My latest order from "Carved for Keeps" sits neatly wrapped, ready to ship. I press a hand to the box. Mountain-shaped earrings. A ring molded from a pine branch. A cuff that echoes the lines of Devil’s Peak.
My work used to be about survival.
Now, it’s about celebration.
I turn, and he’s there—backlit in the kitchen doorway, arms crossed, T-shirt stretched across his chest, jaw shadowed with stubble and those eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing worth watching.
“You’re staring,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “You’re mine. Why wouldn’t I?”
God. That voice still wrecks me.
I saunter forward, cocking a brow. “You gonna help me pack these orders or just lean like a lumberjack centerfold?”
He steps forward. “Thought about bending you over the table first.”
Heat zips up my spine. “Not very professional of you, Mr. Rivers.”
He shrugs. “Good thing I never claimed to be.”
His hand grazes my hip. I grab his wrist, pulse jumping.
“You’re incorrigible.”
“And you’re not running.”
I meet his gaze. Steady. Certain.
“No. I’m home.”
His fingers flex, dragging me closer. "You still making jewelry inspired by my abs?"
I laugh, breathless. "I mean... people seem to like it."
He growls, low and teasing, and kisses me like he’s got nowhere else to be. Like the only thing that matters is this—me in his arms, the house humming around us, our life carved from sweat, stubbornness, and second chances.
The moon is high above Devil’s Peak, and the air smells like pine, woodsmoke, and the sweet dampness of spring settling into summer. Jack’s just finished rinsing the dinner plates, sleeves rolled, forearms glistening, a dishtowel slung over one shoulder like he’s always belonged in this life.
Our life.
I’m barefoot on the porch, heart pounding under my favorite dress. The fabric clings to my curves, and in my hands is a tiny box wrapped in ridiculous pink heart paper.
Jack steps outside, catching sight of me like he always does—like I’m a storm he doesn’t mind getting caught in.
His mouth quirks. “That for me?”
I grin. “Might be.”
He takes the box, eyeing it like it might bite. “You know I don’t usually like surprises.”
“You’ll like this one.”
He peels the paper slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring the suspense just to tease me. When he lifts the lid and sees what’s inside, he stills.
Then looks up at me, eyes blazing.
“You’re serious?”
