Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29299 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 146(@200wpm)___ 117(@250wpm)___ 98(@300wpm)
Her eyes shine but don’t waver.
“You didn’t replace anything,” I continue. “You expanded it. You walked into a house that still carried smoke and you didn’t try to air it out. You just lit a candle and stayed.”
Her fingers tighten around mine.
“You didn’t ask me to forget,” I say quietly. “You asked me to live.”
A breeze lifts her hair across her cheek. I brush it back gently.
“I don’t promise you easy,” I say. “I promise you real. I promise you steady. I promise that when it gets hard, I won’t retreat. I won’t hide behind duty. I won’t give you half of me.”
She swallows.
“I choose you,” I finish. “Fully.”
Her breath shakes slightly when she begins her vows.
“You tried to protect me from yourself,” she says softly. “You thought wanting me made you reckless.”
A few quiet laughs ripple through the crowd.
“You’ve never been reckless,” she continues. “You’ve been afraid. And you still chose me anyway.” She steps closer, voice lowering. “You didn’t need saving,” she says. “You needed someone to stand beside you while you rebuilt.” Her hand lifts to my chest. “I’m not here to erase your past,” she whispers. “I’m here to build your future.”
I inhale slowly.
When the officiant declares us husband and wife, the rooftop explodes with cheers.
I don’t hesitate.
I pull her to me.
The kiss isn’t frantic.
It isn’t desperate.
It’s deep.
Claiming.
Her hands slide into my hair, fingers curling like she’s anchoring herself. My hand settles at her lower back, holding her steady against the wind and the world.
The crew whistles.
Someone yells, “Get a room!”
I break the kiss slowly, resting my forehead against hers.
“You’re stuck with me,” I murmur.
She smiles against my mouth. “That’s the plan.”
The reception spills into laughter and music. Tables set up along the rooftop edge. Lights flicker on as the sun dips lower.
Sparks makes his rounds like he’s part of the guest list.
Lacee pulls Tessa toward the cake table.
“She insisted on heart-shaped tiers,” Lacee tells me proudly.
“Of course she did,” I say.
Tessa overhears and shoots me a look. “You’re lucky I didn’t make it firefighter-themed.”
“I would’ve loved that.”
She laughs.
God, I love that sound.
Later, when the music shifts slower and the crowd thins into clusters of conversation, I find her near the railing overlooking Devil’s Peak.
Her veil is gone. Hair loose. Shoes abandoned somewhere near the DJ table.
She looks peaceful.
“You hiding from your own party?” I ask.
She glances at me. “Just breathing.”
I step behind her, sliding my hands around her waist.
“You regret the fire engine?” I murmur against her ear.
“Not even a little.”
“Dalmatian?”
“Absolutely necessary.”
I smile, pressing a slow kiss to her temple.
“You nervous?” she asks quietly.
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“I’ve faced worse.”
She turns in my arms, resting her palms against my chest.
“You don’t get to deflect tonight.”
I lift an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“You feel something,” she says.
I study her face in the dimming light.
“Yeah,” I admit.
“What?”
“Peace.”
Her expression softens.
“That scares you?” she asks gently.
“It used to.”
“And now?”
“Now it feels earned.”
She traces a line down the front of my shirt with her fingertip.
“You still think about her?” she asks carefully.
“Yes.”
She nods once. “And?”
“And it doesn’t hurt the way it used to.”
“You don’t have to bury anything to stand with me,” I whisper.
“I’m not burying anything,” I say firmly. “I’m finally building again.”
Her eyes flash at that. “You’re very certain tonight.”
“I am.”
Her breath catches slightly when I draw her closer.
“You’re my wife,” I say quietly.
She exhales slowly, like the word hits deep.
“Say it again.”
“My wife.”
Her mouth curves.
“I like how that sounds.”
“I love how it feels.”
The music shifts again behind us — something slow and overly romantic. Axel must have bribed the DJ.
“Dance with me,” she says.
I take her hand and lead her back toward the center.
The crew makes exaggerated space.
“Careful,” Ash calls. “He’s sentimental now.”
“Shut up,” I say without looking at him.
Tessa laughs softly as I pull her against me.
“You’re smiling,” she whispers.
“Don’t ruin it.”
She leans closer, lips brushing my jaw. “You’re not half-alive anymore.”
“No,” I agree.
My hands settle at her waist.
“You didn’t erase anything,” I murmur. “You gave it context.”
She tilts her head slightly.
“And you didn’t hide,” she says. “You chose.”
The wind lifts around us again. Mountain air. Laughter. Found family wrapped tight and loud and unapologetic.
I rest my forehead against hers.
“You’re my home,” I tell her.
Her breath trembles slightly.
“You’re mine,” she replies.
No hesitation.
No shadow.
Just us.
And for the first time in years, I don’t feel like a man bracing for impact.
I feel like a man standing steady in the light.
Chosen.
By her.
By fire.
And by love that doesn’t burn out — it burns strong.
Second Epilogue
Tessa
seven years later
Devil’s Peak looks like it swallowed a snow globe and shook it hard.
The mountains glow white and endless. Smoke curls from chimneys. The firehouse is strung with lights so bright it can probably be seen from space. And our cabin? It smells like cinnamon, pine, and chaos.
I stand in the kitchen doorway holding a tray of sugar cookies while three small humans sprint through the living room like caffeinated reindeer.