Epilogue #2
His mouth moved to my jaw, then my throat, and I gripped his shoulders as heat spilled through me, low and familiar. Outside, snow kept tapping the windows. Inside, Zane's hands slid under the hem of my sweater, warm against my skin.
"Zane," I said, breathless. "If you start that now, this tree is going to look emotionally unfinished."
He lifted his head. His eyes were dark, his mouth curved, and my knees weakened.
"Emotionally unfinished," he said.
"Yes."
"Is that official decorating language?"
"It is when you live with an administrative assistant."
He kissed me once more, slower this time, then stepped back with obvious reluctance. "Then hand me the ribbon before you accuse my tree of paperwork problems."
"Your tree has already formed a committee."
"Daphne."
"I'll get the ribbon."
We finished the lights. Zane adjusted them twice after I declared them finished, which I considered personal restraint. I tied the ribbon around the wreath while he hung ornaments in places that made structural sense, and then I moved half of them because Christmas wasn't an engineering exam.
By the time the tree stood lit in the corner, the room had gone golden and soft.
The snow outside had thickened, muffling the pines and turning the porch rail white.
Zane clicked off the overhead light, and the glow filled the windows, the walls, the old quilt over the couch, and the mugs abandoned on the table.
He stood behind me, arms around my waist, chin near my temple.
"It looks good," I said.
"It does."
"You sound surprised."
"I'm not surprised."
"You doubted Tyler's ornament."
"I still doubt it."
"It adds range."
"It adds Tyler."
"That's sometimes the same thing."
Zane laughed quietly against my hair.
I leaned back into him and covered his fingers with mine. They were warm, rough from work even in winter, and his left thumb brushed over the inside of my wrist in a slow, absent stroke. The little motion sent a shiver up my arm.
"Cold?" he asked.
"No."
His mouth touched the side of my neck. "Good."
"Zane."
"I'm listening."
"You are absolutely not listening."
"I'm listening with my hands."
I laughed, and his arms tightened. For a minute, we just stood there in the Christmas-lit quiet, breathing together.
Then Zane stepped away.
I turned, missing the heat of him immediately. "Where are you going?"
"To get something."
"If it's another box of lights, I'm staging a revolt."
"It's not lights."
He walked toward the short hallway, and I watched him go because I was a woman with eyes and a long history of poor judgment that had, somehow, led to excellent outcomes. He disappeared into the bedroom. A drawer opened, then closed.
My pulse kicked.
I didn't know what he was getting. I only knew he came back with his fist closed around something small, and the look on his face stole the air from my lungs.
He stopped in front of me. He didn't kneel yet. He didn't make a show of it. He looked serious, and gruff, and so beautiful in the Christmas lights that my breath went thin.
"I had a plan," he said.
My eyes stung immediately. "Of course you did."
"It was a good plan."
"I'm sure it involved measurements."
"It involved the porch after the wreath was hung."
"That does sound like you."
His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed steady on mine. "Then you started talking about the closet."
A shaky laugh slipped out of me. "I didn't know household storage could sabotage a proposal."
"It didn't." He stepped closer. "It was the point."
The room went very quiet.
Zane opened his palm. A ring sat there, simple and bright, with a small oval stone that caught the tree lights and held them. Not flashy. Not delicate in a way that would make me afraid to live in it. Beautiful.
My fingers flew to my mouth.
Zane's throat worked once. Then he lowered to one knee in front of me.
The sound I made came out shaky and wet.
His eyes warmed. "Daphne."
"I'm listening."
"You'd better be. I'm only doing this once."
"I'm very focused."
"You came through my gate because you had to," he said. "You stayed in my life because you chose to. You told me the truth when it cost you. You stood beside me when it would've been easier to walk away. You made this house louder, warmer, messier, and better."
My vision blurred.
Zane took my left hand in his. His thumb moved over my knuckles, steadying me even now.
"I don't want a temporary system with you," he said. "I want your books on my chair, your creamer in my fridge, your gloves over my vent, and your name on every Christmas card that comes through that door. I want every season I get with you. Marry me."
The first tear slipped before I could stop it.
"Yes," I said.
His eyes held mine.
I laughed through the next breath. "Yes, Zane. I'll marry you."
He slid the ring onto my finger, and I stared at the small oval stone flashing in the Christmas lights.
Then I dropped to my knees in front of him and grabbed his face.
Zane caught me as I kissed him, one arm wrapping around my back, the other still holding mine like he wasn't ready to let go of the yes.
The kiss was rougher than I meant it to be, wet from my tears, warm from his smile, and so full of him that I couldn't tell where laughing ended and kissing started.
When we broke apart, his forehead rested against mine.
"You're crying," he said.
"You proposed."
"That was the goal."
"I'm allowed."
"I know." His thumb brushed under my eye. "I like it."
"You like making me cry?"
"I like that you're happy."
More tears spilled, which proved him deeply unhelpful.
I looked down at the ring again. "It fits."
Zane's mouth twitched. "I measured."
I stared at him.
He looked almost smug. "You leave rings on the bathroom shelf."
"You measured my jewelry?"
"I had a plan."
"Oh, my God." I laughed and shoved lightly at his chest. "You romantic menace."
He caught my fingers and kissed the ring, then my knuckles, then the inside of my wrist. "Say yes again."
My breath caught at the roughness in his voice.
"Yes."
His gaze lifted to mine.
"Yes," I said again, softer. "To the house. To the tree with Tyler's terrible ornament. To the gloves on the vent and the creamer scandal and every season. Yes to you."
Zane's fingers slid into my hair. "Good."
"That sounded very calm for a man who just got engaged."
"I'm calm."
"You're not."
"No," he said, and pulled me into his lap on the living room floor. "I'm not."
The tree glowed beside us. Snow brushed the windows. The house smelled like pine, coffee, cinnamon, and Zane, and my ring caught the lights every time I slid my hand under his shirt.
Zane rolled me beneath him on the rug, laughing against my mouth while the ribbon crumpled under my heel. I wrapped my legs around my mountain man and got dirty under the Christmas lights.
***