Chapter 22 #2
Pudding tugged on the leash, whining softly. He'd spotted her, too.
“I know, buddy.” I took a breath, my pulse hammering against my ribs. “Let's go.”
We approached slowly. The elderly woman thanked Rosie and walked away with her purchase. Rosie turned to reorganize her display, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. The morning sun caught the copper highlights, making them gleam.
That's when she saw us.
Her eyes widened. Then softened, lighting up in that way that made my chest ache.
Before I could say anything, Pudding lunged. The leash slipped through my fingers as he scrambled forward, paws skittering across the pavement.
“Pudding!” Rosie dropped to her knees.
The puppy barreled into her legs, pressing himself against her shins. His whole body trembled, but his tail wagged frantically. He buried his face against her jeans, hiding from the noise and movement of the market.
Rosie wrapped her arms around him, murmuring soft reassurances.
Of course. The thought settled over me with absolute certainty. She's always been his mom.
From the moment she'd leaned into my truck that first day, worried about a puppy she'd just met. From the moment she'd insisted on naming him, making him real and loved before even knowing what would happen to him.
Pudding had chosen her weeks ago. I'd just been too slow to see it.
Rosie looked up at me, her eyes suspiciously bright. “What's this?”
“Adoption visit.” I crouched beside them. “Sharon got your form this morning.”
“You're here to approve my application?” She pressed her face against Pudding's head.
“Something like that.”
She reached for the red ribbon around Pudding's neck, her fingers brushing the lopsided bow. A laugh bubbled out of her. “Did you tie this yourself?”
Heat crept up my neck. “I know it's crooked but—”
“It looks great.” She grinned, adjusting the bow with gentle fingers. Pudding tried to bite the ribbon again, making her giggle. She stroked Pudding's ears, her voice soft but certain. “I called Lauren last night and turned down the job.”
Relief flooded through me, so intense it almost hurt. The market noise faded to background static. Everything narrowed to Rosie's face, the certainty in her voice, Pudding's contented sigh as he curled deeper into her embrace.
“The farm's home now,” she continued. “And this little guy...” She scratched under Pudding's chin. “Well, someone needs to teach him that ribbons aren't chew toys.”
“Good luck with that.” I stood, offering her my hand. She took it, rising gracefully. Pudding had given up on the ribbon and was now content to watch the market bustle leaning against her legs.
“You're really staying?” The question slipped out before I could stop it.
Her smile softened. “I'm really staying.”
I wanted to pull her close, kiss her right there in the middle of the market, but something in her expression made me pause. She seemed to hesitate, like there was more she needed to say.
I reached for her hand instead, threading our fingers together.
“The job felt right for who I used to be.” She paused, searching for words. “Or maybe... maybe for who I thought I should be? Before everything fell apart in Seattle.”
Her thumb brushed across my knuckles, a gentle, absent-minded movement.
“Lauren called it my dream job, and she wasn't wrong.
Six months ago, I would've said yes without hesitation.” Her gaze lifted to mine.
“But that was before I knew what it felt like to create my own line of products, or build this weird friendship with goats, or—” She broke off, a flush creeping up her cheeks.
I squeezed her hand, my pulse hammering. “Or?”
“Or fall for someone who makes me want to stay.” Her voice was steady, confident.
The words hit me square in the chest.
I opened my mouth, searching for something adequate to say, but nothing came close to what I felt.
Rosie watched me, that familiar brightness in her eyes, waiting.
“I don't want you to give up opportunities because of me.” The words scraped out. “Your career, your dreams—”
“Cal.” She stepped closer, Pudding scrambling to stay pressed against her legs.
“I'm not saying I won't wonder what my life would have been if I'd picked Seattle.” She continued, quieter now.
“But I would've regretted leaving this a lot more.
The farm, the life I'm building here. It feels like... like where I need to be.”
Pure joy flooded through me. The kind that made everything brighter, sharper. Made the ordinary market day feel extraordinary.
