Page 19 of Stranded with the Mountain Man

When I place my hand in Jace's, his calloused palm against mine feels like coming home.

Our vows are simple, honest. Mine speak of learning to embrace imperfection and finding strength in vulnerability. His, typically economical with words but rich with meaning, promise to build a life where both our worlds have space to flourish.

The ring he slides onto my finger is his own creation—a band of polished wood inlaid with silver, as unique as our journey.

"By the power vested in me," Helen says with evident pride, "I now pronounce you husband and wife."

Jace's kiss is both familiar and new, a promise of things to come.

The reception feels dreamlike. My business partner manages the timeline, allowing me to simply exist in the moment, something I'm still learning to do. My "Destination Mountain Weddings" venture has become the surprise success of my career, with Darkmore Lodge bookings extending two years out and features in three bridal magazines.

"You changed this whole community," Jake from SAR tells me as we share a dance. "Jace was stuck in his ways before you blew in with that storm."

"I think we changed each other," I reply, my eyes finding my husband across the room. My husband. The word still feels surreal.

As the evening progresses, I grow increasingly impatient to leave. Not because I'm not enjoying the celebration, but because of what waits for us afterward—our first night in the home we built together on Jace's ridge property.

When we finally make our exit amid cheers and well-wishes, the tension between us is palpable. In the truck, his hand finds mine immediately, our fingers interlacing across the console.

"Ready to see our home, Mrs. Boone?" he asks, his voice low and intimate.

The title sends me into a giddy thrill. "More than ready, Mr. Boone."

The drive is familiar now—I've made it countless times over the past two years, dividing my weeks between Toronto and Darkmore as we built both our relationship and our home. But tonight feels different. Final. Complete.

The house emerges from the darkness as we round the final curve, illuminated by the automatic lights Jace installed. It's a stunning blend of modern and rustic—large windows framing mountain views, natural materials, and clean lines. My architectural input married to his craftsmanship.

He parks and comes around to my door, helping me navigate the snowy path in my heels. When we reach the wide front porch, he stops.

"Traditional moment," he says with a smile, before sweeping me into his arms.

I laugh, wrapping my arms around his neck as he carries me across the threshold. "I thought you didn't care for tradition."

"Some traditions have merit," he murmurs, setting me down in our entryway but keeping me close.

In the soft light, I take in our home—the open living area with its stone fireplace modeled after the lodge's, the kitchen where we've already created memories, the large windows now reflecting our entwined figures.

Our kiss is unhurried but charged with anticipation. Two years together hasn't dulled the electricity between us—if anything, knowing each other's bodies so intimately has only heightened it.

"I've been thinking about getting you out of this dress all day," he confesses, his lips trailing down my neck.

"Only all day? I've been thinking about it since I first tried it on."

His laugh vibrates against my skin. "Always planning ahead."

"Some habits die hard."

His hands find the row of tiny buttons down my back, undoing them with surprising dexterity. "Did you choose buttons to torture me?"

"Maybe." I smile against his mouth. "Or maybe to make you work for it."

As the dress loosens, his hands slip inside to caress bare skin. "Worth every second."

I step back slightly, letting the gown fall, pooling at my feet. The hunger in his eyes as he takes in my wedding lingerie—delicate white lace chosen specifically for this moment—sends heat cascading through me.

"Christ, Elisa," he breathes. "You're trying to kill me."

I reach for his tie, slowly loosening it. "Not before our wedding night."

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