Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 54520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54520 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 273(@200wpm)___ 218(@250wpm)___ 182(@300wpm)
My hand moves to her cheek, fingers tracing the remnants of her tears. “Guess it’s a good thing scaredy cats and sensitive bitches go together, huh?”
Another laugh slips out, small and cracked, the kind of sound that undoes me every damn time.
I swoop in, claiming it with my mouth. Her breath catches as I take it all. Heat and history colliding, years of everything we didn’t say burning between us.
She melts against me, arms looping around my neck as I lift her clean off her feet.
“I love you so much,” she breathes.
“I love you too, Goldilocks.”
Long before I knew what that even meant. Back when she moved in next door, all sass and wishes. When I pelted her with slime balls instead of telling her I liked the way she smiled. When teasing her was easier than admitting she was the prettiest damn girl I’d ever seen.
The rivalry was never the story. It was just the mask. The truth is, Harlow was always the dandelion bouquet I replaced, not the one I crushed. The sweatshirt I gave and never asked to have back. The only girl I would have ever faked a date with, because it was the first time I didn’t have to pretend.
She leans her forehead to mine, breath trembling between us. “Did you really make me a key?”
There’s light in her eyes again, open and unguarded.
“Damn straight. Made it weeks ago.”
Her mouth curves, soft and sure. “No take backs, Masters.”
“Baby, I’m a lifetime guarantee. No returns, no exchanges, and definitely no refunds.”
Another laugh breaks free—soft, sweet, and exactly what I was aiming for. “You’re ridiculous.”
Then she’s kissing me again. The kind that quiets the world and tastes like forever.
They say every little girl dreams of her wedding day—the dress, the flowers, the song that plays as she walks down the aisle.
I did. Every single detail.
But no matter how many times I tried, I could never picture the face of the man waiting at the end. And now I know why.
Because he wasn’t a fantasy.
He was the rivalry I couldn’t shake, the love I couldn’t outrun.
The boy I couldn’t stand.
The man I’ll never stop loving.
I walk toward him now, the sun sinking low behind Heart Mountain, its golden light spilling across the glacier lake. Lanterns line the aisle, waiting for the moment we say I do—when they’ll lift into the sky like every wish I’ve ever made. Like the fairytale I once stopped believing in.
Our closest friends and family surround us, their quiet joy wrapping around the moment like a promise. It’s better than anything I ever imagined—every detail exactly as I dreamed it would be.
But the truth is, all those little details we plan and obsess over? They don’t matter.
The man waiting for me at the end of this aisle, though—he means everything.
I hand my bouquet to my sister, the proud mother of my one-year-old niece and Passion Falls’ newest doctor. She stands beside my best friends, exactly where she belongs, as the sister I always needed, and finally got back.
Her eyes shine with pride, smile full of love. For a moment, it feels like we’ve come full circle too.
She gives my hand a gentle squeeze before I turn toward the rest of my life.
Linc Masters.
The boy who once destroyed my bouquet of dandelions just to drive me crazy.
The man who now collects them for me, just to see me smile.
He’s standing there, broad-shouldered and impossibly handsome, flashing me that same cocky grin that used to make me want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.
Now, I skip straight to the kissing part.
“Hey, Goldilocks,” he murmurs, voice low and smooth. “Lookin’ good.”
My lips curve into the smile he’s waiting for. “Thanks, Slimer. You clean up nice too. Who knew?”
Probably not the kind of thing a bride should say to her groom—but honestly? It’s us.
We’ve never exactly done things by the book.
That spark flickers in his eyes—the one that’s always been equal parts challenge and affection. And in true Linc fashion, he makes the final move.
He tugs me in by the waist and kisses me—right here, right now—before the ceremony even starts, sending the crowd into a chorus of cheers and whistles.
I laugh against his mouth, my hands fisting in his jacket as the world blurs around us. It feels exactly as it should.
Backward. Impulsive. Completely us.
As the lanterns lift behind us, drifting toward the sky in a wash of gold, I know without a doubt, every wish I ever made led me here.
To him.
To this moment.
To the kind of love that was always meant to be ours.
And maybe—just maybe—Heart Mountain’s legend isn’t a fairytale after all.
Maybe it’s just waiting for the rest of us to finally believe in magic again.