Page 186 of Sunrise & Serenity

The guest expansion has been open for nearly two months now, since construction delays pushed everything back and opening in the middle of winter made little sense. We held off until the weather warmed again and used the extra time to get my photos out everywhere we could.

So far, the cabins have been busier than any of us dared hope. It’s too soon to know what that will mean for the ranch long-term, but after everything it took to get here, it’s a great start.

I pause near the photo wall, coffee warming my hands as I study the familiar images. The story that made me fall in love with this place.

I often catch guests standing here, tracing the display with their eyes. I love watching them take it all in. My gaze drifts down the wall, skimming past an image before darting back.

Wait.

I step closer. The framed image is one I don’t recognize. It shows a woman on horseback, the wind lifting her dark hair, set against a backdrop of blue mountains. Her face isn’t visible, only part of her profile.

Me. Cozy. Wild Ember.

Emotion swells in my throat.

“That wasn’t there yesterday, was it?” The deep voice sends warmth spreading through my body.

“Holden,” I murmur without turning around.

He slides his arms around my waist from behind, his chin settling on top of my head. “Thought I’d find you here. Beginning to think you like their coffee more than mine.”

“Never,” I say, leaning back against him. “Did you hang that photo?”

“Maybe.”

I laugh. “Who took it?”

“I did.”

He says it so casually, it catches me off guard. I turn in his arms and stare up at him.

He shrugs. “I know how to use a phone camera.”

“How many secret photos of me do you have?”

“Enough.”

I study the photograph again, then look back at him, catching a flicker of emotion in his eyes. Understanding hits me. I’m part of Wild Ember’s story now.

“You put me on the wall.” It comes out almost as a whisper.

He nods slowly, one corner of his mouth pulling up. “Figured that one was safer.”

Suspicion grows. “Safer than what?”

His grin widens. Without answering, he pulls his phone out of his pocket. Three taps later, he turns the screen toward me.

A photograph fills it. It’s a close-up of a barn door. Weathered timber and rusted metal, damp from rain. I recognize it. Of course I do. It’s the photograph I took the morning after the storm.

I stare at it, then at him, then back at it. A laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Did you steal this off my computer?”

“Yeah. When you asked me to help choose photos for the opening.”

“Why?”

His expression turns smug. “You promised me an album.”

“Oh my god.”