Page 59 of Accidentally Marrying the Mountain Man
I didn’t understand it then. I do now.
Later, when the party has mellowed, and we’re sitting by the bonfire with our people, Sawyer pulls me into his lap and wraps his arms around me from behind.
“Happy?” he murmurs against my ear.
“Deliriously.”
“No regrets? About staying?”
I turn my head to look at him, my husband, this man who built me a studio with south-facing windows, who supports my work without smothering it, who loves me exactly as I am.
“My only regret is that I almost ran,” I tell him honestly. “That I almost missed this.”
“You didn’t, though.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “You stayed.”
“I stayed.” I settle deeper into his arms. “And I’m going to keep staying. Every single day.”
“That’s all I ever wanted, Smudge.”
I smile at the nickname. It started as a joke—paint smudges on my face, my hands, my everything—but now it feels like an endearment. A claim.
“I love you,” I tell him.
“I love you too.” He tightens his arms around me. “Mrs. Granger.”
Mrs. Granger.
It sounds right. It sounds like home.
I lean back against my husband’s chest and watch the fire dance, surrounded by the family we chose and the life we’re building.
This is what I was running toward all along.
I just didn’t know it until I stopped.
