Total pages in book: 46
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 194(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Lucy may not realize it yet, but she as good as owns me. Whether I like it or not, we’ve gone places together in the last few minutes I never imagined, and I love every filthy, beautiful second.
Lucy is mine.
Epilogue
Lucy
two months later
The mountains look like a painting this morning—soft, endless layers of blue and silver, pine trees dusted in fresh snow, the sky pale as porcelain. Devil’s Peak has never looked more like a postcard. Or maybe I’m biased, because today I’m standing inside a tiny cabin with my heart thundering in my chest while the entire town sets up outside for my wedding.
My wedding. To Ash Calder.
I press my palms to the windowpane and exhale, watching my breath fog the glass. Beyond the frosty blur, I catch flashes of red jackets—firefighters setting up rows of chairs in the snowy clearing. Twinkle lights already loop between tall pines. A white runner stretches down the aisle, sprinkled with crushed pink rose petals. Someone shouts something about “reinforcing the arch before Calder rips it out of the ground himself.”
I smile. Of course he’s stressing about structural integrity on our wedding day.
“Miss Lucy?” a small voice says.
I turn.
Holly stands in the doorway holding two baskets—one overflowing with petals and the other carrying something rattling inside it. She’s in a fluffy pink tulle dress, snow boots, and a sparkly heart-shaped headband. She looks like a Valentine’s Day cupcake brought to life.
My heart squeezes. “Hey, sweetheart. You look beautiful.”
She beams. “I get to be flower girl and ring bearer. Uncle Ash said it’s because I’m the most responsible one in the family.”
I laugh. “He might not be wrong.”
She marches to me with the seriousness of a royal messenger. “I came to give you this.” She lifts the rattling basket. “The rings. But don’t tell Uncle Ash because he said he needed to keep them safe, but I told him it’s my job, not his job, and he said he’d only let me hold them for two minutes—so don’t tell him, okay?”
“Okay,” I whisper, taking the tiny basket from her. “Our secret.”
She nods firmly and then gasps. “Oh! And you have to see the carriage.”
My eyebrows lift. “Carriage?”
She nods so hard her headband nearly flings off. “With horses. And bells. And blankets. Uncle Ash said it’s for your ‘grand exit.’”
My chest warms. “He did?”
She gives me a look that says Duh. “He wants it to be perfect for you. He said you deserve everything magical.”
I swallow. Hard.
“Go get ready, Miss Lucy. You have to be the prettiest bride ever.”
I laugh lightly. “That’s the plan.”
She darts out again, leaving the door open just long enough for icy air to nip my ankles. I shut it and breathe in deeply.
The room is quiet again, except for my heartbeat.
I smooth my dress down. Long sleeves made of lace, a soft skirt that moves like breath, tiny pearl buttons that run all the way down my spine. It’s simple. Elegant. Romantic.
Me.
Ash hasn’t seen it. He wanted the moment to hit him. He said those exact words.
“I want it to hit me, Lucy.”
I think it might hit me harder.
A knock taps at the door, gentle. “Lucy? You ready?” It’s Savannah, the new paramedic who’s quickly become one of my closest friends here in Devil’s Peak.
I open the door, and she gasps. “Oh honey. He’s going to combust.”
“That’s the goal.”
She laughs and squeezes my hand. “Everyone’s seated. It’s time.”
My throat tightens with nerves—thrilling, electric, alive. “Okay.”
We step outside into the cold, and the world looks like a fairytale. Soft snowfall drifts from the sky like confetti. The aisle glows under strands of lights. The whispers of the crowd hush when they see me. Chairs filled with friends, town locals, and every firefighter in Devil’s Peak Fire & Rescue—all bundled in coats but smiling wide.
But I only see him.
Ash stands beneath an arch made of pine and winter roses, a dusting of snow clinging to his dark hair. He’s in a black suit tailored across his broad shoulders, white shirt unbuttoned just enough to show the edge of the tattoo on his collarbone. His jaw is tight. His hands flex at his sides.
And he is staring at me like he can’t breathe.
My legs nearly buckle.
Holly appears ahead of me like a pink puffball tornado, tossing petals with zero accuracy and zero concern for accuracy. She throws some backward. Some sideways. Some directly at the minister. Then she carries her second basket—holding the rings—like it’s a baby bird.
People laugh. Savannah mutters, “Adorable chaos child.”
I step onto the aisle runner, and the sound of snow crunching under my boots echoes across the clearing. My heart pounds harder with each step. Ash’s eyes stay locked on mine, unblinking, fierce, almost wild with emotion he doesn’t bother to hide.
Halfway down, my breath catches.
Because he mouths something.
Mine.
Heat rolls through me.