Epilogue

EPILOGUE

PRESLEY

" M ommy's having a girls' night out."

Those words were said to our three-year-old, Ayla, as I grabbed my coat from the closet near the door. I turned to face my husband and daughter. They were seated on the couch, Ayla's favorite movie queued up on the screen in front of them. But now, looking at the two of them, a brief bout of sadness washed over me.

"I don't want to leave," I said. "Can I just curl up under that blanket and watch the movie with you?"

Trace shot me a puzzled look. "You've been excited about this all week."

I had. But I was eight months pregnant, and my hormones were all over the place. Maybe that was why I was feeling overly sentimental about watching the two of them. Or maybe it was just that I had the best husband and daughter anyone could wish for.

"You go have fun," he said. "We'll do movie night tomorrow. I'll even get your favorite ice cream."

"Already one step ahead of you." I gestured toward the kitchen. "I picked up a pint at the grocery store earlier this week."

This town had come a long way since I first visited five years ago. Not only had it recovered from the tornado, but it was booming. The need to rebuild had brought in several restaurants and shops. We even had a big grocery store now, which was where I had to go to get my favorite ice cream.

I'd visited Rosewood Ridge and never gone back. Well, that wasn't true exactly. I'd returned to gather my belongings. But I'd quit my job the morning after I lost my virginity to Trace. I now did freelance marketing work for companies all over the world, although Ayla kept me so busy, my work barely qualified as part-time these days.

Trace leaned forward and grabbed the remote off the coffee table, pressing play on the movie. Then he settled Ayla onto the sofa and crossed to where I was standing, wrapping his arms around me.

"Enjoy your lemonade and tacos," he said, keeping his voice low to avoid interrupting Ayla's movie.

Lemonade was what I turned to on Mexican night since I couldn't have margaritas. Not that I was all that big a drinker when I wasn't pregnant. I just always associated Mexican food with margaritas. It was part of the fun.

"Thank you." I rose on tiptoe—my way of requesting a kiss. He happily complied. "I have the best husband in the world. Have I told you lately I love you?"

"Not today." He smiled down at me, then he looked off to the side. "Wait, maybe you have."

"I have," I said. "At least three times."

"Well then, I'm overdue for a fourth," he said. "I love you too."

"Eww," Ayla said from the couch, stopping us before we could kiss again.

We both looked over at her and laughed. She was shaking her head as she watched us.

"They start so young," Trace said.

I put my hand on my belly and looked down. "Yes, and we get to start all over again with this one."

We were both getting really good at working around this baby bump for kissing…and other things. But I was so big it was almost unworkable at this point.

"Don't have too many lemonades," he said. "As I recall, that was how we got this little bun in the oven in the first place."

That was right. We'd only been trying to conceive for a couple of weeks when we made this baby in the backseat of our SUV before rushing home to relieve his mom, the babysitter. It was one of many ways we worked in some good sex with a toddler in the house.

"I'll keep the lemonade to a minimum," I said. "And you two behave." I looked over at Ayla. "Keep an eye on Daddy."

She wasn't even keeping an eye on me. She only had eyes for the screen right now.

I had a big smile on my face as I walked out of the cabin we'd bought together right before Ayla was born. Home was where the heart was. And my home was those two amazing human beings sitting inside that house.

Trace and Presley steam up the windows in their SUV on date night in this bonus scene .