Her thumb brushed across my knuckles, a gentle, absent-minded movement.
“Lauren called it my dream job, and she wasn't wrong. Six months ago, I would've said yes without hesitation.” Her gaze lifted to mine. “But that was before I knew what it felt like to create my own line of products, or build this weird friendship with goats, or—” She broke off, a flush creeping up her cheeks.
I squeezed her hand, my pulse hammering. “Or?”
“Or fall for someone who makes me want to stay.” Her voice was steady, confident.
The words hit me square in the chest.
I opened my mouth, searching for something adequate to say, but nothing came close to what I felt.
Rosie watched me, that familiar brightness in her eyes, waiting.
“I don't want you to give up opportunities because of me.” The words scraped out. “Your career, your dreams?—”
“Cal.” She stepped closer, Pudding scrambling to stay pressed against her legs. “I'm not saying I won't wonder what my life would have been if I'd picked Seattle.” She continued, quieter now. “But I would've regretted leaving this a lot more. The farm, the life I'm building here. It feels like... like where I need to be.”
Pure joy flooded through me. The kind that made everything brighter, sharper. Made the ordinary market day feel extraordinary.
“You're sure?” The question came out rough.
“I'm sure.” She met my eyes, and the certainty there stole my breath. “This is home now. You're?—”
I kissed her. Right there, with half the market probably watching, with Pudding tangled in his leash between us. Soft and quick, but enough to show her I understood exactly what she meant.
When I pulled back, the words rose up without permission, inevitable as sunrise.
“I love you.”
Rosie's breath caught. Her eyes went wide, searching mine.
“I've been in love with you for a while already.” The confession spilled out, honest and unpolished. “Since you named a terrified puppy without hesitation. Since you looked at my mess of a rescue operation and saw something worth helping. Since I heard you laugh when you sprayed me with your broken irrigation system.”
Her free hand came up to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt.
“I know it's fast,” I continued, unable to stop now that I'd started. “And I know you just turned down a job to stay, which isn't the same as?—”
“Cal.” Her voice was soft but firm. “I love you, too.”
The world tilted.
“I didn't know I'd be ready for those feelings,” she said, her thumb brushing against my collarbone. “After Aaron, after everything—I thought it would take years before I could trust someone like this again. Before I couldwantto trust someone.”
Pudding whined, pawing at her leg. She glanced down, laughing through the tears gathering in her eyes, then looked back at me.
“But you're not him. You see me—the messy, stubborn, slightly chaotic version of me—and you don't try to fix it or smooth it over. You just...” She paused, her smile trembling. “You just show up. Every time.”
I cupped her face, my thumb brushing away a tear that had escaped. “I'll keep showing up.”
“I know.” Her voice broke slightly. “That's why I love you.”
I kissed her again, slower this time. Savoring it. The market noise dimmed—voices, laughter, footsteps—all of it distant and unimportant compared to this.
When we pulled apart, I could see it clearly. The future stretched ahead of us like the valley roads winding through these mountains. Rosie at Sullivan Farm, coaxing impossible things from stubborn soil. Me at the clinic, patching up animals and taking midnight calls. Two people who refused to quit, who'd found each other in the chaos and decided to stay.
We'd fight. She'd overcommit to new projects, I'd work too many hours. But we'd figure it out the way we always did—showing up, trying again, choosing each other even when it got hard.
Pudding yapped, breaking the spell.
