Page 122 of The Clifftop Cottage

Only now, she wasn’t bracing against it.

Gabriel’s hand rested lightly at her face, steady and sure, keeping her exactly where she was.

She let out a soft breath, something in her chest loosening in a way she hadn’t known how to name before.

The memory didn’t pull at her.

It settled.

And, unexpectedly, she thought of the cottage.

Of its low stone walls tucked into the cliffside. The way it had stood there through weather and years of everything thrown against it. Isobel once moving through its rooms. Gabriel after her. And now Erica.

Not passing through. Not borrowing it for a while.

Living there.

When he drew back, his forehead resting briefly against hers, she didn’t reach for anything beyond this moment. She didn’t look ahead, didn’t wonder where she ought to be.

She already knew.

Erica slipped her hand into his.

When the world shifted around her, as it always did, she didn’t move.

EPILOGUE

The morning sun streamed through the cottage windows, catching every smudge and streak on the glass.

Erica stared at them over the rim of her coffee cup, still wrapped in her dressing gown. “God, I really need to clean. Less writing … more wiping.”

Behind her, warm arms wrapped around her waist. Gabriel pressed a kiss to her neck, his morning stubble scratchy but welcome. “Cleaning?” he murmured. “No cleaning. More bed.”

“We’ve been in bed all night.”

“And yesterday too,” he added with a satisfied rumble against her shoulder.

Erica laughed, nudging him off gently. “Gabriel, your sister is coming tonight. This place looks like a laundry basket exploded.”

“She won’t notice. She’ll be too distracted by the novelty of adult conversation and a drink she didn’t pour from a juice carton.” He stretched and kissed the top of her head. “It’s her first night with a babysitter in years. She’s not going to care if we’ve vacuumed.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “She’ll be more interested in you.”

“No pressure then,” Erica said, rolling her eyes.

Gabriel spun her around to face him. “You’re not scared of my big sister, are you?”

“What? No,” she scoffed. “She just … might’ve thought I was a bit unhinged.”

“She didn’t think that,” Gabriel said, brushing a stray curl from her forehead. “She thought you were struggling. There’s a difference. Besides, she was a fan – of your blog. She used to watch your videos before I met you.”

Erica groaned. “So she’s seen the worst of me. The performative, filter-happy version.”

“She knows the brand,” he teased. “But I know the real you. Warts and all.”

“That’s so romantic.” She kissed him, soft at first, then with more certainty. “Now go. This place isn’t going to clean itself.”

Gabriel sighed in surrender. “What’s my assignment? Other than cooking?”

“You are making dinner.”