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"You had an offer. A good one. And instead of asking you what you wanted to do about it, I decided for you. I decided you were going to leave because that's what I expect people to do. Leave. Because Beth left, and my parents left, and for five years the only thing that stayed was the land." My voice is steady. Barely. "But you're not Beth. You're not my parents. You're the woman who fell off my crates, ate my chili, photographed my farm, and made me remember that the second chair at the table isn't supposed to be empty."

Her eyes fill. She blinks hard.

"I don't know how to do this," I say. "I don't know how to be with someone who has a life outside this farm. But I know I want to learn. And I know that watching you drive away on Friday was the worst thing I've felt since the day Beth loaded her car, except it was worse because I did it to myself."

"Deck."

"I love you."

The words fall out plain, undecorated. No buildup, no ceremony. Three words from a man who doesn't waste them.

The coffee mug lands on the nightstand. She crosses the room in two steps and her hands are on my face, palms against my jaw, pulling me down. The kiss is wet, messy, tasting like coffee and salt. Her tears on my lips, her fingers in my hair, her body pressed against mine with the urgency of a woman who's been sitting in this room for two days waiting for me to stop being stupid.

"I turned it down," she says against my mouth. "The winter series. I emailed Diane on Friday night."

My hands stop on her waist. "You what?"

"I turned it down. But I didn't just turn it down." She pulls back enough to look at me. Gold in her hazel eyes, tears still tracking, her smile breaking through. "I pitched her something else. A year-long feature. One farm, four seasons. The same property through spring planting, summer growth, fall harvest, winter rest. Your farm, Deck. A twelve-month project, shot from one place."

My chest cracks open.

"She said yes," Poppy says. "Diane said yes on Saturday morning. She called it the most compelling pitch she's received all year. One farm, one photographer, twelve months. And I can do it from right here."

"From right here."

"Grizzly Ridge. Your kitchen. Your orchard. Your pumpkin patch." Her thumbs trace my cheekbones. "Your bed, if you'll have me."

My arms close around her waist, lifting her off the floor. Her legs wrap around me. Her laugh is wet, broken, real. "Poppy, I've been trying to figure out how to keep you since you showed up on a Wednesday wearing a flower dress and zero survival instincts."

"Rude."

"Accurate." My forehead presses to hers. "Stay. Not for the magazine. Not for the project. Stay because you want to."

"I want to."

"Stay because this is your home."

"It is my home." Her voice cracks. "It's been my home since the chili, Deck. I just didn't know how to say it."

I kiss her again. Slower this time. Deep, thorough, my hand cradling the back of her head, her arms locked around my neck. She tastes like coffee and certainty. Like the answer to a question I asked the morning she left, standing in my kitchen with two empty bowls, realizing the chair was empty.

"I love you," she says. First time. Quiet, sure, her mouth against mine. "I love your farm and your chili and your cider press and your grumpy face and your mother's apple trees. I love that you carved a pumpkin into a modesty shield for a total stranger."

"It was practical."

"It was romantic."

"It was absolutely not romantic."

"Deck." She pulls back. Cups my face. Looks at me with those hazel eyes that see my farm the way I see it. "A man who cuts a pumpkin with a knife to protect a woman's dignity and then pretends he's annoyed about it? That's the most romantic thing I've ever heard."

"You need better stories."

"I've got the best one." Her thumb traces the scar on my chin. "I'm writing it right now. With you."

We stand there. Her legs around my waist, my arms holding her up, Room 12 of the Mountain Haven Inn, cider warming on the desk. Outside, the mountains are catching full morning light, October gold on the peaks. Somewhere on Main Street, Maggie is opening the diner. Hilda is unlocking the general store. Gerald is on the water trough, judging the sunrise.

And I am holding the woman I love in a hotel room that she doesn't need anymore, because she's coming home.