Page 29 of Harvested By The Mountain Man

He nudges my shoulder with his nose, nipping at my earlobe until I can’t help but wriggle. “I’ll make you pancakes every Sunday for the rest of my life. Strawberry, blueberry, chocolate chip. I don’t even care if you pick all the blueberries out and leave the rest for me. You can have anything you want.”

I twist around so I can look at him, really look, and there’s nothing in his face but honest, transparent longing. Not just for my body, but for the messy, complicated person inside it. “You know … I’ve made myself not believe in fairytales. But you’re beyond the myths, Levi. I think you’ve become my real life living legend.”

Levi tugs me closer. I bury my face in his chest and breathe. Levi runs his hand over my hair, slow and tender. I know if I let myself think too hard about this, I’ll start sobbing. So I don’t.

“There’s no rush, Hannah. We can wait if you want, but I wanted you to know that I’m in this all the way. That’s the kind of man I am. It’s all the way.”

Epilogue

Hannah

One Year Later

The air smells like cinnamon and cider, a promise that autumn has settled in for good. A year ago, I never thought I’d be here, standing at the edge of Levi’s fields, apron dusted with flour, hair whipped by the crisp October wind, watching Ivy race toward her pony with a squeal of joy.

“Daisy!” she calls, and the little chestnut mare tosses her head as if she knows she belongs to Ivy and Ivy alone.

Just beyond, a patch of pumpkins -- her personal supply -- burn bright orange against the earth. She kneels down to check the vines, as serious as any rancher, her little hands patting each round fruit like she’s blessing them.

I can’t help smiling. She’s thriving here. We both are.

Inside the new farm-to-table restaurant we’ve built, the chatter of neighbors hums through the wide-plank walls. Lanterns cast warm pools of light on the long tables, where families are gathered around steaming bowls of pumpkin bisque and plates of cider-glazed donuts. They’re eating food I created from the same land Levi tills. My recipes, his harvest -- together it feels like more than just a business. It feels like a dream stitched out of our very souls.

A hand touches the small of my back. I turn to find Levi, eyes blue as the October sky, holding out a single apple like it’s an offering. “You keep taking what I grow,” he says, his mouth curving slow and easy, “and making it into something better.”

I take the apple from him, press it to my lips, and grin. “No, Levi. You give me the earth. I just add the hearth.”

His laugh rumbles through me before he steals a kiss. A year ago, this place was only his. Now it’s ours.

♥♥♥

Ivy props herself against her pillows, a quilt bunched around her small frame, puppets already on her hands. In one she has the prince, in the other the princess, and beside her on the nightstand lies the evil witch, waiting for her cue.

“Ready, Mama?” she asks, eyes sparkling.

I smile, opening the worn book to the first page. “Ready.”

My voice softens as I begin to read, the rhythm of the fairytale carrying us both. This time, though, the words don’t feel like lies. They don’t sting with the bitterness of dreams I thought would never come true. They feel like something we’ve built ourselves, every page turned a reflection of the life we’ve made here.

Ivy makes the prince and princess bow and twirl as I read, her laughter bubbling up like music. When the evil witch makesher entrance, Ivy swoops her across the quilt in exaggerated menace before the prince bravely steps in. She narrates under her breath, adding her own spin, and I can’t stop laughing.

From the doorway, Levi leans against the frame, arms crossed, watching us with that look … the one that says he’d stand guard over this moment forever.

Now, I don’t question if fairytales are dangerous. I don’t worry if they’ll prepare her for the world.

Because here, with Levi’s strong presence in the doorway and Ivy’s joy lighting the room, I know we’ve made a story better than any I could read aloud.

A real-life fairytale … Ours.