Chapter 106
EMMA
ONE MONTH LATER
The morning sun pours through the kitchen windows at Blackthorn, turning everything golden. I'm curled in Jake's lap at the breakfast table, his arm wrapped around my waist, his coffee mug in his other hand.
Mason's flipping pancakes at the stove, with the same precision he applies to everything else. Luke's sitting across from us, eating bacon and grinning at us like we're his personal entertainment.
Luke shakes his head. "You two are disgusting."
Jake doesn't even look up from his coffee. "Jealous?"
"Of your codependent nightmare?” He snorts. “Hard pass."
But there's no heat in it. There never is. Luke loves seeing Jake happy—even if he gives us shit about it.
I reach for a piece of bacon from Luke's plate, and he swats my hand away. "Get your own, buttercup."
"I'm too comfortable to get up."
"I'm not," Jake says, hauling me over his shoulder and standing.
I squeal, grabbing this belt loops on his jeans to hold on. Laughing, I smack his back. "Jake, put me down."
"Nope." He's already moving toward the stairs.
Luke's laughter follows us. "Pancakes will get cold."
"Save us some," Jake calls back.
"Not a chance."
Mason's quiet chuckle is the last thing I hear before Jake carries me up the stairs, his hand firm on my thighs, keeping me secure.
"You're ridiculous," I say, still laughing.
"You love it."
He's right. I do.
He carries me past his bedroom, past the guest rooms, and pushes open the door to the library—the room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the mountains, the leather couch we picked out together last month, and the fireplace we've never actually used.
Until now.
Jake sets me down on the thick rug in front of the fireplace, his eyes dark with intent.
"Here?" I ask, breathless.
"Here." He kneels beside me, his hands already working the buttons of my shirt. "I want you in the sunlight. Want to see every inch of you."
“Shouldn’t we light the fireplace?” My breath catches as he peels my shirt away.
“This is a test run,” he replies, tossing my bra aside, his touch reverent and slow. He lays me back on the rug, the morning sun pouring over us, warm and golden. His mouth finds mine, soft and deep, and I sink into him—into this moment, into us.
"I love you," he murmurs against my lips. His hand squeezes my waist, his thumb caressing my skin. “Both of you.”
I freeze. "What?"
He smiles down at me like I’m adorably funny. “I know how to count, sweetheart.”
I bite my lip. “Just because I missed my period doesn’t mean I’m pregnant.”
“You are,” he replies with annoying confidence, kissing the end of my nose.
I frown up at him. “I suppose this means you want to get married.”
He lowers his lips to my neck. “Ask me nicely. But don’t worry, I’ll say yes.”
I snort.
He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and pulls something out, holding it in front of my face.
It’s a ring—a square-cut diamond ring, bezel set in a brushed gold band. It’s simple and won’t catch on things, like I’d want, but still sparkling and significant. In one word: perfect. But that’s because Jake chose it.
“Say it,” he murmurs. He looks at me like I’m already his—like this is just a formality.
My pulse kicks faster, and my hands fist in his shirt. “Marry me, Jake.”
“Are you asking, or telling me?”
I swallow, heat curling in my belly. “Telling you.”
Something shifts in his expression, and he smiles. “Good.”
Then he slides the ring onto my finger like it’s always belonged there.
We make love slowly, thoroughly. He strips and covers me with his body, his hands everywhere.
The sunlight catches in his dark hair, turns his skin bronze, and I memorize every detail—the way he looks at me like I'm everything, the way his breath hitches when I touch him, the way he whispers my name like a prayer.
When we're both spent, he pulls me against his chest, wrapping us in the throw blanket from the couch.
"We're missing breakfast," I say, my voice lazy and satisfied.
"Worth it."
I laugh, pressing a kiss to his jaw. "Luke's going to eat all the bacon."
"Let him."
We lie there in the sunlight, tangled together, and I think about how far we've come and how far we’ll be going.
"What are you thinking about?" Jake asks, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on my shoulder.
"How happy I am."
He kisses the top of my head. "Good. That's all I want."
"I know."
And I do. I know it in the way he holds me, the way he looks at me, the way he's building this life with me—not around me, but with me.
Mason and Luke are downstairs, probably finishing off the pancakes.
The horses are in the pasture.
The mountains stretch out beyond the windows.
And I'm here, in Jake's arms, exactly where I belong, with our baby between us if we’re lucky.
"We should go back down," I say, though I don't move.
"In a minute."
"Luke's going to give us so much shit."
"Let him."
I smile against his chest, breathing him in—soap and coffee and home.
This is family now. Not the one I was born into, but the one I chose. The one that chose me back.
And I'm never letting it go.