Epilogue - Juliette
Eight months later
The case cards at Latte Da! have my name on the cinnamon rolls now.
Nora added a tiny heart underneath. Working here delights me, coming in before the town is properly awake, tying on my apron and making something from scratch.
I love experimenting with new fillings and pretending not to notice when Holt appears at the counter ten minutes before closing because he was apparently just ‘passing by’.
Eight months, and the sight of him filling the doorway still makes my stomach flip.
Life is quiet up here, and that’s wonderful when you get to choose it.
Corbin left me alone, exactly as promised.
The possibility of the Rotmere Corporation discovering just how creatively he handled their money was apparently enough to cure him of his desire to control my life.
My father lost the merger, the Vance money, and, according to Daisy, most of his golf partners.
Daisy came to Wildwood three weeks after I did to collect her car. She took one look at Holt standing behind me with his hand settled possessively on my hip and Six sitting beside him and burst out laughing.
“Jules. You absolute legend. You ran away from a wedding and straight into a romance novel.”
She wasn’t wrong.
My wedding dress is a christening gown now. Nora’s daughter Mayla brought her baby up from High Vale for a fitting last month, and the church sewing circle spent three weeks arguing over who was responsible for which piece of lace.
I didn’t mind seeing it. That surprised me. Maybe because when I look at that dress now, I don’t remember Corbin. I remember headlights and rain and a huge man climbing out of a truck. Silver eyes looking at me like I was something precious before he even knew my last name.
I remember Holt.
Which brings me to this morning and the absolutely terrible lie my mountain man thinks he's getting away with.
“It’s a supply check,” he says.
I look up from lacing my boot. “A supply check?”
“The overlook cache needs restocking before summer.”
He shoulders his pack without looking at me.
What Holt doesn’t know is that I’m aware there is no supply cache at the scenic overlook. I know this because I have been there five times, including once when Holt carried me halfway home because I got a blister and he reacted as though my foot might require amputation.
Also, there’s been something small and square in his jacket pocket for approximately a month. Every morning, he moves it from yesterday’s jacket to today’s jacket, when he thinks I’m not looking.
Another giveaway is that Six has been wearing his good leather collar since breakfast, which now has a tiny leather pouch attached. But I haven’t said a word. Because I have all the time in the world for this wonderful man.
He’s kept me warm through the winter; I wake up wrapped around him, his huge hand finding mine under the blankets. My morning coffee appears beside me exactly the way I like it. He gives me foot rubs after long shifts at Latte Da! and kisses against the back of my neck while I bake.
He never decides for me. He asks; always.
So I want this moment to be his. Some choices are yours, and others you give to the person you trust to hold them. I lace my boots and follow the man I fell in love with almost before I knew him up to the lookout point.
The trail that once looked scary doesn’t anymore. Maybe I’m stronger. Or perhaps it’s because everything is easier when Holt’s broad back is ten feet ahead of me and every few minutes he turns around to make sure I’m okay.
The morning is beautiful, one of those perfect May mornings when the mountain seems to be apologizing for winter. Everything is green and sunlight filters through the trees. Six races ahead, then doubles back to check on us.
Holt reaches for my hand on the steepest part. He always does. His fingers close around mine, and there it is. That stupid little leap inside my chest.
“You good?” he asks.
I smile up at him. “Perfect.”
His eyes stay on mine for a second too long before he leans down and kisses my forehead.
God, I love this man.
At the lookout, the trees suddenly fall away and the whole valley opens beneath us, Wildwood tucked among the trees, with the lake a sheet of blue between the mountains.
I turn to Holt. He’s making absolutely no attempt to check his imaginary supply cache. Instead, he stands very still.
“Holt?”
He whistles.
Six trots toward me and sits directly in front of my boots, chest out, tail thumping against the dirt. I look at the pouch, then at Holt.
My heart starts hammering.
“No.”
His mouth twitches.
“No,” I whisper, already smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.
Six nudges my knee.
“You traitor.”
His tail thumps harder.
My fingers shake as I open the little pouch and find a ring inside. It’s a sapphire, deep blue, the color of the lake when the sun disappears behind the ridge. It sits in an old-fashioned setting, delicate and beautiful and nothing like anything my father would have chosen for me.
