Epilogue
WILLA
The morning light spills soft and gold across Cherry Mountain, filtering through the tall pines and turning Sugar Creek to glitter. I stand by the water, breathing in the crisp, fresh air. It’s so quiet up here. All I can hear is the light sway of branches in the wind, the distant call of birdsong.
It’s nothing like the quiet of my old apartment.
The pressing silence that used to squeeze my chest tight and remind me of how alone I was.
This is a different kind of quiet. Peaceful. Almost dream-like.
Then a loud crack echoes through the trees and pierces the calm like a gunshot.
The sound of an axe cutting through wood.
I smile at the noise. It sounds like my husband is nearby.
He rarely strays far from the cabin these days—his protective instincts won’t let him.
Heck, I’m used to being the overthinker with a brain that won’t shut off, but ever since I got pregnant, Flint has lost his mind… in an endearing kind of way.
Let me do that, Willa.
Don’t get up, princess.
You don’t need to walk to the bathroom. I can carry you.
He said that last one this morning, and I grin as I remember the earnestness in his voice. I wrap his huge shirt tighter around me. It smells like him—pine and woodsmoke—the flannel hanging loosely over my bump.
Seven months.
That’s how far along I am, and I can’t believe how fast the time has gone.
It feels like only yesterday I was showing Flint the positive pregnancy test, both of us trying and failing not to cry.
Now our baby girl is almost here, and it feels like my heart might burst out of my chest. She’s restless this morning, and I feel her shift, almost like she knows I’m thinking about her.
Only two months to go.
My hand moves instinctively to my belly.
I rest it on my bump and look back toward the creek, watching the clear water flow lazily over the rocks.
Three years ago, I used to sit outside Creekside Diner on my lunch break, watching the same water run past, the same creek.
It’s where I was sitting the day I got fired from the cleaning company—that smiley face text message that changed the whole course of my life.
I remember that day. The way my heart broke when I got that text. The way I scrambled to run the numbers, terrified of what it would mean for my late fees. My debts. It was only three years ago, but it feels like another life. Like something that happened to a different person.
Everything is so different now.
So much better.
I sleep now.
Real, proper, eight-hour sleep. No more crashing in backrooms. No more snatching half an hour behind the hotel reception desk. These days, I wake up slowly. I spend my afternoons in the office, not juggling jobs, but working alongside Flint.
My husband and I are no longer boss and employee.
We’re business partners now—co-owners of Calloway Logging.
The business keeps growing, expanding year after year, and there are five different crews now, each with bigger contracts and better systems. Flint still spends most of his work hours in the forest with his axe, but I think he’s warmed up to admin tasks a little.
Probably something to do with what we get up to in the office…
“Willa?”
Flint’s voice cuts through my thoughts, low and gruff.
I turn to him with a smile, my chest twanging.
My husband looks more gorgeous than ever.
Still big and brawny, built like a grizzly bear, but with a softness in his eyes that wasn’t there before.
His permanent scowl is a little less permanent. Heck, sometimes he even smiles.
He’s not smiling right now, though. I’m unsurprised to see the concerned frown on his face as he strides toward me, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“Why are you walking out here?” he asks.
“Just thought I’d enjoy the sunshine. Watch the creek.”
Flint’s face turns almost comically serious, and he raises a hand. “Wait there, princess.”
I do as I’m told, watching as he heads into the cabin, then comes back out carrying a leather armchair from the living room.
It’s definitely not light, but he carries it like it’s nothing, muscles rippling beneath his shirt as he sets the armchair down on the grass behind me, a safe distance from the creek.
“Here, beautiful. Sit down.”
“Thanks…but I’m not sure if this is made to go outside?”
“The porch seats aren’t comfortable enough.”
“Flint, it’s a leather armchair—”
“It’ll be fine.”
He reaches for my hand and guides me onto the armchair. I sit down, willing myself not to start laughing.
“You need anything?” he asks, leaning in to kiss the top of my head. “Something to eat? Drink?”
“Hm. Is there any of that cherry pie left?”
“Sure, princess. I’ll be right back.”
He reemerges with the pie box, some plates, and an outdoor chair from the porch, which he sets down beside my armchair. Then he plates up the pie and hands me the biggest slice. We tuck in, and I ask about his morning between mouthfuls of sweet, flaky pie.
“Got a little too close to Everly and Gunnar’s place earlier,” he says after recounting his day so far. “Big mistake.”
“Uh-oh.”
He doesn’t need to elaborate. When my best friend left Chicago and moved back to Cherry Hollow, she was quickly swept off her feet by a lumberjack named Gunnar.
They’re an adorable couple, totally obsessed with each other, but getting too close to their cabin is always risky without an invitation.
At any given moment, there’s a ninety-nine percent chance that the two of them are jumping each other’s bones in the trees outside.
You can’t see them, but boy can you hear them.
“What about you, princess?” Flint asks, scraping up the last of his pie. “How was your morning?”
“Good. Someone decided to have a dance party.”
“Yeah?” His eyes light up as he looks at my belly. “She still going?”
I set my pie down and take his hand, resting it on my belly. Nothing happens for a few moments. Then she kicks. I watch Flint’s face, the way his heavy brows lift, warmth shifting in his eyes. She kicks again, straight against his palm, and he makes a hoarse sound in his throat.
“That’s my girl,” he says, his voice a little thick as he rubs a hand over my bump. Then he looks up at me. His gray eyes burn, the intensity sucking the breath from my lungs. He looks at me like he can’t believe I’m real. Like he thinks I’ll disappear if he turns away.
“I love you, Willa,” he murmurs. “More than anything.”
“I love you, too.” I smile at him, reaching for his hand and squeezing tight.
He squeezes my hand back, and I lean toward him, resting my head on his shoulder. Happiness washes over me, warming my veins, filling me with light.
Because I know this is my forever.
No more waiting for a blow.
No more counting the seconds until it all falls apart.
I’ve finally found my home.
And I owe it all to Flint Calloway.