Epilogue - Elorie - Spring
Brooks walks through The Reading Nook's door at seven a.m. carrying two coffees and his look that still makes my lungs forget how to work after so many mornings just like this.
"Brought you the good stuff." He crosses to where I'm restocking pastries, and his hand finds my hip automatically. Possessive. Grounding. The touch sends sparks shooting under my skin even though he did the same thing an hour ago in our kitchen. "Thought you could use it before the Saturday rush."
I take the cup of local roast, my favorite and not something we brew in the bookstore, and his fingers linger against mine. Rough calluses. Warm skin. The size difference between his hand and mine never stops making my stomach flip.
"You're spoiling me."
"That's the plan." He leans down, his mouth brushing my ear. "Three weeks, Elorie."
Three weeks until I'm his wife. Until we stand on Eagle's Crest with the mountains framing us and make promises we've been keeping for what feels like forever. My hand trembles slightly, and he steadies it, thumb tracing circles against my wrist.
"I can't wait that long," I whisper.
"We could elope."
"Your brother would kill us. Emma's already planned half the reception."
"It would be worth it." His lips find that spot below my ear that makes my knees weak. "You in a pretty dress. Me getting you out of it. Sounds like a perfect wedding night preview."
Heat floods my pussy. A pretty dress. One of the dresses currently hanging in my closet, waiting for tonight. They end up on the bedroom floor more often than they stay on my body.
"Brooks." His name comes out breathless.
"Tonight," he promises against my throat. "Wear it so I can take it off you."
Then he's gone, the door chiming behind him, and I'm left gripping the counter while my pulse hammers and Sophie appears from the back room with that knowing smile already spreading across her face.
"You're glowing."
"Am not." But my cheeks burn, and I can't stop touching the simple ring on my finger that reminds me I'm his.
Three more weeks until I add the wedding band, but really, we've been married since that first storm.
Since he walked through this door during a thunderclap and refused to leave me alone in the dark.
"Engagement looks good on you." Sophie hands me a clipboard. "Three more weeks until you're officially Mrs. Maddox."
The name settles warm in my chest. Mrs. Brooks Maddox. Elorie Maddox. Mine and his, tangled together permanently.
"Emma called this morning." Sophie's grin turns wicked. "She's threatening to bring extra goats to the reception."
We both dissolve into laughter. Grant's escape-prone goats have become legendary: two more broke free this week, and Emma swears they're plotting against her. Brooks groans every time they're mentioned, but I catch the fondness underneath. It’s nice to call them my family.
The morning rush swirls around us. Carla pulls perfect shots at the espresso machine.
Linda and Margaret, and the rest of the book club, debate their latest book boyfriends at the corner table.
Through the windows, spring sunlight illuminates the herb garden, spilling green life across our brick patio.
Tourists claim every outdoor seat, and the air smells like basil and fresh pastries and the kind of peace I didn't think I'd ever find.
The patio I designed stretches twenty feet, packed with people who drove an hour for our lavender lattes.
The raised beds Brooks built with his own hands overflow with rosemary, thyme, basil.
We planted them together, my fingers digging into dark earth while something shifted inside me.
This is what growing looks like. What staying means.
All those months ago, I was fleeing Denver in a rainstorm, certain I'd never stop running. Now look. Roots don't have to be ancient to be real. They just have to be tended. And I tend these. The bookstore. The garden. The man who looked at me during a storm and decided I was worth staying for.
My phone buzzes against the counter.
Brooks: Missing you already.
Elorie: You just left.
Brooks: Still missing you.
Brooks: Thinking about tonight. About that dress. About getting you alone.
My pussy tightens in anticipation. He does this; he builds anticipation until I'm wound tight and aching. Until closing time feels like an eternity away.
Elorie: You're terrible.
Brooks: You love it.
He's right. I do.
The afternoon passes in a blur of customers and inventory and catching myself staring at the clock. By five-thirty, I've changed in the bookstore bathroom, the dress clinging to curves Brooks maps with reverent hands every chance he gets. I let my curls down, add lip gloss, take a breath.
His truck pulls up at exactly six, and my heart does that stupid flutter it's been doing since the first time I saw him.
Broad shoulders. Dark jeans that hug his thighs.
That scar along his jaw I trace with my fingers when we're tangled together in the dark.
He climbs out and crosses to the door, and the way he looks at me, like I'm the answer to every question he's been asking his whole life, steals my breath.
"Hi," I manage.
"Hi." His hand rests on the curve of my waist. "You wore it."
