Page 21 of Cider Kissed By the Mountain Man
She’d fallen into my life unexpectedly and now she was going to be my wife. We’d build a life together in this orchard, surrounded by the trees that had been in my family for generations and the love that would carry us through whatever came next.
“Trent?” she said softly.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you for catching me.”
“Thank you for falling,” I said, and kissed the top of her head.
And as the apple blossoms continued to drift down around us like nature’s own wedding confetti, I knew that everything in my life had led to this moment, to this woman, to this perfect beginning of our forever.
EPILOGUE
Abby
A few months later…
I’d planned it out all week—the small pot tucked away in the corner of the apple shed and the words I’d practiced in front of the mirror. How did you make an announcement like this without simply blurting it out?
The orchard was quiet except for the occasional sound of two branches rubbing together and the soft rustle of leaves. I found Trent exactly where I wanted him—under the old tree, hands on his hips, sun on his shoulders.
He turned when he heard me and gave me that look—the one that made my stomach go traitor-hot. “You’re up to something,” he said, watching me approach. “I know that look.”
“What look?” I answered, innocent as I could sound. Which is to say not innocent at all. I was bubbling with the secret, vibrating with the kind of excitement I hadn’t felt since I was a kid and hid a new kitten in my jacket.
“That look that means you’re about to turn my life upside down,” he said, grinning. “The same look you had when you showed up here demanding to help with the field trip.”
“I have a present for you.”
“It’s not my birthday,” he said, amused.
“It’s not that kind of present,” I said, suddenly nervous. “More of a… future investment.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Future investment?”
Instead of answering, I took the pot from behind my back and stepped forward. The sapling was small—barely a foot tall, thin trunk, leaves catching the morning like tiny green flags. Up close it looked fragile but full of possibility, like a promise in a paper cup.
“I want to plant a tree,” I said. “Our tree. Right here, next to this one.”
“Abby,” he said slowly. “We just planted over fifty new trees. Why do you want to plant another one.”
“Because this one is special.” My voice went soft and steady. “This one represents something new. Something that’s going to grow and become part of our life. Of our legacy.”
I had rehearsed the words until they felt wearable. Saying them now made something in me tremble with fear and a different kind of strength.
He looked down at me—really looked—and for a moment I saw the man behind all the gruff. The tired lines smoothed out, the stubborn set of his jaw relaxed. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Apple trees take about eight years to bear fruit, right?”
“Right.”
“Do you know how long it take to grow babies, Mr. Lawson?”
“Babies?” he said, and it came out like hope and fear tangled together.
I nodded. My eyes were wet before I meant them to be. “I’m pregnant, Trent. We’re going to have a baby.”
He took the pot from my hands and set it carefully on the grass. For a beat he did nothing but stare—the world rearranging behind his eyes. Then, sudden and fierce, he lifted me up as if I weighed nothing at all, spun me around, and laughed in a way that made me cry harder with relief and joy.
