Page 21 of The Mountain Man's Irresistible Bride
Hell, neither can I.
Thanksgiving week arrived fast. One second, I was dragging firewood through the mud, trying to ignore the ache in my chest, and the next, I was building a greenhouse with her name carved on the door. Now, we’re hosting a damn holiday. I thought it would be chaos. Turns out, it’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me.
The first knock comes midafternoon. Dottie bustles in with two pies and a six-pack of hard cider. Annie follows, arms full of bread rolls and a tray of spiced pecans. By the time we’re all gathered around the table, the cabin feels alive. Juniper added dried oranges and little pinecones to the centerpiece. There’s a fire going, laughter bouncing between the walls, and my chest feels like it might crack open.
Juniper squeezes my hand as she sits down beside me.
“Wren,” she says gently, “do you want to say grace?”
Wren hesitates. Her eyes flick toward me, then toward Juniper. Finally, she nods.
Everyone quiets. Even Dottie stops fussing with her napkin.
Wren’s voice is soft at first. “Um. Okay. Thank you for the food. And for letting me live here. And for… for this family. For Uncle Elias. And for Juniper. Because she makes everything feel like home.”
My throat tightens. I don’t look at anyone. I just keep staring at my plate like that’ll hold me together. Juniper’s hand slips under the table to rest on my thigh.
When grace ends, we dig in. Conversation flows easily. Dottie tells a story about how she once mistook a turkey fryer for a washing machine. Annie teases her, then brags about how the bakery sold out of every pumpkin-flavored thing before noon the day before.
But all I can think about is how natural this feels.
Juniper and Wren pass little glances. Whisper back and forth like they’ve known each other forever. Wren eats three servings of stuffing. Juniper teases her and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.
After dessert, Dottie and Annie help clean up. Wren puts on music and dances barefoot in the living room, dragging Juniper into a spin that ends with both of them in fits of giggles. I lean in the doorway, beer in hand, watching the two most important people in my world.
Juniper catches me looking and smiles. It’s soft and knowing.
Annie nudges me on her way out. “You did well, Boone. Don’t screw it up.”
I nod because I know I won’t.
When the guests are gone and the dishes are stacked, I find Juniper out on the porch. She’s wrapped in one of my flannelshirts, a mug of cider warming her hands. I come up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist.
“You’re quiet,” she says.
“Just thinking.”
“Dangerous habit.”
I smile into her neck. “I’ve never believed in fate. But I believe in you. In us.”
She leans back into me. “Then let’s keep making a life worth believing in.”
The stars are out, the air is crisp, and for the first time in years, I don’t feel like something’s missing.
Juniper is the woman I didn’t know I needed, and I’ll spend every day proving I’m worthy of her.
* * *
Later that evening, I light a fire in the hearth while Juniper and Wren curl up on the couch under a shared quilt. The flames crackle and cast a soft glow around the room. Juniper reads aloud from one of the books she and Wren have been reading together, her voice animated, warm, full of the kind of life this cabin never knew before she arrived.
Wren leans her head on Juniper’s shoulder.
When the chapter ends, Wren excuses herself to go call her friend back home. Juniper stays seated, eyes closed, soaking up the warmth. I sit on the rug at her feet, my hand grazing her calf.
“You looked beautiful today,” I say.
Her eyes open, searching mine. “You were very handsome today. The smile on your face is everything I hoped for when I met you. You also looked like you were trying not to cry during grace.”
