Ghost of Hollow Peak Bonus Scene

Now it feels safe and comfortable. Ours. That realization still catches me off guard sometimes.

Rhys slows suddenly, turning off the main trail onto a narrower ridge road carved through the trees.

My brows pull together. “This isn’t the way into town.”

“Nope.”

“Are you kidnapping me?” I ask.

“It’s a bit late for that.”

I snort despite myself.

The road widens unexpectedly after another bend, opening onto a high stretch of flattened earth overlooking Hollow Peak below. Aspen leaves flicker emerald in the wind. The valley spreads beneath us, verdant and shadowed by large pines. The mountains range endlessly into the distance.

And unlike the cabin below… this ground sits solid. There’s no loose mud or carved out flood channels. No washed-out edges or signs of recent damage. Even the parking area is wide, reinforced with gravel and timber retaining walls. The kind that’ll keep a Jeep in place.

My chest tightens before I fully understand why.

Rhys kills the engine but doesn’t get out immediately. One rough hand flexes against the steering wheel. “You hate the drive.”

“I don’t—”

“You white-knuckle the door every time we go into town.”

Traitorous silence answers for me.

His jaw shifts slightly. “Road below’s unstable in spring. Always has been.”

“So?”

“So, I found better land.”

I stare at him then at the clearing again. Stakes line the ground, and survey tape flutters in the breeze. A partially leveled foundation site sits farther back among the trees.

I inhale sharply, understanding sinking in. “Oh my God.”

Rhys rounds the Jeep and opens my door. He offers a hand, and I step out.

“You bought land?” I ask, walking next to him in the cool mountain air. My pulse suddenly feels uneven.

He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Traded for it, mostly.”

“Rhys.”

He walks toward the overlook, boots crunching against gravel. “Higher elevation. Stable rock underneath. Better runoff path during storms.” He points toward the widened ridge road. “And easier access into town once I finish grading it.”

My throat tightens painfully because he says it as if it’s mere practicality, simple logistics. But I hear what’s underneath it.

You’ll be safer here. This is where we build a life together.

“You did all this…”

His shoulders rise once beneath his flannel. “Needed better parking, too.”

I laugh through the sudden sting behind my eyes. “Parking.”

“Mm.”

“For me?”

His gaze catches mine. Wind moves through his shorter beard now, sunlight catching the scar running down his neck. “For us.”

Those two words settle in my chest, warm and inviting. They feel like hope after years of believing it no longer existed.

He opens the Jeep tailgate and pulls out the thermos, offering me more coffee with cream.

“It tastes better with the real stuff, not powder,” I tease.

“True,” he reminisces. “But s’mores, Twinkies, they never get old.”

“Glad I knew how to please you.”

“Still do,” he murmurs, pulling me hard against him and pecking my lips.

My eyes drift again, catching on a roll of blueprints half tucked beneath a toolbox in the Jeep bed. Curiosity gets the better of me. Before he can stop me, I pull them free.

“Careful,” he mutters immediately.

“Why?”

His expression darkens with something dangerously close to embarrassment. Somehow, that’s even more devastating on Rhys Ward than all his grief ever was.

I open the plans carefully against the hood of the Jeep, and my heart stops. There it is in blue lines. A wraparound porch, large south-facing windows, a stone fireplace, and tucked into one corner, an office.

The word is written in rough block lettering and beneath that are notes: warm natural light, built-in shelving, extra sound insulation.

I blink hard. “You planned me an office?”

His eyes narrow at the mountains instead of me. “You write better near windows.”

That absolutely destroys me. I keep scanning, then freeze again. A small bedroom is designated in the plans next to the larger one with the simple description: FUTURE.

My breath catches. Rhys goes very still beside me.

“That’s…” His throat works. “Just extra space.”

“Rhys.”

“In case someday…” He trails off, gaze fixed firmly somewhere over my shoulder now.

And suddenly, I understand. The safer roads, the reinforced ground, the easier drive into town, the office and extra bedroom. This isn’t construction. It’s hope. Careful. Terrified. Built line by line by a man who never thought he’d live long enough to want any of it.

I reach for his hand slowly, and he lets me take it.

“I love it,” I whisper.

Something fragile shifts across his face so briefly I almost miss it—relief. The kind born from a man still learning he’s allowed to build things instead of merely survive them. And when he pulls me against him beneath the endless mountain sky, holding me like something worth planning a future around, I realize Hollow Peak no longer feels haunted at all.

“You sure?” he asks, dark eyes searching mine.

“As sure as the day I stayed and every day since.”

He leans into me, mouth moving gently over mine. The wind swirls around us, but heat builds between us as his hand comes up, changing the angle to deepen the kiss. He sweeps into my mouth, and my heart pounds as I melt into him, into the safety and strength of his arms.

We finally pull away, breathing hard, and he rests his forehead against mine.

“This means we’ll be very busy, you know,” I say, soft and dark.

He grunts, kissing the top of my head. “Don’t remind me. Moving you from SoCal was enough for multiple lifetimes. Still not relishing the thought of organizing your storage unit.”

“Not that, silly,” I whisper, fingers sliding against his bearded cheek.

“You mean the construction? All the stuff that comes with building a home?”

I shake my head. “Not that either.”

“Then, what?” he asks, eyes simmering as he stares down at me.

“That small bedroom isn’t going to fill itself.”

It takes a moment for the words to land. But then his face darkens, a new excitement behind his eyes. “We don’t have to rush that… until you’re ready.”

“I’m ready, Rhys,” I say, unable to suppress the grin on my face. “Ready enough to stop taking birth control.”

“Yeah?” he growls, low and gravelly.

“Yeah,” I say.

“You sure about that?”

My eyes sweep the vista, not a building in sight. No cars, hikers, nothing but him and me.

“Sure enough to start trying here and now,” I answer with a seductive grin.

He pulls me into his arms without hesitation, mouth finding mine again. Kissing me until my toes curl, and I can’t remember my own name.

Our clothes fall away, frantic hands moving. Need building to a fevered pitch.

“We should be doing this behind closed doors,” he grunts as I wrap my legs around his waist, and he slides into me. He closes his eyes, pausing for one moment, breathing through his own desire. “But this is technically where our bedroom will be.”

My laughter turns to longing as we find a shared rhythm and the world fades away to two people and a future written in more than ink.

And for the first time in a long time, forever doesn’t feel frightening at all.

---

---

---