Page 201 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

And more importantly, in my arms.

I grin at the table he built big enough to last a lifetime.

And I finally understand something.

I didn’t climb the mountain to find a man.

I climbed it to find my life.

He just happened to be the heartbeat waiting at the top.

Epilogue 1: Greyson

They say a man’s wedding day is the best and worst day of his life.

The worst because you’re “losing your freedom,” because you’re “tied down,” because you’re “done for.”

I’ve heard every version of the joke at least five times today.

Thatcher said it with a straight face while he adjusted my collar like he was about to send me into battle.

Kelly cackled and told me if I ever made Clara cry, she’d bury me under the sunflower table and let the mountain take care of the rest.

Willow cried twice before the ceremony even started and then laughed when she realized she was crying, which somehow made her cry harder.

Even Scar made an appearance, lumbering past the tent like he owned the place, and Thatcher announced solemnly that the bear was basically my best man.

I took the ribbing. Nodded.

Smirked at the right moments.

Played the role.

But the second the guitarist starts to play, everything in me goes still.

No jokes. No noise. No crowd.

Just the sound of a single melody lifting into the mountain air.

I straighten like someone pulled a string through my spine.

And I stare down the makeshift aisle like my life depends on it—because it does.

We kept it small. The way Clara wanted. The way I needed.

Outdoor wedding on the mountain, under a tent strung with twinkle lights and soft lanterns that sway gently in the breeze.

Folding chairs lined up crooked because nothing humans bring to my mountain is perfect, and we didn’t try to make it.

Food from our favorite pizzeria.

A cake flown in from a place in New Jersey called Devil’s Food Bakery that Clara really wanted.

Music from someone’s cousin who actually knows how to play.

Family—hers.

Friends.