“I love you, Zoey.” A smile spreads across my face. “I’ve never said that to anyone. Not my parents, not anyone. Because I didn’t know what it meant until now… untilyou.”
My own eyes are burning. I don’t care.
“I’m yours. And whatever you decide about the franchise, wherever it takes you, I’ll be there. I'll be right there with you.”
The silence that follows is so profound, but then a small scraping sound echoes as Morgan slides off her stool. Her eyes are enormous, her bottom lip trembling.
She takes two hesitant steps, then breaks into a full blownrun.
She launches herself at me so hard I stagger back, catching her automatically. Her small arms wrap around my neck, holding on with all her strength.
“I love you, too, Buddy,” she whispers, her voice muffled against my chest as everyone laughs and coos around us.
The dam inside my chest breaks.
I sink to my knees right there on the bakery floor, bringing us eye to eye. She doesn’t let go. She just holds on tighter, her face buried in my shoulder, her small body shaking… but this time, I think it’s with relief.
I hold her, one hand cradling the back of her head, my own tears slipping free.
Over Morgan’s shoulder, I see Zoey watching us, one hand pressed to her mouth. Her tears are falling freely now. Declan catches her eye from across the room and gives her the smallest nod.
She comes around the counter, then she kneels and puts her arms around both of us, sobbing against my shoulder. She holds on like she’ll never let go.
“You know I love you too, right? And I’m not going anywhere,” she says softly. "I'm not going anywhere, Colt."
My heart stutters. “What?”
“I called the investor this morning. While you were at the arena.” She takes a deep breath, stepping closer. “I told them I’ll take the deal. The franchise, the expansion, all of it.”
A knot of dread tightens in my stomach. “Zoey, that's great—”
“But,” she interrupts, a small, triumphant smile touching her lips. “Only if the headquarters stays in Chilmore. The first expansion location can be wherever they want. New York, L.A., Timbuktu. I don’t care. But this bakery—” she gestures around us, at the pastry cabinet, the coffee machine, the kitchen “—mybakery—stays right here. On Main Street. Where it belongs.”
She releases me and Morgan, holding us close as she looks at me, her eyes shining.
“Wherewebelong.”
The relief that crashes over me is so profound it nearly buckles my knees. I reach for her, my hands framing her face, my thumbs brushing away the last traces of tears.
“You’re sure?” I whisper.
“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” She rises on her toes, her lips brushing mine. “You were right. We write our own story.”
I kiss her then. Not gentle, not careful. I kiss her with all the desperate, grateful, overwhelming love that’s been building inside me for weeks. I kiss her until we’re both breathless, until we stumble back against the counter, knocking a tray of freshly glazed scones to the floor with a crash.
We break apart, panting, staring at the mess of pastries and porcelain scattered across the tiles.
Zoey lets out a breathless laugh. “Well. There goes the morning rush.”
“I’ll buy them all,” I murmur, dipping my head to kiss her again. “I’ll buy the whole damn bakery.”
“You already have,” she whispers against my lips, her arms tightening around my neck. “You bought it with secret handshakes and pancake breakfasts. You bought it the moment you stayed.”
And as I hold her there, in the warm, buttery heart of her dream, with the sound of Morgan’s laughter drifting in from the front of the shop, I know one thing for certain.
I’m not just staying.
I’m home.
