Page 106 of Stuck with Doctor Grump

“We already did,” I said. “Now we just get to live in it.”

The twinkle lights above flickered on, painting golden dots across the trees and faces around us. Someone strummed a guitar, and children danced in the grass.

Damien tucked a flower crown onto my head—crooked, of course. “Let’s stay a while.”

I reached for his hand. “Let’s stay forever.”

The sun had long dipped behind the hills, leaving a soft indigo wash over Cedar Springs. String lights twinkled above the square, casting a golden hue over familiar faces. My cheeks hurt from smiling, but I couldn’t stop. Not with Damien standing beside me, solid and real, like a promise kept.

He cleared his throat and turned toward the crowd. “Thank you,” he said, voice steady but full of something deeper. “Thank you for welcoming the grumpiest man in Cedar Springs.”

Laughter rippled through the gathering.

He glanced at me, then looked back at everyone. “I left behind a life of prestige and sterile perfection. But I did it because I wanted something better. I wanted a life that feels real. And I found it—with her.”

My breath hitched.

The square erupted in applause. Marge tossed a handful of biodegradable confetti over our heads, squealing like a teenager. Hazel strummed her ukulele off-key but with so much heart that people swayed to the rhythm anyway. Someone handed me aflower crown, and I slipped it on with a grin as Damien reached for my hand.

Our fingers laced together effortlessly, like they’d been waiting their whole lives to fit just right. I leaned in, laughter catching in my throat. “You really went for the dramatic monologue, huh?”

“I practiced in the rearview mirror,” he whispered, deadpan.

I laughed, then kissed him—soft but full of everything we’d been holding in. The crowd cheered louder, and for a moment, the world narrowed to just us and the warmth of being seen, chosen, loved.

When we finally pulled apart, Hazel was still playing, and Marge had started a conga line that involved at least two toddlers and a goat on a leash. Cedar Springs, in all its eccentric glory.

As the party wound down and people started packing up leftover cupcakes and twinkle lights, I slipped my hand into the tote at my side and pulled out the folded garden blueprint. It was worn at the edges, crinkled from hope and revision.

I turned to Damien. “You ready to build something that’ll outlive us both?”

He looked at the blueprint, then at me. “Only if you’re designing the flower beds.”

Tears prickled behind my eyes again—but this time, they were the good kind. The kind that told me I wasn’t dreaming.

Because this? This was the life we were choosing to build. Not out of obligation. Not because we were perfect. But because we were finally brave enough to bloom where we were meant to.

Chapter twenty-eight

Damien

The first thing I noticed when I woke was the scent of lavender.

It clung to the sheets, hung in the air, and soaked into my bones. For a second, I didn’t open my eyes. I just breathed, letting the quiet hum of Cedar Springs seep back into my soul. When I did open them, soft morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains. Ruby’s guest cottage might be small, but it was magic in the morning.

I rolled over, half expecting to find her tangled beside me, but the bed was empty. Only a faint warmth on the pillow remained. She’d been here recently.

Pushing myself up, I swung my legs over the side and let them hit the hardwood floor with a satisfying thud. My boots were by the door, my duffel open in the corner, and on the bedside table sat a single daisy in a tiny glass jar. Still fresh.

I smiled, shook my head, and padded barefoot out onto the front porch.

The air was already alive with motion. Across the street, Marge was stringing bunting between two oak trees, a roll of duct tape hanging from her elbow. Hazel stood nearby with a basket of blueberry muffins, arguing good-naturedly with a man holding a folding chair.

Eleanor was pacing a few feet away, fanning herself dramatically with a stack of index cards. I could practically hear her muttering speeches under her breath.

I took a long sip from the coffee mug Ruby had left for me. It read: Grump Level: Diagnosed.

How could something as small as that mug make me feel more seen than my entire career?

---