Dragonfly stood just outside the bustle, a bundle of daffodils cradled in one arm, a satchel slung over her shoulder. She wasn’t moving. Just taking it all in, her new house.
She looked older. Taller. Her blouse hugged her chest in a way it never had before. Her hips curved differently beneath the traveling skirt. But the tilt of her head, the loose wispy strands escaping her braid—that was still her.
Collin’s feet were rooted to the spot, heat rising in his chest, doubt roiling through his stomach. He wanted to run to her. He wanted to wait. He was suddenly fourteen again, stammeringover a compliment, heart pounding. Should he have brought her a housewarming gift?
She turned, as though sensing his thoughts on her, maybe. Their eyes locked.
“Collin!”
She ran to him. And then—he was holding her. The scent of her hair—flowers, the warmth of her cheek against his, the way she fit into his arms—it all rushed back. He didn’t want to let go.
She pulled back, smiling widely. “You’re taller!”
He blinked. “Am I?”
“I used to be eye-level. Now I have to do this—” she stood on tiptoe. Her hand rested lightly on his shoulder.
He laughed, a little breathlessly. “You’ve changed too.”
“Farming will do that to a girl.”
He studied her face, her eyes sparkling beneath the spring sky. His doubts faded. Distance and time had not changed her. She was still sweet, still the woman he loved. “So, I hear you’re a homeowner now.”
She beamed. “I can hardly believe it. If I hadn’t gone to White Wood, I wouldn’t have saved enough. I’ve been dreaming about this forever.”
“And Nic drew the plans?”
“Wait ‘til you see them. It’s going to be a house in a tree. Not under a tree—inone.”
She handed him the draft. He whistled. “Whimsical. And brilliant. It’s very you.”
A silence settled between them, unhurried, peaceful. Collin could feel her joy radiating off her—the way she looked at the sketch, the soft pride in her voice. This wasn’t just lumber and nails. It was her dream, carved out of persistence and years of saving. He felt proud of her in a way that surprised him—not just as someone who loved her, but as someone who admired her.
And maybe, now that she was coming back, he didn’t have to rush.
The urgency in his heart—this coiled need to declare his love—softened. She would be living here again. He could take his time. Flowers. A walk beneath the stars. A letter, maybe. Poetry, if he dared. Too much? Maybe. But she deserved too much.
Dragonfly adjusted the bag on her shoulder, then winced slightly.
“Let me carry that,” he offered.
“It’s alright. I’m heading out soon.”
His smile faltered, hope dipping. “You’re not staying?”
“I just came up for the day. I’m catching the last coach back to White Wood tonight. I’ll be back in a few weeks to stay for good.”
His chest tightened. “A few weeks—"
She met his eyes, hand brushing his forearm. “I’m glad I got to see you.”
The chaos of the worksite blurred around them. Sawdust floated in the sun. Voices faded. For a moment, the world was just her touch, her voice, her closeness.
And then—she was walking away.
Collin’s heart jolted after her. No. Not yet!
He ran through the clearing, his eyes fixed on her. “Dragonfly! Wait!”
