Page 16 of Trouble with the Mountain Man
The words still hit me like a physical blow every time she says them. Love. We've been saying it regularly now, but it never loses its impact.
"Whatever Derek tries, we'll handle it together," I tell her, pulling her against my side. "You, me, and Ally. We're a family now."
"Are we?" she asks quietly. "Because Derek's lawyer is going to argue that we're just playing house, that this isn't a stable environment for Ally."
"Then maybe it's time to make it official."
The words are out before I can stop them, hanging in the air between us. Maple goes very still against my side.
"Official how?" she whispers.
I should probably do this properly—ring, romantic setting, carefully planned words. But sitting on the front steps I built, in front of the house I helped save, with the woman I love pressed against my side, this feels like exactly the right moment.
"Marry me," I say simply. "Not because of Derek or lawyers or proving anything to anyone else. Marry me because I love you and Ally more than I ever thought possible. Because this house isn't home without you in it. Because I want to spend the rest of my life building something beautiful with you."
She's quiet for so long that I start to panic. Maybe it's too soon, too much pressure, too—
"Yes," she breathes, turning in my arms to face me fully. "Yes, of course yes."
"Yeah?"
"I love you, Flint Miller. I want to build a life with you, a family with you. I want Ally to have a father who chooses to be here, who shows up every day and loves us both completely."
I kiss her then, deep and thorough, pouring all my love and relief and joy into the connection between us. When we break apart, both breathing hard, she's smiling through happy tears.
"We should probably tell Ally," she says.
"Tell me what?" Ally's voice comes from the front door, where she's appeared with a juice box and obvious curiosity.
"Come here, sweetheart," Maple calls, patting the step beside her.
Ally settles between us, looking back and forth with the shrewd intelligence of a seven-year-old who knows something important is happening.
"Mr. Flint and I have something to tell you," Maple begins.
"Are you getting married?" Ally asks matter-of-factly.
"How did you—" I start.
"You love each other, and you live here now, and Mommy's been looking at wedding dresses on her computer when she thinks I'm not watching."
Maple flushes red. "Ally!"
"What? I think it's good. Mr. Flint makes you happy, and he teaches me cool stuff, and he fixed our house so it won't fall down."
"So you're okay with us getting married?" I ask.
Ally considers this seriously. "Will you still be Mr. Flint, or will you be my dad?"
The question hits me right in the chest. I look at Maple, who nods encouragingly.
"I'd like to be your dad, if that's what you want," I tell Ally honestly. "But only if you're comfortable with it."
"My real dad doesn't really act like a dad anyway," she says with the brutal honesty of childhood. "You already do all the dad stuff. You help with homework and fix things and make Mommy laugh. So yeah, I want you to be my dad."
I have to clear my throat before I can speak. "Then I'd be honored."
"Cool. Can we have cake at the wedding?"
