Abigail touches my shoulder as I’m loading a vase of flowers into a cardboard box to carry out to my car. The party ended an hour ago and with the crowd gone, the bookstore is filled with the quiet sounds of closing: the shuffle of bills being counted, the papery whisper of books being reshelved.

“The bartender and caterer are gone,” Abby says. “Why don’t you get out of here? You look like you’re going to fall asleep standing up.”

“It’s been an exhausting day.” I stretch my neck, breathing in the sweet scent of peonies and roses. “But we’re not done cleaning up. Let me at least help put the shelves in order.”

Abigail waves me off. “Can you even drive safely?”

“Yes,” I promise.

Abby eyes me skeptically, then turns to Jackson. “Jackson, you’ll take care of her?”

“I will.” He squeezes my hand and gives me a look I hope Abby doesn’t see, all heat and promise in those green eyes.

Abigail purses her lips. “Okay,” she finally says. “That’s all I need to know.” It’s as close to a sign of approval as he’s going to get from her, and it makes me feel better, somehow. It’s going to be okay.

I let Jackson take the box of supplies from my arms and follow him out to my car. As he loads it in my trunk I take another glance around the Swan’s Hollow town center—at the bookstore with its wide, smiling face; at Holy Grounds, shuttered and dark for the night. I rest my hand on the top of the car before I climb inside, and it’s still warm, a living thing ready to take me to the next stop on my journey.

“You want to go home?” Jackson asks, and I nod.

“Absolutely.” For the first time in a while I know where that’s supposed to be. Right here. With him.

I climb in the car and turn on the ignition. The night is balmy, the sun long since gone, and I’m the kind of happy and tired I haven’t been in a long, long time. Jackson rides in the passenger seat with a smile on his face and his hand on my knee. I don’t know if Penchant will sink or swim, if the memoir in my mind will ever become a breathing thing. But I’m okay with not knowing. I’m okay with one day at a time. I love Jackson Wirth, and he loves me. Right now that’s all that seems important. We’ll figure out the rest together.

The truth is, in life we don’t have too many of those moments where we look at something and say, “This is going to change my life.” But this business, it did that. It changed my life. It brought me back my confidence and my drive and my fun, passionate side. And so did Jackson.

We sweep around the next bend in the road, slowing to go down the treacherous hill in front of Wirth & Sons General Store. The store is closed for the night, by now, but Christmas lights still twinkle around the door, seasonless and pretty. I almost don’t notice the sign posted near the entrance, but just before I take the right-hand turn toward home, I catch it.

Under New Management.

A lump slides into my throat and I almost can’t breathe. “You did it,” I say, and it’s bittersweet. This has been coming for a long time, and it’s what he’s been working toward. Seeing it printed on a sign makes it real, though, and somehow after everything that’s happened with Penchant I still didn’t expect it.

“What’s that?” Jackson asks.

“The store is yours again.”

He cocks his head to the side. “What exactly did you see in that email?”

I squirm, my face heating. “That you did some sort of deal with Jim Boyle.”

Jackson chuckles. “You really need to stop assuming things and just start talking to me.”

I huff out a breath. “I will. I promise. But was I wrong? There was no deal?”

“No, there was. I came to an arrangement with Jim.” He gives me a sly grin. “I gave up my share of the store.”

My foot comes off the gas at that one, and I pull my car to the side of the road. “What?” Have we been fighting for the same thing all along? My heart skitters in my chest and I try to read his face. “You’ve wanted this forever.”

He shrugs then, slow and casual, all Jackson. The boy and the man, rolled together as one. “Sometimes the things you want stay the same.” He reaches for my hand and squeezes. “And sometimes you want a crazy new job being a lube mogul. That is, if you can still use a partner.”

I picture it—me and Jackson and the little lube business that could—working and growing together and enjoying the crazy, ridiculous life we’ve built. Something in my chest loosens. The world feels big and full of possibilities, and this possibility might be the best one yet.

On the back road of our little hometown, I lean over the emergency brake and kiss him. Jackson isn’t just my past, he’s my future, too. “I do want a partner,” I grin. “And I’m pretty sure you’re the man for the job.”

“Pretty sure?” Jackson asks, lifting his eyebrows.

I touch the scar above his left eye and smile. His pulse pounds under my hands and it’s the same one beating in my veins. A little erratic, a little wild, and more excited for tomorrow than words can say.

“Okay, super sure,” I tell him. When it comes down to it, there are just some things you know.