“You're sure?” The question came out rough.
“I'm sure.” She met my eyes, and the certainty there stole my breath. “This is home now. You're—”
I kissed her. Right there, with half the market probably watching, with Pudding tangled in his leash between us. Soft and quick, but enough to show her I understood exactly what she meant.
When I pulled back, the words rose up without permission, inevitable as sunrise.
“I love you.”
Rosie's breath caught. Her eyes went wide, searching mine.
“I've been in love with you for a while already.” The confession spilled out, honest and unpolished.
“Since you named a terrified puppy without hesitation. Since you looked at my mess of a rescue operation and saw something worth helping. Since I heard you laugh when you sprayed me with your broken irrigation system.”
Her free hand came up to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt.
“I know it's fast,” I continued, unable to stop now that I'd started. “And I know you just turned down a job to stay, which isn't the same as—”
“Cal.” Her voice was soft but firm. “I love you, too.”
The world tilted.
“I didn't know I'd be ready for those feelings,” she said, her thumb brushing against my collarbone. “After Aaron, after everything—I thought it would take years before I could trust someone like this again. Before I could want to trust someone.”
Pudding whined, pawing at her leg. She glanced down, laughing through the tears gathering in her eyes, then looked back at me.
“But you're not him. You see me—the messy, stubborn, slightly chaotic version of me—and you don't try to fix it or smooth it over. You just...” She paused, her smile trembling. “You just show up. Every time.”
I cupped her face, my thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. “I'll keep showing up.”
“I know.” Her voice broke slightly. “That's why I love you.”
I kissed her again, slower this time. Savoring it. The market noise dimmed—voices, laughter, footsteps—all of it distant and unimportant compared to this.
When we pulled apart, I could see it clearly.
The future stretched ahead of us like the valley roads winding through these mountains.
Rosie at Sullivan Farm, coaxing impossible things from stubborn soil.
Me at the clinic, patching up animals and taking midnight calls.
Two people who refused to quit, who'd found each other in the chaos and decided to stay.
We'd fight. She'd overcommit to new projects, I'd work too many hours. But we'd figure it out the way we always did—showing up, trying again, choosing each other even when it got hard.
Pudding yapped, breaking the spell.
“Excuse me?” An uncertain voice interrupted.
Rosie blinked, awareness flooding back. A woman stood at the edge of the booth, eyeing Rosie's herb bundles with interest.
“Sorry.” Rosie wiped her eyes quickly, that bright smile returning as she turned to greet the customer. “Hi! Looking for anything specific?”
“I wanted to ask about your basil...”
I released Rosie's hand, stepping back to give her space. She launched into an explanation about varieties and uses, her enthusiasm infectious. The woman nodded along, asking questions, picking up bundles to smell.
I led Pudding to a shaded corner of the booth where he promptly curled up, exhausted from his big moment.
Then I moved behind the table, scanning Rosie’s setup.
Bouquets needed wrapping—simple enough. I grabbed the brown paper and twine, working through the pile while Rosie finished with her customer.
“That'll be twelve dollars.”
The woman handed over cash, tucking her purchases into a tote bag. “Beautiful flowers. I'll be back next week.”
“I'll be here.” Rosie waved as the customer left, then turned to me. Her eyes softened when she saw the wrapped bouquets I'd lined up. “You didn't have to—”
“I know.” I secured another bundle with twine. “But we're a team now.”
Her smile could've lit the entire valley.
The mountains rose around us, solid and unchanging. The market hummed with life, familiar voices calling greetings. Rosie's shoulder brushed mine as she reached for more twine, and I caught her hand, threading our fingers together.
This, I thought. This is what home feels like.
Not the clinic or the town. This. Her hand in mine, Pudding dozing at our feet, the promise of Sunday mornings and Friday nights and all the ordinary, extraordinary moments in between.
Settling, finally, where we belonged.