Epilogue
The orchard was in bloom again.
Lily paused at the sink and let herself soak in the view.
The apple trees bent under the weight of fruit, and the blossoms drifted down like confetti in the soft September breeze.
Golden hour was her favorite time of day, when the sun dipped low and painted their home in soft warmth.
She felt the same grateful ache in her heart every time she saw it.
Just last year, they’d stood out there beneath the fiery maples and said their vows. It had been simple and perfect: a white dress, a fistful of wildflowers, and the man she’d once thought she could never have.
She could still see Rush waiting for her at the end of the orchard row, broad shouldered and impossibly handsome, his gray eyes locked on hers like she was the only person in the world.
There was not a single stargazer lily in sight. She’d made sure of it.
They’d eaten Texas barbecue, smoky brisket and cornbread passed down long tables under string lights, a nod to Rush’s home state, and danced until the stars faded.
Tessa and Savvie had fallen asleep on a quilt under an apple tree while their parents danced in the grass.
Pop had given a toast that made everyone cry.
Rachel and Sarah were folded into the Hart family as if they’d always belonged there.
She’d thought the way he looked at her during the ceremony would be the moment etched into her forever, but she’d been wrong.
It was later, after the dancing and the toasts and the teasing from their sisters, when the farmhouse was finally quiet and he carried her upstairs, that time stopped.
He closed their bedroom door with his foot, set her gently on the edge of the bed and just looked at her. Not like a man about to undress his wife but like a man trying to make sense of a dream he’d been handed with both hands.
“You sure you’re real, angel?” he asked hoarsely, brushing a curl from her cheek, his thumb lingering.
“Touch me and find out,” she whispered.
He did.
Slowly at first, reverently, sliding the straps of her dress down her arms, his mouth following every inch of bare skin he revealed.
“Been wanting you like this since the second you ran into my truck in that damn wedding dress,” he murmured against her throat, easing her dress down until her breasts spilled free.
Her breath hitched as he cupped them in both hands, brushing his thumbs over her nipples, making them stiffen and pout for his mouth.
“Look at you,” he said gruffly. “My wife.”
She curled her fingers into his shirt and tugged him closer, sliding her hands over the solid planes of his chest, down his waistband, feeling all that barely contained strength under her palms.
“Take these off. I want to see my husband.”
His laugh rumbled against her palms, but he obeyed, working the buttons open one by one, unzipping and revealing himself to her inch by devastating inch. She drank him in: the hard muscle, the scar she’d kissed a hundred times, the deep V disappearing into a trail of dark hair between his legs.
Then he was over her, and she was already shaking.
Rush lowered himself onto her, pinning her to the mattress with the weight of his body.
His mouth trailed down her throat, across her collarbone, then lower.
He took her nipple into his mouth, sucking deep and slow, holding her possessively as he pushed inside her.
Lily buried her fingers in his hair and arched into him, her whole body answering his like it always had.
He took his time, worshipping her, loving her with a reverence that undid her. Her legs tightened around his waist, pulling him closer, and he let out a moan.
She didn’t need him to say a single word—she already knew how he felt. He never missed a chance to tell her, to show her, his love every day.
Now, a year later, Lily curved her hand over the swell of her belly, wonder filling her.
Her son shifted with a lazy roll, pressing against her hand, and she smiled through the tears pricking her eyes.
Soon, there would be even more laughter and love.
Another stocking on the mantel. Another heartbeat in this old farmhouse.
Behind her, the floor creaked, and strong arms slid around her waist. Rush buried his face in her neck. His scruff ticked her skin, and she melted back into him.
“What are you smiling about, Mrs. Callahan?” he murmured against her ear.
“Everything,” she whispered, turning her face to him.
He pressed a hand over hers protectively, both of them cradling their son. “Guess he heard me,” Rush said, his voice rough with wonder. He kissed her temple, his thumb stroking her ring. “Still can’t believe you’re mine.”
She leaned into him, letting it all—the man she loved, the life they were building—flood her, fill every place that had once been only a dream, fill her up to bursting.
She wasn’t waiting anymore. She’d chosen this. Her heart throbbed. Once again, she whispered the truth she’d known all along.
“I was always yours.” She smiled through her tears. “Just as you’ve always been mine.”
The End