Page 63 of Stitch & Steel
Nights were the best though. After dinner—always something hearty like chili or roasted chicken—we’d curl up onthe couch again, sometimes with a book, sometimes with music. Bear had sent us a record player for Christmas with a collection of old vinyls. Logan pretended he wasn’t into it, but I caught him humming along more than once.
He danced with me in the living room, my cheek pressed to his chest, while the snow fell in sheets outside. Sometimes we made love right there in front of the fire, my legs around his waist, the flames casting shadows on the ceiling while he kissed me like there was nowhere else in the world he’d rather be.
And there wasn’t.
That was the magic of the mountains.
You didn’t need fast cars or five-star restaurants. Just love, loyalty, and someone who’d drive through a blizzard to bring you home.
Logan was mine. And I was his.
Forever.
Epilogue
BELLA
Spring had never smelled sweeter.The mountain air was laced with wild lilacs, fresh earth, and something unnamable—something that felt like hope. Like new beginnings. Like the kind of magic you only get once in a lifetime.
I stood inside the tiny mountainside chapel in front of an antique mirror, my fingers trembling as I smoothed the lace overlay on my gown. Outside, birdsong filtered in with the breeze, and I caught a glimpse of Scout sitting loyally by the chapel doors like he was part of the bridal party. Logan swore he wasn’t trained, but I knew better. That dog had more loyalty in one paw than most men did in their whole bodies.
"Gran, how do I look?" I asked, turning toward her slowly.
Her eyes, watery and shining with clarity, studied me like I was a painting. Not once did she forget who I was today. Not once did she falter.
"You look like you stepped right out of heaven and into this mountain chapel," she whispered. “And I remember everything, Bella. Every little thing.”
A tear slid down my cheek. “Even today?”
“Especially today.”
That moment will live inside me forever. More than the dress, the flowers, or even the vows—just the knowing that Gran wasthere. That sheunderstood. That she got to see me happy, whole, and completely in love.
When the chapel doors opened and I stepped into the sunlight, the most breathtaking thing happened.
Five hundred butterflies soared into the air all around me.
Logan had arranged it as a surprise. Butterflies, he told me once, were a symbol of transformation. Of things being reborn, of letting go of the old and making way for something beautiful and new. It was the most poetic thing I’d ever heard from a man who usually spoke in grunts, orders, and bedroom growls.
The butterflies shimmered in the light as they lifted, swirling in delicate arcs above the chapel and the guests, brushing soft wings across my shoulders like a benediction from the mountain itself. I laughed through my tears and caught Gran’s hand one last time . Beside the church was the path she once raced by on the back of a boy’s motorcycle all those years ago.
The past and the present blurred and combined like water ripples—your reflection scattered at the tiniest disturbance. A memory. A touch. The sound of a song that played once on a summer night and never quite left your bones.
Sometimes, I couldn’t tell if I was standing in the now or watching echoes of the girl I used to be—heart splintered, dreams packed in boxes, driving toward a mountain with nothing but a prayer and a tank of gas.
But then Logan’s arms would wrap around me, strong and sure, anchoring me to this moment. To the life we built. To the fire we lit from nothing but ash and stubborn hope.
And at the end of that path—there was my man.
Logan stood in a charcoal suit, his kutte worn proudly over it, a single wildflower tucked into his lapel. His eyes found mineand didn’t blink once. Not when I cried. Not when I nearly tripped on the lace of my gown. Not when the breeze blew my veil back and revealed the whole truth of me—heart open, vulnerable, ready.
He waited like a mountain waits. Still, sure, and entirely mine.
The ceremony was short. Sweet. Honest. Vows exchanged with shaky hands and trembling voices. Logan promised to never ride too far without taking me with him. I promised to love him in leather and denim and in the soft mornings when he brewed my coffee just the way I liked it.
We kissed under the wooden archway strung with wildflowers, and the whole mountain seemed to exhale with joy.
The reception was held in the same meadow where we first made love.
