“But you won’t have it anymore.” A little sob popped out, and I covered my mouth.

“That’s okay. That was the old us. That painting has tortured me for years now, reminding me that I’ve only ever loved you.”

“Well, you’re quite a masochist then, hanging it in your house. You could’ve just burned it.”

“Absolutely not. Being mad at you was better than not having you at all. It was a way to see you every day. But, Special, I can’t do that anymore. I can’t keep you, and I can’t let go of you again. I love you. I love that you’re a painter. What you do is important and beautiful and . . . and magic. You just saw that. If you need to be in New York, I understand. We can make it work. I want to make it work. I’ve been in love with you since I was fifteen. I’m not gonna wreck that again.”

I seemed to be crying. Nope. Definitely crying. My mother and sister watched, smiling.

“I don’t want five children,” I said. “I don’t know if I want any.”

“I already have the world’s greatest kid, and he has the world’s greatest mother.”

“I live in a crooked house that hasn’t passed inspection.”

“I can fix that. Or you can marry me and live in my house.”

“I have a place in New York.” I dashed a hand across my eyes.

“You can spend as much time there as you want. I’ll even come visit when you want.”

“Did you . . . did you just propose?”

“Yes. For the third time, I might add.”

He was smiling.

“Are you sure, Noah?” I whispered.

He dropped down on one knee, and the folks around us cooed. A few people whipped out their phones. “Home is where you are, Sadie. I shouldn’t have tried to make everything fit how I wanted it. Marry me. Be my son’s stepmother. Be my wife. Go to New York if you need to, but come home to me, Sadie Frost. I love you with everything I have.”

I looked down into his dark, dark eyes. They were full of love and happiness and . . . certainty.

“Third time’s the charm, then,” I said. “Yes, Noah Pelletier, I will marry you.”

I kissed him then, threading my fingers through his curly hair, feeling so much love, so much joy. My father’s word to me was the key to everything.

Home had never been a place. Noah, my wild boy, was my home, my heart, my joy. Part of me had always known it, and now I would stake my claim and build from here.

EPILOGUE

Barb

Two years after he moved into Rose Hill, John died. In bed. With Janet.