Page 51 of All You Need Is Macchiato

"When you were determined not to like me?"

"When I was already falling for you and too stubborn to admit it." He presses a kiss to my hair. "Though in my defense, you were very intimidating with your tablet and your business plans."

"And now?"

"Now you're still intimidating." His smile curves against my temple. "But in the best possible way."

Below us, Elk Ridge twinkles with promise. The Coffee Loft's lights shine steady and bright, a beacon of everything we've built together. Of everything we'll continue to build.

"I love you," I whisper into the quiet. "Even when you're impossible."

"Especially when I'm impossible?"

"Especially then."

We stand together, wrapped in starlight and possibility, as music and laughter drift through the open windows behind us. Inside, our family and friends celebrate our love. Outside, the mountains stand sentinel over our dreams.

Some love stories start with coffee cups and wish cards.

Some begin with misunderstandings and stolen flannel shirts.

But the best ones? They grow like mountain laurel in spring—strong roots, delicate blooms, and the promise of endless seasons stretching before us, each more beautiful than the last.

This is our beginning.

And it feels exactly like coming home.

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