I love it instantly. Then I look at Holt and forget about the ring.
Because Holt is on one knee.
My Holt. My enormous mountain man who once stared down Corbin Vance without so much as raising his voice is kneeling in the dirt, and his hands are shaking.
“Holt.”
His silver eyes meet mine, and everything inside me melts.
“Come here,” I whisper.
A rough laugh escapes him. “Not how this works, sweetheart.”
“I don’t care.”
“I know.” His voice goes softer. “Let me do this.”
So I stand still. Barely.
His jaw works once, then twice. “Twenty years, I stood outside other people’s lives. Doors. Hallways. Parking garages. Hotel rooms. Airports. Watching other men come home to somebody. Told myself the outside was where I belonged.”
My eyes burn.
“And then you walked into my headlights wearing a ruined wedding dress.” A laugh catches in my throat, and his mouth lifts. “And you looked at me like I could be something other than the man standing outside the door.”
“Holt.”
“You walked straight into my house and started rearranging things.”
“I bought some cushions.”
“You bought ten cushions.”
“The place was a cry for help.”
His laugh breaks out, low and rough. Then he looks at me again, and the humor disappears.
“You changed me, Juliette.”
My breath catches.
“I knew that first night I wasn’t letting anything happen to you. By morning, I knew sending you away was going to hurt.” His voice roughens. “And somewhere in there, before I had any business feeling it, I knew.”
Tears spill over before I can stop them. Holt reaches up and catches one with his thumb.
“I love you,” he says. “Not because you need me. You don’t.
You proved that before I ever met you. I love you because every room is better when you’re in it.
Because you talk to Six like he’s a person and steal my shirts even though you have an entire closet.
Because you fill my house with things I didn’t know it was missing. ”
He takes a breath. “Because you filled me with things I didn’t know I was missing.”
Oh God.
“Holt.”
“You know I’ll protect you until I die. That’s not news. I’m asking you to let me love you for the rest of my life.”
Tears stream down my face.
“I want whatever comes next…wherever you want to go. I just want to be the man beside you when you get there.” His thumb strokes over my knuckles.
“You spent too long having other people tell you what your life was supposed to look like. I won’t ever do that.
So this is your choice too, sweetheart.”
He holds up the ring.
“Juliette, will you marry me?”
Eight months ago, I stood in a wedding dress and couldn’t breathe. I had a church full of people waiting for me, flowers I’d never chosen, a man I’d never loved, and a future that felt like a door slamming shut behind me.
Now I’m standing on top of a mountain in muddy boots, with a dog drooling on my leg and the man I love kneeling in the dirt.
And I’ve never felt freer.
I laugh through my tears. “Yes. Obviously yes.”
He stands and then lunges for me.
I squeal as he catches me around the waist, and then I’m off the ground, arms around his neck, his mouth crashing into mine, Six barking joyfully in the background.
He kisses me like he did that first night, like eight months haven’t dulled a single thing, like he still can’t quite believe I’m here.
Eventually he puts me down, although only far enough to slide the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly.
“Oh, Holt.”
He cups my face. “You’re mine, Juliette.”
I throw myself at him. Six barks.
“She’s mine,” Holt informs the dog over my shoulder.
I grin as his hand slides around the back of my neck.
“And I’m yours,” he says.
We stay on the mountain for a long time. Eventually I stand between Holt’s legs with his arms wrapped around me from behind, my back resting against his chest. His chin settles on the top of my head while Six sprawls beside our boots.
Below us, Wildwood is waking up. Nora will be at Latte Da! lettering the chalkboard. There will be a wedding to plan. A small one. Every person invited because we want them to be there. No business deals, no mergers, no aisle I have to be coaxed down. Just Holt waiting for me at the end of it.
I look down at the sapphire on my finger, then turn my head and find Holt already looking at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothing.” His arms tighten, that tiny smile appearing at the corner of his mouth. “I just like looking at you.”
Eight months later and my ridiculous heart still flips over. I reach up, pull his face down to mine, and kiss him.
I ran away from the wrong man in a wedding dress and got lost on a mountain road. And somehow, impossibly, I ended up exactly where I was supposed to be.
With him.