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"Move."

Hips rolling. Slow, deep thrusts. Her nails down my back. Finding the angle where her clit grinds against me with every stroke, her breath going ragged. Faster. Harder. Her legs tighter, heels digging into my ass, pulling me deeper. Her pussy clenching around my cock, tight and wet and perfect.

"Right there. Right there, don't stop..."

She comes screaming into my shoulder. The clench of her pulls me over. Emptying into her with my face buried in her neck, her name on my lips, everything I am poured into this woman I love.

After. Tangled up. October light streaming through the curtains.

Her tracing a line from my jaw to my collarbone with one finger.

"The festival. You built a whole stage and you're here."

"It'll keep." Kiss on her temple. "Pumpkins aren't going anywhere."

"Jake."

"Hm?"

"Take me to the festival."

Grin into her hair. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." Up on one elbow. Looking down at me. That smile, unguarded, permanent, the kind Richard never saw because he never gave her a reason to show it. "I'm done resisting."

Pull her down. Kiss her until breathing becomes optional.

"Best thing I ever stole was that sandwich."

Epilogue

Selene

Six Months Later

April in Wild Peak doesn't look like April anywhere else.

Snow pulling back from the meadows in slow retreating lines, uncovering green so bright it hurts. Creek running high with snowmelt, roaring through the ravine below the cabin. Air tasting like pine and wet earth and the first tentative warmth of a season that's taking its time.

Standing on the porch of Jake's cabin. Our cabin. Still can't say that without a flutter under my ribs.

He asked me to move in on New Year's Eve, standing in snow outside the main house after Gabe's party. Cheeks red from cold, snow in his curls, eyes dead serious beneath the grin. "I know it's fast. I know it scares you. But I sleep better when you're beside me. The cabin's got a porch that faces east. I wanna watch every sunrise with you for the rest of my life."

Said yes before he finished the sentence.

Two rooms, a kitchen, a woodstove he feeds at five every morning before the sun's up. My things fit into his spaces without rearranging them. Books on his shelves beside forestry manuals and a dog-eared copy of a timber management guide. My mug beside his on the hook. Coat on the peg next to his flannel collection, which takes up an entire wall.

My life folded into his life. None of it small.

Quit the feed store in February. Bev cried. Hugged me so hard my ribs protested. The cat gave me its most indifferent stare, which Bev says is the highest praise it gives. Anna needed help with ranch marketing and event planning. My years in corporate before Richard, the skills I thought were useless in my boring new life, turned out to be exactly what the ranch needed.

Planning events now. Spring market coming up. Working with Anna, Gwen, and Madison on vendor contracts, publicity, logistics. Madison drives down from the main house in impractical shoes, organizing everything with the terrifying efficiency of a Portland lawyer who can't turn it off, and I've decided she's one of my favorite people.

Friends. The word still startles me sometimes. Anna texts recipes and ranch gossip and photos of the goats doing stupid things. Gwen calls me new girl with a warmth that makes it a term of endearment, not a label, and once showed up with wine and chocolate after Julian went to sleep because she needed adult conversation that didn't involve livestock or building materials.

And Jake. Coffee in bed every morning. A window box he built for the herbs I wanted, cedar frame, hand-planed, set at exactly the right height for me to reach from inside. Coming home smelling like fresh-cut pine, pulling me into his arms before his boots come off, sawdust transferring to my sweater.

The front door opens. Arms around my waist from behind. Chin on top of my head.