Cara
The months that followed felt like I could finally breathe again.
Jasper kept every promise he made that night at the cabin.
He brought me into the job the way he said he would—texts during the day with funny details about clients, phone calls on the evenings he stayed late in Willowmist Falls, and long conversations at the kitchen table whenever a week looked like it might run long.
The travel turned out to be lighter than either of us had feared.
Most cases stayed close, and the few times he had to drive out of town, he was home by dinner or called the moment he knew he wouldn’t be.
We settled into a rhythm that felt like ours.
Some nights, I drove to the cabin after closing the shop.
Other nights, he came to me, slipping through the alley door with flowers or a bottle of wine and that quiet smile that still made my stomach flip.
My books lived beside his on the shelf he had built.
The space between us had grown smaller, steadier, safer.
One quiet evening, Jasper asked me to close the shop a little early.
He met me at the front door, his eyes holding that familiar mix of nerves and certainty I was learning to recognize.
“Tonight is for you,” he said softly. “Lock up when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting upstairs.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he kissed me once—slow, lingering, full of promise—and headed up the stairs.
I finished the last tasks in a haze of curiosity.
When the shop was empty and quiet, I turned the sign to CLOSED, locked the front door, and left only the soft glow of the reading lamps and the string lights along the fiction wall.
On the table next to the door lay an envelope, cream-colored, my name written in Jasper’s steady hand. Inside was a single note card.
Start where stories begin.
I smiled and crossed to the fiction wall. The second envelope waited between two well-loved copies of Jane Eyre.
Where you first told me you loved mysteries as much as I love coming home to you.
My heart beat faster. I moved to the mystery section and found the next envelope resting against a hardcover of Murder on the Orient Express.
Follow the trail of the woman who built her life one page at a time.
Each envelope led me deeper into the shop—through memories only we shared.
One took me to the reading nook. Another brought me behind the counter, where he had kissed me senseless the night he returned with the flowers.
The trail was thoughtful, personal, woven with the quiet moments that had become the foundation of us.
The final envelope waited on the small table in the reading nook. My fingers trembled as I opened it.
Come upstairs. Our last chapter is waiting.
I climbed the back stairs, pulse humming with anticipation. When I stepped into my apartment, the sight stole my breath.
The lights were dimmed low. Dozens of tiny flameless candles flickered across every surface, bathing the bookshelves and worn rug in warm golden light.
The cats were batting around piles of white rose petals that led from the door through the living room and into the bedroom.
Soft music played from the old speaker in the corner—something slow and acoustic that Jasper knew I loved.
And there he was.
Jasper stood in the center of the living room in a dark button-down and jeans, looking impossibly handsome, his expression a beautiful mix of hope and nerves. In his hands, he held one last envelope and a single red rose.
“Hi,” he said, voice low and warm.
“Hi,” I whispered, stepping closer. “You did all this?”
“I wanted to give you a mystery night in the place you love most.” He handed me the final envelope. “One last note.”
I opened it. The card inside held four words in his handwriting:
Will you marry me?
My breath caught.
When I looked up, Jasper had lowered to one knee.
Between his fingers gleamed a beautiful antique engagement ring—platinum filigree work as delicate as lace, with a central diamond surrounded by a halo of smaller stones in an old-fashioned, timeless setting.
It caught the candlelight and shimmered with quiet elegance, like something passed down through generations of love stories.
“Cara,” he said, eyes locked on mine, his voice steady despite the emotion thickening it.
“I spent years thinking I was built for leaving. Then I met you, and for the first time I wanted to stay—really stay. You taught me how to come home. You taught me how to trust someone with every part of my life. I don’t want any more chapters where we’re figuring it out apart.
I want every chapter after this one to be ours.
Together. In the cabin, in this apartment, wherever our life takes us.
I love you more than I ever thought I could love anyone. Will you marry me?”
Tears blurred my vision. I didn’t try to stop them.
“Yes,” I said, the word breaking on a laugh and a sob at once. “Yes, Jasper. Of course I’ll marry you.”
