
When I pull back, Tilly’s smiling through tears. “Help me hang it?”
“Of course, darling.”
We mount the sign above the counter together, her directing while I handle the heavy lifting. When it’s secure, she steps back to admire it. I stand behind her, arms wrapped around her waist, and breathe in the moment.
“Perfect,” she says.
“Yeah.” But I’m not looking at the sign. I’m looking at her reflection in the window, at the way she owns her space without shrinking or saying sorry. “It is.”
Hours pass. Tilly sells three major pieces and takes orders for custom sourcing. Customers flow through in steady waves. By late afternoon, exhaustion softens Tilly’s features. She leans against the counter, and I move behind her, letting her rest her weight against my chest.
“Tired?” I ask.
“Completely.” But her smile is pure satisfaction. “And so happy I could cry.”
“You already did.”
“I might do it again.” She turns in my arms and presses her face into my shirt. “Thank you for this. For all of it.”
My arms tighten around her, and for a moment, we just stand there while the shop buzzes around us. She’s letting herself rest. Letting herself lean. The trust in that surrender makes my pulse kick hard.
Alban and Neve say their goodbyes, heading to their hotel room with promises to get together for lunch tomorrow. The last customers leave with bags full of vintage treasures.
Tilly locks the door and turns to face me. Her hair has come loose from its tie. Exhaustion lines her features, but her smile is unshakable.
“We did it,” she says.
“You did it.” I cross to her and pull her against my chest. “I just helped.”
“You did more than help. You made me believe I could.” Her arms wrap around my waist. “Thank you for shutting down the auction for me. Thank you for staying.”
“Thank you for letting me.” I stroke my hand up and down her back. “For trusting me with your dreams.”
She pulls back enough to look up at me. “Take me home.”
“Which home?”
“Ours.” She laces her fingers through mine. “The cabin. Our bed. Home.”
The possessive language anchors deep. Our cabin. Our bed. Our life.
“Let’s go home.”
We drive through town as dusk falls over the mountains. Snow covers everything. Smoke curls from chimneys. Lights glow warm in windows.
Lovesbury has become home. Not just the place I ran to after the fire, but the place I chose to build a life. With her.
At the cabin, I carry her over the threshold because the symbolism matters. She laughs against my neck, her breath warm on my skin.
“We’re not married,” she says.
“Not yet.” The words come easy, natural. “But we will be.”
Her breath catches. “Is that a promise?”
“It’s a fact.” I set her down on the couch and frame her face with my hands. “I’m going to marry you, Tilly. Maybe not tomorrow. Maybe not next week. But soon. Because you’re mine, and I want everyone to know it.”
“I’m already yours.” Her hands cover mine. “Have been since you shut down that auction.”
“I know.” I press my forehead to hers. “But I want to make it official, want to give you my name. We’ll plan a weekend getaway so we can find the perfect ring at an antique shop, then I want to stand in front of everyone and claim you properly.”
“I’d love that.” Her voice is certain. “Whenever you’re ready, my answer is yes.”
The trust in her words makes my jaw ache. I kiss her, and the taste of her fills my senses. Salt from earlier tears. Coffee. Something sweeter underneath that’s just her.
“Will you marry me, darling?” I ask in a whisper against her mouth.
“I’ll marry you right now if that’s what you want. We can take care of the details tomorrow at the courthouse.”
We snuggle together on the couch until late into the evening, talking about our future with her body warm against mine. She rests her head on my shoulder. Soon, her breathing is slow and even, sleep pulling her under.
I’ve spent too many years believing happiness was something I didn’t deserve. Something I had to earn through suffering and isolation. But existing here with this woman in my arms, in the home I built with my own hands, I finally understand what Alban tried to tell me.
Punishing myself doesn’t honor what I lost. Building a life does.
Tomorrow, I’ll start mapping a weekend road trip with antique shops along the way. I envision something simple and beautiful, a ring with decades of love in its history. Something that says you’re mine, and I’m yours, and this is forever.
But tonight, I hold her close and let myself believe I’m allowed to keep her.
Home is wherever she lets me stay.
And she’s letting me stay forever.