Page 15 of The Mountain Man's Irresistible Bride
“I owe you an apology,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t speak.
“I said it was fake. That it was just for Wren, I said it because I’m scared.”
Now she turns. “Of what?”
“Of how real it feels.”
She blinks. “You don’t have to be scared of me, Elias.”
I reach over and take the mug from her hand, setting it aside. My fingers curl around hers.
“I’m not. Not anymore.”
Her eyes search mine, and I let her see it. The want and the need. The beginning of something I can’t name.
She leans in first, and when I kiss her, it’s not rushed. It’s not angry. It’s the promise of something more. Something real.
She shifts in closer, curling into my side, it’s as if the world tilts into place. The quiet certainty that this life, this home, this woman beside me—it’s not pretend anymore. It never really was.
I hold her until her breathing deepens, until the mug of tea grows cold between our feet. Until the stars blink awake above the trees, and I let myself believe, just for tonight, that maybe I haven’t ruined everything.
Maybe I still have a chance to build something good, not just for Wren, but for all three of us.
Chapter Nine
Juniper
I hang the last strand of orange twinkle lights along the porch railing, stepping back to admire my handiwork. The cabin is decked out for the Fall Harvest now. There are pumpkins on the steps, cinnamon scented brooms by the door, and the wreath I made from foraged pinecones, dried leaves, and a stubborn little bow that refused to cooperate until Elias helped tie it.
Wren rolled her eyes when I suggested decorating, but she carved a pumpkin anyway.
And Elias? He didn’t say a word. Just handed me a hammer when I needed one, and reached the high places I couldn’t.
Now, with the golden light of late afternoon filtering through the trees and the scent of apples and cinnamon in the air, I feel like I’ve carved out a place here. In this home. In this life. Even if it’s not quite the way I want it to be yet.
I shake off the thought and head inside, where the warmth from the fire crackles. Wren’s curled up in the corner of the couch with her sketchbook, earbuds in. Elias is at the table, flipping through some county paperwork about Wren.
“Bonfire starts at six,” I say, trying to sound casual.
He grunts.
“Dottie said there’ll be cider and a live band with dancing.”
He glances up at that. “Dancing?”
I shrug. “It’s tradition.”
Wren pulls one earbud out. “Are we going?”
I smile at her. “I’d like to. It’s my first Pine Hollow Fall Harvest bonfire.”
She considers, then shrugs. “Okay.”
Elias raises an eyebrow. “You’re agreeing to a social event?”
“I like fire,” Wren deadpans. “And cider.”