He rose to his feet, slid the exquisite ring onto my finger, and pulled me into his arms. The kiss was deep, joyful, overflowing with relief and promise.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him back with everything in me, the rose petals soft beneath our feet and candlelight dancing around us.
When we finally drew apart, he rested his forehead against mine, that rare, full smile breaking across his face.
“Come with me,” he murmured, taking my hand with gentle reverence.
He led me into the bedroom. The trail of petals continued across the threshold. More candles glowed on the nightstands and dresser, filling the room with the soft scent of vanilla and warm wax. The bed was turned down, the quilt folded neatly at the foot.
Jasper turned to me, his hands cupping my face with such tenderness, my heart ached. His thumbs brushed away the tears still clinging to my cheeks.
“My fiancée,” he whispered, the word reverent, like a prayer. “God, I love saying that.”
He kissed me again—slow, deep, and full of devotion. There was no rush. Only love. Only us.
We undressed each other with quiet care.
His fingers moved gently as he unzipped my dress and let it slip to the floor.
I unbuttoned his shirt one button at a time, pressing soft kisses to every new inch of warm skin.
When we stood bare before each other, he lifted me onto the bed as though I were something infinitely precious, then followed, covering my body with his.
Skin to skin. Heartbeat to heartbeat.
He kissed me like he was memorizing every part of me—my mouth, my jaw, the sensitive hollow beneath my ear.
His lips trailed lower with aching tenderness, brushing over my collarbone and the swell of my breasts.
When he took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, I sighed his name and arched into the warmth of him.
His hand slid down my side, over my hip, and between my thighs.
He touched me with such loving patience—fingers gliding through my slick folds, circling my clit with slow, perfect strokes—that my breath came in soft, trembling gasps.
Every caress felt like a vow. Every touch whispered I’m here. I’m yours to keep. Forever.
When I was trembling beneath him, he settled between my legs. His eyes held mine as he slowly pushed inside me—thick, hot, filling me completely. We both exhaled shakily at the exquisite feeling of becoming one again.
“I love you,” he whispered against my lips as he began to move.
Slow, deep rolls of his hips. Not just pleasure—connection.
He made love to me with his whole heart, every thrust deliberate and tender, every kiss laced with devotion.
I wrapped my legs around him, drawing him closer, wanting nothing between us.
My hands roamed his back, feeling the flex of muscle, the warmth of his skin, the way he trembled when I whispered his name.
We moved together in a gentle, loving rhythm, bodies rocking, breaths mingling. The candlelight painted soft gold across his shoulders. Tears slipped from the corners of my eyes—not from sadness, but from the overwhelming beauty of this moment. This man. This love. This life we were choosing.
“I love you,” I breathed, cupping his face. “So much, Jasper.”
His rhythm faltered for a moment as emotion tightened his features. He pressed his forehead to mine, eyes shining with unshed tears.
“You’re my home, Cara. You always will be.”
The pleasure built slowly, sweetly, until it crested in long, rolling waves.
I came with a soft cry, clinging to him as my body pulsed around his, drawing him deeper.
Jasper followed right after, burying himself fully as he spilled inside me with a quiet groan of my name, his body shuddering against mine in release and surrender.
Afterward, he stayed inside me for a long moment, holding me close as our heartbeats gradually slowed.
He rolled us gently so I lay draped across his chest, his arms wrapped securely around me.
His fingers traced lazy, loving patterns along my spine while he pressed soft kisses to my hair, my temple, my forehead.
“Cara Darlington Dean,” he murmured, voice warm with quiet wonder. “I like the sound of that.”
I smiled against his skin, the antique ring cool and shimmering on my finger, catching the candlelight with every tiny movement.
“So do I,” I whispered. “So do I.”
The candles flickered softly around us. The bookshop slept downstairs under its string lights, full of stories that had led us here.
And upstairs, wrapped in each other’s arms, we began the most beautiful chapter of all.
Thank you for reading Yours to Keep!
Join Jasper and Cara on their honeymoon!