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reached for her again, saying, “Hold on—let’s do this right.”
    Before she could say a word, he swooped her up once more in an armful of lace and tulle and carried her gallantly over the threshold.
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    The room was quiet, aside from the snapping crackle of the fire in the hearth and the soft rustle of Shelby’s dress as she walked through the cottage’s modest living room. Her gown reflected the firelight and made her look even lovelier. Ryan shut the door behind him, turned the lock, and stood in the entryway, watching as she moved about the room. He couldn’t have pulled it off without the help of Ginny and some of their friends.
    It was a warm atmosphere, infused with the subtle perfume of flowers and the homey scent of wood fire and candles burning in hurricane flutes. She took it all in and was left speechless. The same variety of flowers from her bridal bouquet were arranged in antique vases and placed throughout the cottage. There were also photographs of the two of them, along with their family and close friends, hanging on the wall.
    Ryan enjoyed watching as she discovered the special touches made just for her, knowing that she didn’t fully comprehend the cottage’s transformation since the last time they were on the property.
    As Shelby ran her hands over the new furniture, appreciating the curved lines and the array of plush pillows in varying shades of blue, Ryan walked over to the stereo in the living room. He selected an album, slid a vinyl record out of its cover, and set it on the turntable. The melodic strumming of a guitar filled the room.
    â€œWhen did you take an interest in old records?” she asked, amused by his choice in music.
    â€œGinny’s idea,” he admitted. “She said it would add a touch of nostalgia to this place.”
    â€œI should have guessed. My grandparents have a pretty impressive record collection at home. I love Van Morrison—is this album one of theirs?”
    â€œShe gave us a few, but this is one I picked up in Chicago.” He never fully appreciated Morrison’s lyrics about a woman being as sweet as Tupelo honey until he saw the way the firelight shone upon his lovely bride.
    Shelby retrieved a silver frame from the mantel and looked over at Ryan. “Is this Gran’s, too?” He crossed the room to join her. In her hands, she held a simple silver frame. Stretched taut behind the glass was a cross-stitching of a flowering tree.
    â€œShe’s a talented lady,” he said, setting his hand lightly upon Shelby’s shoulder. He looked down at the handcrafted art, which Ginny had shown him just the day before. She had carefully hand-stitched leaves and blossoms on the tree and placed a crimson heart in the center of the tree trunk. On one of the branches, Ginny had included a pair of tiny birds. With painstakingly careful stitching, Ginny had also carefully entwined the names of their immediate family members among the lower branches and leaves. Charlotte. William. Martha. Jacqueline. Ginny. Olen. As well as Ryan’s grandparents, Norman, Elizabeth, Charles, and Claire. Near the top, Ginny had stitched in Ryan’s and Shelby’s names. Ryan had noticed there was room at the very top of the tree to add in the names of Ginny’s future grandchildren. She had confided in him that she was eager to see the family grow.
    â€œâ€˜Branching Out,’” Shelby said softly, running her finger over Ginny’s words stitched beneath the tree. “I absolutely love it. How did she—how did you two . . . ?”
    â€œGinny and I were talking about how much you love your family’s land and what it took for you to leave it,” Ryan explained as he began to run his fingers gently up and down her back, admiring the way her bare shoulders glowed in the firelight. “I hope you don’t mind, but I told her what you said—about the orchard reminding you of a community,