Page 84 of The Apple Cider Orchard

For a moment, Molly couldn’t speak.

‘Got it made by a jeweler in town,’ Jack stammered. ‘Thought it … was fitting.’

Molly lifted the necklace carefully from the velvet lining. The oak was tiny, but unmistakable. Steady. Enduring.

‘The roots …’ he added, stepping closer again. ‘That’s the part I liked most. Not just what you see above ground, but what holds everything in place.’

Her throat tightened. She thought of Aoife. Of the promise she’d made to her grandmother without understanding it. Of the day she’d stood beneath the oak, scattering ashes into the wind while Jack stood beside her, silent and steady.

And everything that had grown since.

‘It’s … perfect,’ she said, her voice barely above a whisper, tears brimming in her eyes.

Jack reached for it. ‘May I?’

She nodded, turning as he fastened the chain at the back of her neck. His fingers brushed her skin, sending a familiar warmth through her. The charm settled just below her collarbone, light but present. She turned back to him, her hand instinctively rising to touch it.

‘I wanted you to have something that belonged here,’ he continued. ‘Like … you do now.’

Molly felt the words land deep, anchoring somewhere steady inside her.

Six months ago, she’d stood in this place as a visitor – carrying grief, promises, and a return ticket she didn’t know she wouldn’t use. Now Goldenridge Orchard was as familiar to her as her own reflection. The village knew her name. The lake marked her mornings. And Jack …

‘I think,’ she said softly, her fingers still curled around the tiny oak, a lump forming in her throat, ‘this might be the nicest gift I’ve ever received.’

He smiled that slow, sure smile she’d come to love as he leaned down for a kiss, and all Molly could think was – despite what he’d said earlier – Jack Flynn was very good at all that romantic stuff indeed.