Chapter 15 #2
"Yes." The word comes out immediately, surprising us both. "I was already hoping you'd say yes when I asked you," I admit, laughing through sudden tears. "You're my brother. My only family. Of course I want you to walk me down the aisle!"
He’s quiet for so long I think we’ve lost connection. Then: "I don’t deserve you."
"Probably not. But you’re stuck with me anyway."
"I’m moving back," he says suddenly. "After the wedding. Emma needs family, needs a real community. And I... I need to come home."
My heart squeezes. "Really?"
"Really. Already looking at houses."
We talk for a few more minutes—about Emma, about houses, about coming home. When we hang up, I sit there holding my phone, processing. My brother’s coming home. He’ll walk me down the aisle. Emma will throw flowers.
My family—fractured and scattered—is slowly piecing itself back together.
Not the same as before. But maybe something new. Maybe something better.
I find Nate in our bedroom, fresh from the shower with a towel around his waist, looking at something on his laptop.
“How was dress shopping?” he asks, snapping the laptop shut—probably wedding stuff he doesn’t want me to see.
“Haven’t found THE dress yet. And Maya’s pregnant.”
He grins. “I know. Lucas told me last week but swore me to secrecy. Maya wanted to tell you and June herself.”
“You knew and didn’t tell me?”
“Have you met Maya? She would’ve killed us both.” He pulls me onto the bed. “How do you feel about being an aunt-adjacent person?”
“Excited. Also terrified for them.” I curl against him. “Oh, and Adam called when I got home. He’s walking me down the aisle. Emma’s our flower girl.”
“That’s great. How was it, talking to him?”
“Good. Hard.”
“And you’re okay?”
“I’m... processing. He’s moving back after the wedding.”
Nate pulls me closer. “That’s big.”
“Everything’s big lately. The wedding, education center, Maya’s baby, now Adam coming home.” I trace patterns on his chest. “Sometimes I can’t believe this is our life.”
“Having second thoughts?”
I prop myself up to look at him. “Never. Just... six months ago, I thought I still hated you. Now we’re getting married in three months, by the willow tree.”
“Full circle,” he says, echoing the phrase that’s become ours.
“Perfect circle.” I lean down and kiss him, slow and deep.
His hands slide under my shirt, finding skin. “How much time before dinner?”
“Enough,” I say, tugging the towel away completely.
We’ve been together long enough now that it’s not desperate anymore—it’s familiar but never routine, comfortable but still electric. He knows exactly how to touch me, where to kiss to make me gasp. And I know the spot on his neck that makes him groan, the way he likes my nails down his back.
“Three months,” he says against my throat, voice rough. “Three months and you’re my wife.”
“Legally. I’m already yours every other way.”
He flips us so I’m beneath him. “Say it again.”
“I’m yours.”
“The other part.”
“Your wife.” The words make us both pause, feeling the weight of them—the promise. “Mrs. Wilder.”
“God, Harps.” He kisses me like it’s the first time, like it’s the last, and every time in between.
Duke huffs from his bed in the corner, apparently offended by human activities, and heads downstairs. We barely notice.
His hands are everywhere—tangling in my hair, skimming down my sides, pulling me closer. My clothes disappear with practiced ease, and then we’re skin to skin, clinging to each other with electric, knowing touches.
His mouth trails fire down my body, fingers finding the places no one else knows. The late afternoon sun paints gold stripes across our bed as he worships every inch of me.
“Nate.” I arch against him, fingernails digging into his shoulders. “Please.”
“Patience,” he murmurs, but his control is fraying too. I feel it in the tension of his muscles, the catch in his breath every time I touch him in return.
When we finally come together, his eyes never leave mine—even as we lose ourselves in the rhythm and melt into each other. My legs wrap around him, holding him close, and he groans my name into my hair.
“Harper. My Harper.”
“Yours,” I agree, then bite his shoulder when he shifts angles. “Always yours.”
The sun sinks lower, painting everything rose gold as we chase our release together. When it crests over us, I might actually see stars.
He collapses beside me, pulling me tight against his chest where I can feel his heart still racing. We’re both breathing hard, sweat cooling on our skin, completely undone.
Later, still tangled in sheets with the sun setting through our window, I think about venues. We could have chosen anywhere—the Wilson farm where we delivered those twins, the clinic where we found each other again, The Willow Tap where the town celebrated our reunion.
But the willow tree is ours. It’s been ours since the start, since the first time we fell in love and thought we had forever to figure it out.
“No doubts about the venue?” Nate asks, reading my mind.
“None. It’s perfect. Simple and ours.”
“Just like us.”
“We’re not simple.”
“We are now.” He brushes a kiss to my shoulder. “Finally.”
And he’s right. After all the chaos, we’ve finally found our way to simple. We’re getting married where we started, with our people, in the place we’re building our life.
I’m so ready for forever.