Page 23 of The Mountain Man's Irresistible Bride
In the afternoons, when Wren gets home from school, she heads straight to the greenhouse. She helps me pick herbs, asks questions about plant care, and even started a journal for the best drying techniques. She’s changed so much in a year—still sarcastic, still headstrong, but now there’s light in her eyes. Confidence. She’s thriving, and watching her come into her own has been one of the greatest gifts of my life.
She came home last week with a silver ribbon for her English essay and insisted Elias hang it on the fridge. He did, of course, then pretended to grumble about magnets and clutter. But the smile on his face didn’t lie.
Later that evening, we sit on the porch swing, the one Elias rebuilt for our anniversary. He carved wildflowers into the armrests. It still makes my throat catch every time I see it.
Wren comes outside, talking a mile a minute about school projects and how she might run for class rep. She curls up beside me, her head on my shoulder, and for a long time we just rock there—our little family under a sky painted in fading orange.
Elias reaches for my hand, threads our fingers together. “You changed everything, Junebug.”
I smile, resting my head on his shoulder.
We sit like that until the stars come out, the swing creaking, the world hushed around us. I glance over at the greenhouse. Its glass panels glow faintly from the string lights Elias surprised me with last week. It’s perfect. A symbol of what we’ve grown, not just herbs and vegetables, but something lasting and full of love.
When Wren heads inside for her shower, Elias pulls me up from the swing.
“Come here,” he murmurs, leading me by the hand into the greenhouse. He’s strung more fairy lights across the rafters, and there’s a thick quilt spread on the bench at the back.
“What is this?” I whisper, breath catching.
“You’ve been working so hard. I thought you deserved something just for you. For us.”
My heart swells.
He lowers me gently onto the bench, lying beside me. The warm scent of basil and honeysuckle surrounds us. Outside, the wind rustles the trees, but in here, there’s only us.
“You still watch me like I hung the moon,” I whisper.
Elias brushes a lock of hair from my cheek. “That’s because you do.”
The kiss starts softly, but quickly builds into something more profound. His hands slide beneath my sweater, warm against myskin. I gasp as he kisses down my neck, then lower, tugging my shirt up and over my head.
We undress slowly, like every inch is a memory we’re collecting. His hands move over me like he’s memorizing me all over again.
“You’re everything, Junebug. Everything I never knew I needed.”
I pull him closer, legs wrapped around his waist, and he slides into me with a groan that echoes in the greenhouse like a prayer.
We move together under the stars, light flickering across the glass above us, love blooming between our bodies like the garden we built together.
Later, wrapped in the quilt, his chest beneath my cheek and our bodies tangled tight, I whisper, “I think this is what forever feels like.”
Elias presses a kiss to the top of my head. “It’s you. You’re my forever.”
We stay like that for hours—talking, kissing, dreaming.
And when we finally head back to the house, our hands still clasped and hearts full, I look around and thank my lucky stars that I answered that ad and took a chance on forever.
