"What's there to think about?"
"Whether I'm the right person. Whether I'll screw it up. Whether putting my name on something permanent is—" He stops and laughs at himself…a short, humorless sound. "The usual."
I put my hand on his chest, over his heart. "Listen to me. I have watched you for two weeks. You’ve gone above and beyond what’s been asked of you…teaching kids how to throw, fixing marriages through sawing demonstrations." I chuckle. "Connor isn't giving you this because he feels sorry for you. He's giving it to you because you earned it. You deserve it, Dean. You're anatural teacher who is so generous with his time and his heart, and everyone at this camp can see that.”
His jaw ticks, and he blinks hard. "Kaylee."
"Say yes."
He nods, and the tension in his shoulders seems to release on the spot. It’s as if he just set down something he's been carrying for a lifetime.
"Yeah," he says. "I will."
I lean down and kiss him. When I pull back, his hand comes up to brush the hair from my face.
This is what I wanted all along.
But this time, I didn't wait to be chosen. I looked at the truth—every part of it—and I saidyes, he’s the one.
I chose him with clear eyes and a full heart.
"We should probably get to work," I say, though I make no effort to move.
“People are going to notice we're both late.”
“People are going to notice a lot of things.”
“I’m more than okay with that.” He grins.
I give him a quick kiss, then steal his flannel off the floor, because my polo is wrinkled beyond salvation, and this shirt smells like him. “I’m keeping this.”
He watches me button it with a look that suggests he’s not going to fight me on it.
"Come on, lumberjack," I say, reaching for his hand. "You've got a program to build."
He takes my hand and squeezes it. "I can’t wait."
EPILOGUE - DEAN
SIX MONTHS LATER
Fifteen years of walking into rooms and counting exits, and now I wake up and count my anchors instead.
There’s Kaylee's hair fanned across my chest. The smell of coffee already brewing since she remembered to set the timer last night. The sound of Jamie's voice carrying across the yard from Connor’s place, already full of vim and vigor.
It's a Saturday in October, and the aspens on the ridge have gone full gold. The air has that clean, wood-smoke bite that means fall has settled in for real, and the camp is buzzing because we're hosting the biggest group weekend of the season. Seventy-five guests.
We’ve got a corporate retreat from Seattle, a family reunion from Billings, and a group of eight women who booked the "Lumbersnack Experience" package that Sky created, which Graham still hates, but will go along with since it sells out every single time.
It’s early, so I let Kaylee sleep. She’s not due to the lodge until nine.
I’m at the Wilderness Skills pavilion by seven, checking equipment.
My pavilion.
My program.
It started small—basic wilderness navigation, fire-building workshops, and safety protocols for the backcountry trails Connor's been expanding. But it grew. Fast. Guests kept asking for more, and Connor kept saying yes, and somewhere in the middle of designing a winter survival curriculum and a junior ranger track for kids, I looked up and realized I'd built something amazing. People would come back for this, season after season.