Page 203 of The Lumberjack and the City Slicker

I can’t believe she’s real.

I can’t believe she found me. That she drove into a storm and into my life and decided I was worth the risk.

That she looked at my broken edges and didn’t flinch.

She gets closer and I see her expression shift—soft, bright, steady.

Not a performance.

Not a society smile.

Clara in her truest form.

And every stupid joke anyone told me today turns to dust.

Freedom?

I wasn’t free before her.

I was isolated. I was hiding. I was surviving.

This?

This is freedom.

Choosing her. Being chosen back.

Clara reaches the front, and for a second she just stands there, eyes shining.

Her hands tremble slightly as she places them in mine.

Warm.

Real.

Mine.

“Hi,” she whispers like we’re alone.

My throat tightens. “Hi.”

Someone says words. Vows happen. I repeat mine with a voice that doesn’t even sound like me because it’s too full of feeling.

Clara says hers, and I swear the entire mountain holds its breath to listen.

When it’s time for the ring, my hands shake—me, the man who can carve a table down to a single delicate petal without flinching, struggling to slide a band onto her finger because the moment matters too damn much.

I get it on.

The crowd exhales.

Clara’s smile trembles.

And then the officiant says, “You may kiss the bride.”

I don’t hesitate.

I pull her in, one hand cradling the back of her neck, the other firm at her waist, and I kiss her like I’ve been starving my whole life and she’s the first real thing I’ve ever tasted.