Page 196 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

She said yes.

And that yes means everything.

So yeah, I’m unloading the boxes from my truck and thank fuck I had the balls to drive down the mountain and ask her to be mine.

Hell, I’m feeling like a man who’s finally figured out what the hell he’s been building all along.

Not just furniture.

Not just art.

Not just a brand.

A life.

A real one with her in it.

Chapter 42

Clara

The house still smells like fresh paint and wildflower bath oil.

Wait—not the house.

My house.

No, that’s not right either.

It’s ours. Our house.

The words still feel new in my mouth.

Like something I have to try on slowly so it doesn’t disappear.

The furniture from Manhattan is finally arranged the way I want it—less staged, less curated, more me.

Throw pillows I actually use.

Books stacked in uneven piles.

My laptop permanently claiming one end of the sofa.

But the dining room?

Empty.

Waiting.

Greyson’s things are still in boxes, but we’re unloading slowly.

And it’s been wonderful and awful at the same time—you know, in the way these things are.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what I want in the dining room.

Truth is, I’ve been dreaming.

I don’t want just a run-of-the-mill kitchen set.