"You requested it."
His voice drops to that rough register that makes my pussy tighten. "Get in the truck. We're going home."
The drive stretches through familiar winding mountain roads.
His hand stays on my thigh the whole way, warm and possessive, sliding higher with each mile until my breathing goes shallow.
Rain starts halfway there, a soft patter against the windshield that should remind me of storms I've run from.
Instead, it takes me back to the bookstore, watching him walk through the door while thunder shook the walls.
He saved me then. Saves me still. Every single day, he chooses to stay.
"Three weeks is too long," he says quietly.
"For what?"
"To make you my wife." His fingers tighten on my thigh. "To stand up there and tell everyone what they already know; that you're mine and I'm yours and nothing's ever changing that."
Tears prick my eyes. "Brooks."
"But I'll wait because you want the mountain ceremony and the spring flowers and our people watching. And what you want, I'll give you."
"My dream is you," I whisper.
"I know that too." He lifts my hand to his mouth, kissing my knuckles. "That's why I'm never letting go."
When we pull up to our cabin, the one we've been building together, there's another truck in the driveway. Virginia plates—Grant's truck. My heart leaps.
"They're here!"
I'm out before Brooks cuts the engine, running toward the porch where Grant and Emma stand grinning. Emma pulls me into a bear hug.
Behind us, Grant claps Brooks on the shoulder. "Emma's been waiting for this since we left Granitehart Ridge."
"I love that so much," Brooks says simply, and the certainty in his voice makes my throat tight.
Inside, the cabin smells like pine and the fire Brooks started this morning.
Emma spreads wedding plans across our kitchen table while Grant and Brooks handle dinner.
Over Grant’s famous lasagna, we fall into an easy rhythm; goat stories that make us groan, wedding plans that make my eyes light up, the warmth of chosen family filling every corner.
"Two more escapes last week," Grant says, shaking his head. "One involved the fire department." His expression softens. "I'm proud of you. For fighting. For choosing her every day."
"Couldn't have done it without her."
"That's what love is," Grant says quietly. "Having someone who won't let you give up on yourself."
After dinner, Grant and Emma disappear to the guest room, and Brooks pulls me onto the porch.
We settle into the oversized chair he built last month, wrapped in blankets while the stars emerge one by one.
The air is cool and crisp with pine, and somewhere distant, an owl calls.
Brooks’ arm is solid around my shoulders, and I fit against his side like I was made for this exact space.
"Three more weeks," I say softly.
"Can't come fast enough." His lips brush my temple, and his hand slides under the blanket, finding the curve of my waist. Fingers spread possessively over my hip. "But I'll take tonight."
"What about Grant and Emma?"
"Guest room's on the other side of the house." His mouth finds my neck, and I shiver. "And you're wearing this dress I've been thinking about all day."
"Brooks." But I'm already tilting my head, giving him better access.
"Inside?" he murmurs against my throat.
"Not yet." I turn in his arms until I'm straddling his lap, the blanket cocooning us. "I want to look at you under stars first."
His hands frame my face, thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. "Thank you.”
"For what?"
"For staying. For building this with me. For choosing me every day, even when I was terrified."
"Thank you for not running." I press my forehead to his. "For fighting when staying was the hardest thing. For loving me enough to try."
"I'll always fight for you." His voice roughens. "Always choose you. Every single day for the rest of our lives."
"I know." I kiss him, and it tastes like every promise we're keeping. Like the months we've already built and the infinite future stretching ahead. "That's why I'm keeping you."
He deepens the kiss, his hands sliding down my back to grip my hips. The blanket falls away. Cool air hits my shoulders, but his warmth surrounds me.
"Inside," he says, and it's not a question.
"Inside," I agree.
He lifts me easily, my legs wrapping around his waist, and carries me through the door.
Behind us, the mountains stand permanent, and the stars shine infinite.
Tomorrow the bookstore opens early. Wedding planning with Grant and Emma continues.
Life moves forward the way it always does: one day, one choice, one moment of staying at a time.
But right now, wrapped in the arms of the man whom I refused to let run, I know exactly where I belong.
Here. Home. With him.
Choosing each other. Every single day.
"Ready for forever?" he asks against my lips.
I pull back just enough to meet his eyes. They're dark and warm and full of everything we've survived to get here. Full of the future we're building, infinite and bright and ours.
"With you?" I press closer, feeling his heart beat steady against mine. "Always."
Elorie’s story doesn’t end with the wedding.