Page 34 of Bred By The Lumberjack
He wraps his arms around me. I slide mine around his neck.
We sway, slow and simple, barefoot on the porch boards, firelight flickering across our faces.
I rest my cheek against his chest. I listen to his heartbeat. “I’m happy,” I whisper. “Really happy. For the first time in years.”
He presses his lips to my hair. “Me too.”
We dance until the fire burns low. Until the stars are thick overhead. Until the cold starts to creep in. Then he scoops me up and carries me inside. He kicks the door shut behind us.
In the quiet warmth of the cabin, with our rings catching the last glow of the dying embers, we make love slow and deep and reverent. No rush. No words. Just bodies and promises and the certain knowledge that forever has already begun.
Right here.
Right now.
On this mountain.
With him.
With me.
With us.
Later, when we lie tangled under the quilt, his arm heavy across my waist, I trace the new band on his finger.
“Beck,” I whisper into the dark.
“Hmm?”
I take his hand and guide it to rest low on my belly. “I’m pregnant.”
He stills. Then he exhales, long and shaky, and turns me in his arms so we face each other. “You’re sure?”
I nod. Tears prick my eyes again, happy ones this time. “I took three tests this morning while you were out splitting wood. All positive.”
His throat works. His eyes shine in the faint moonlight spilling through the window. He cups my face. He kisses me soft and slow, like he is holding something fragile and infinite. “We’re going to have a baby,” he says, voice rough with wonder.
“We’re going to have a baby,” I repeat.
He pulls me closer, tucks my head under his chin, and holds me like he will never let go.
The mountain stays quiet around us.
The stars keep burning overhead.
And inside this small cabin, with rings on our fingers and new life growing between us, everything feels right.
The storms are behind us.
The grief will come in waves, but we will weather them together.
The future stretches out ahead, full of hard mornings and soft evenings, burnt coffee and wildflowers, a child’s laughter echoing off the pines.
We are home.
We are whole.
We are forever.
And that is everything.
