Epilogue
SCARLETT
The room smells like crayons and paste.
And something sweet—cookies, probably. Gone now, if the empty tray on the counter is any indication.
“Miss Scarlett!”
I look up just in time to catch a small body launching at me.
I laugh, steadying Cindy before she can knock us both over. “Easy.”
“I’m strong,” she says, grinning.
“I can see that.”
She takes off again before I can say anything else, disappearing into the noise of the room. One of the kids I’m volunteering with today.
Laughter, voices, movement. In two words, controlled chaos.
And for the first time in a long time—I don’t feel the need to track every exit. I don’t count heads twice. I don’t listen for footsteps that don’t belong. I just exist in it.
I move through the room, checking in where I’m needed. A boy struggling with a puzzle. Two girls arguing over markers. A spill that gets cleaned up before it becomes anything bigger.
Small things. Real things. Things I can actually help.
That used to matter to me. It does again.
“Scarlett.”
I turn. My supervisor stands in the doorway, watching the room with a quiet kind of approval. “Sorry,” I start. “I’ll—”
“Don’t,” she says. “They’re fine.”
I glance back.
They are. Still messy and loud and, most importantly, safe.
Like me.
“That’s actually why I wanted to talk to you,” she says, stepping closer. Something in her tone shifts my attention fully.
“You’ve been here a few weeks,” she says. “Long enough to know this isn’t easy work.”
I nod. “I know.”
“You also haven’t once looked like you were trying to escape it.”
I chuckle softly. “Because I’m not,” I say. “I love working with kids.”
She studies me for a second, then nods. “We’re opening up a part-time position,” she says. “Possibly full-time down the line.”
My breath catches. I’ve been hoping for this ever since I saw the listing.
“I’d like you to take it,” she adds. “You don’t have to decide right now.”
“I’ll take it,” I say simply.
Her expression shifts, pleased, but not surprised.
“Good,” she says. “I think it fits.”
So do I.
The air outside is warm. Late afternoon stretching toward evening, the light softer now.
I step out onto the sidewalk, and there he is. Leaning against his big white truck.
His Stetson low, arms crossed. Body relaxed and waiting. The quiet one. My husband.
“You’re early,” I say, walking toward him.
“Or you’re late.”
I huff out a quiet laugh. “Fair enough.”
His eyes move over me, appreciative, reverent. “You good?” he asks.
I nod. “Yeah.”
“How was it?” he asks, nodding toward the building.
I glance back once. Then forward again. “They offered me the job,” I say.
His brows lift slightly. “That right?”
“Part-time. Maybe more.”
“And?”
I look at him—at the man who didn’t ask me to stay, who didn’t try to fix anything, who stood with me and let me decide—and I can’t help but beam. “I took it.”
Something shifts in his expression—quiet, steady, and proud.
“Sounds like you made the right call.”
“I did,” I say with a smile. “I’m done waiting for someone else to tell me where I belong.”
His gaze holds mine. “Yeah,” he says. “I figured.”
“You still sure about this?” I ask.
“About what?”
“This,” I say, gesturing lightly between us. “Me. All of it.”
He pushes off the truck and closes the distance. His hand finds mine, steady and certain. “More sure than I’ve ever been about anything. Sure enough to make it permanent.” He waggles his finger. “I’d tattoo it on my soul, too, if I could.”
“Not so quiet now,” I whisper, a sting behind my eyes.
He palms my cheek, indigo eyes meeting mine. “Not with you. Never with you.”
He kisses me like he means it. Like he did at the Vegas chapel. And then after coming home from the fire.
Our tradition now. One of many.
I lace my fingers through his. Just as sure.
“Ready?” he asks.
“For what?”
“Whatever’s next.”
I think about that. About everything that happened. Everything that could have gone differently.
The house, the gun, the moment I stopped running. None of it feels distant anymore. It feels like something I walked through. Something I survived and even chose.
For this. For him.
“Yeah,” I say. I squeeze his hand once.
“Let’s go.”
And this time, I don’t look back.
The danger’s over. The choice is made.
But Donovan “Phoenix” Lane isn’t done with his wife yet.
Not even close.
One truck bed. One star-filled night. One cowboy fireman ready to claim what’s his.
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He’s the cocky one. The good-looking one. The one who never takes anything seriously.
Until her.
His best friend’s little sister just won him at the auction…
And now the one woman he can’t have?
Is the only one he wants.
Enemies to lovers. Forbidden fire. One cowboy fireman who’s about to fall first—and fall hard.