The words slip out so easily, so naturally, that I don't think he even realizes what he said until I go completely still.
Then he tenses. "Fuck. I didn't mean… That was too soon—"
"Say it again," I whisper.
"Jade—"
"Please. Say it again."
He's quiet for a long moment. Then, quieter this time, more certain: "I love you."
Tears prick at my eyes. Happy tears. The kind I haven't cried in months.
"I love you too," I say. "Even though you're grumpy and you live in the woods and you pretend you don't like people."
"I don't like people."
"But you like me."
"I love you," he corrects. "There's a difference."
I smile against his chest, feeling lighter than I have in years. "Yeah. There really is."
We fall asleep wrapped around each other, Ridge snoring at the foot of the bed, the cabin quiet except for the sounds of the forest outside.
And for the first time since Mom died, I don't feel alone.
I feel home.
Epilogue - Eli
Three years later
The axe comes down clean, splitting the log in two with a satisfying crack. I toss the pieces onto the pile and grab another, settling it on the chopping block.
It's late afternoon, the sun filtering through the trees in that golden way it does this time of year. The air smells like pine and earth and the first hints of autumn. Ridge is somewhere in the woods, probably chasing squirrels he'll never catch.
I've been out here for a couple hours now, working through the pile of logs that needs to be split before winter. It's meditative, this work. Always has been. The rhythm, the exhaustion, the simple goal of turning whole logs into firewood.
But these days, it's not about exhausting myself until I can't think anymore. It's just work. The kind that needs doing. The kind that lets my mind wander without getting lost in the dark places it used to go.
Mostly, I think about what's waiting for me inside.
I split another log, then another, until my shoulders start to burn and sweat is dripping down my back despite the cool air. That's enough for today. I can finish the rest tomorrow.
I stack the axe in the shed, wipe my hands on my jeans, and head toward the cabin.
Our cabin.
It still hits me sometimes, that shift from "my" to "our." The way this place isn't just mine anymore. The way it's better for it.
I can hear singing before I even open the door.
Jade's voice, soft and slightly off-key, carrying through the walls:
*"Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are..."*
I open the door as quietly as I can and stop in the doorway.