"More than revolutionizing state forest management?" he teases. "What could possibly top that?"
Instead of answering, I take his hand and guide it to my stomach, holding it there with both of mine. His expression changes slowly as understanding dawns, wonder replacing confusion.
"Sophia?" His voice cracks on my name, a question and a prayer all at once.
"I'm pregnant," I confirm, tears blurring my vision. "About eight weeks. I took the test three days ago, had it confirmed at the clinic in Carson yesterday before my meeting with the commission."
He drops to his knees before me, pressing his forehead against my still-flat stomach, arms wrapping around my hips. When he looks up, there are tears in his eyes too.
"A baby," he whispers, awe in every syllable. "Our baby."
I run my fingers through his hair, heart so full it might burst. "Are you happy?"
He stands, cradling my face in his hands like I'm made of precious glass. "Happy doesn't begin to cover it. I didn't think it was possible to love you more than I already do, but somehow..."
He kisses me then, a kiss that says everything words can't express—joy, gratitude, love so deep it transcends ordinary experience.
When we break apart, both breathless, he rests his forehead against mine. "I thought I had everything I needed before you came into my life. I was wrong."
"Good thing I'm stubborn," I tease, blinking back tears.
"Good thing I finally had the sense to listen." His thumb brushes away a tear that escapes despite my efforts. "Any other life-changing announcements I should know about? Might as well get them all out at once."
I laugh, the joy too big to contain. "No, I think pregnancy and a career-defining contract are enough for one anniversary."
"Fair enough." He kisses me again, softer this time. "Though I did have plans for how we'd spend this morning, and they might need some adjusting now."
"Oh?" I raise an eyebrow. "Why's that?"
His expression shifts to something that still makes my knees weak after all this time. "Because now I need to worship every inch of my brilliant, beautiful, pregnant wife very, very slowly."
"I have no objections to this plan," I murmur as he lifts me into his arms.
"Good." He carries me toward the stairs. "Because I intend to take my time."
Later, tangled in sheets with afternoon light now streaming through the windows, I trace lazy patterns on Wyatt's chest as he plays with my hair. Contentment settles over us like a warm blanket.
"What are you thinking?" he asks, voice drowsy with satisfaction.
"About how differently things could have turned out." I prop myself up on one elbow to see his face better. "If you'd stayedstubborn about modernization. If I'd left after my consultation was complete. If we'd let fear keep us apart."
"Never stood a chance," he says with absolute certainty. "The moment you walked into my office, all fierce determination and city sophistication, something in me knew."
"Knew what?"
"That you were the change I needed most." He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, the gesture now so familiar it feels like home. "Not the technology or the systems, though those have made the company stronger. You. Your perspective. Your heart."
My throat tightens with emotion. "You changed me too, you know. Taught me that efficiency isn't everything. That some traditions are worth preserving. That roots can be a strength, not a limitation."
His hand drifts to my stomach, palm warm against the place where our child grows. "And now we get to pass those lessons on."
"Do you hope for a boy or a girl?" I ask, covering his hand with mine.
"Healthy," he answers without hesitation. "And stubborn, like both parents."
I laugh, imagining a miniature version of Wyatt with my determination. "Poor kid won't stand a chance."
"Luckiest kid in the world," he corrects me. "To grow up on this mountain, with these trees, learning both tradition and innovation."
The image fills me with such hope it almost hurts. Our child running through forests we've helped protect, understanding both the wisdom of the past and the promise of the future.
"I love you," I whisper, the words as true now as the first time I said them two years ago. "Mountain man."
He smiles, that rare full smile that transforms his face and still makes my heart skip. "I love you too, city girl. Always will."
As he pulls me close again, I think about the journey that brought us here—from adversaries to lovers to partners to family. About how what started as a professional conflict became the love that would define my life.
And I know, with bone-deep certainty, that some changes aren't just good.
They're everything.
