Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 19364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19364 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 97(@200wpm)___ 77(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
“You already have one.”
“I know.”
I glance over. “You planning to bathe in caffeine today?”
“Possibly.” He sets another cup on the counter. “Black.”
I make it. Slide it to him.
He doesn’t take it.
Instead, he turns the cup so the sleeve faces me.
Written in thick black Sharpie is one word.
Red.
I blink.
My mouth opens. Closes.
I look up at him. He’s watching me closely now. No grin. No joke. Just that steady, intent focus he gets on calls when something matters.
“Cute,” I say weakly. “You’re practicing your handwriting.”
He nods toward the espresso machine. “Another.”
My pulse ticks up. “Dax—”
“Please.”
I swallow and make another coffee. This time my hand shakes just a little when I set it down.
He rotates the cup.
I’ve
The song swells behind us. We’ve come a long way, baby…
My chest tightens.
A customer gasps quietly. Someone whispers, “Oh.”
I stare at the cup, then at Dax. “What are you doing?”
“Ordering coffee,” he says easily. “Thought that was allowed.”
“You’re being weird.”
“Been accused of worse.”
Another cup. My fingers feel clumsy now. I almost slosh coffee over the rim.
He turns it.
Loved
My breath catches hard enough that I have to lean against the counter.
“Oh my God,” someone murmurs.
I shake my head. “Dax, stop.”
He doesn’t.
Another cup.
You
The shop has gone silent. Even the espresso machine seems to know better than to hiss right now.
My heart is pounding so loud I swear the speakers will pick it up.
I whisper, “Dax.”
He steps closer. Not enough to touch. Just enough that I feel the heat of him. The certainty.
“Another,” he says.
I grab a cup without looking. Pour. Slide it across.
Forever
“One more,” he orders.
He takes the empty cup from my hands.
But he doesn’t write anything this time.
He just reaches into his jacket pocket and gently drops something inside.
Then he pushes the cup toward me.
I stare down.
Nestled at the bottom, catching the light like it was meant to live there, is a ring.
For a split second, the world tilts.
Then my hand flies to my mouth and I make a sound that is half laugh, half sob.
Someone gasps. Loud.
I drop the carton of coconut milk I’ve been holding. It hits the floor and explodes, white splashing everywhere. I don’t even care.
The song crescendos. You are the best thing…
Dax’s voice cuts through everything. Low. Steady.
“I got tired of waiting for the right moment,” he says. “Turns out it was every morning at this counter.”
I look up at him through tears. He’s not kneeling. He doesn’t need to. His eyes are shining, jaw tight like he’s holding himself together with sheer will.
“Rory Sullivan,” he says. “Will you marry me?”
I nod so hard my neck aches. “Yes. Oh my God, yes.”
Applause erupts. Someone cheers. Someone else starts crying—pretty sure it’s not me this time.
Dax is across the counter in a heartbeat. He lifts me like I weigh nothing, coconut milk be damned, and kisses me hard—mouth hot, sure, claiming. My hands fist in his jacket as the shop spins.
Right on cue, the front door bursts open.
The entire firehouse pours in.
Helmets. Grins. Thunderous applause.
“About time!” Someone yells.
Ash starts clapping wildly off-beat. Someone whoops. Someone whistles.
I laugh into Dax’s mouth, tears still spilling, and think distantly that I will be finding coconut milk in the grout for weeks.
I don’t care.
He pulls back just enough to press his forehead to mine. “You okay, Red?”
I laugh. Sob. Nod. “I’m perfect.”
He smiles like he just won everything.
And standing there, in my wrecked coffee shop, ring warm on my finger, surrounded by noise and love and found family, I know that this is the best thing.
Second Epilogue
Dax
next Valentine’s Day
The Devil’s Peak Lodge looks like a snow globe someone shook too hard.
Pink lights are strung from the rafters, heart-shaped paper lanterns sway gently near the windows, and the smell of cocoa, pine, and sugar hangs thick in the air. Kids are everywhere—laughing, shrieking, packing snow into lopsided snowmen outside while the adults pretend they aren’t watching every second.
Rory stands near the fireplace, cheeks flushed, hands wrapped around a mug of hot cocoa that probably isn’t doing much to keep her warm. She’s laughing at something Margie Warner is saying, head tipped back, hair loose down her back, red dress catching the firelight like it knows it belongs there.
God, she’s beautiful.
I don’t mean dressed up, Valentine’s beautiful. I mean mine. The woman who changed my whole life with a smile and a yes. The woman carrying my ring and—very soon—our kid.
Kids.
Plural.
My chest tightens in that familiar way that still surprises me sometimes. Like my heart doesn’t quite believe it gets to be this full.
“Stop staring,” Ash mutters beside me, elbowing my ribs. “You’re gonna give yourself a medical event.”
I don’t look away. “I’m allowed. She said yes.”
Axel snorts. “Pretty sure she said yes before you finished the question.”
The firehouse crew laughs. Margie shoots them all a look that could stop traffic and then waves me over with a sugar-dusted hand.
“Dax,” she says, bright and wicked. “Did you explain the rules?”