Chapter 17

CHAPTERSEVENTEEN

“She offered me a hundred bucks to deliver the cake. She sounded so desperate. It wasn’t a big deal for me to bring it to her house on my way home,” Finley said, her voice sounding hollow as she recounted the events that took place.

“As soon as I pulled up to the address she gave me, I knew something was wrong. I figured I just wrote it down wrong or something. I was about to pull away when my door opened and a gun was pressed to my head.”

Brock’s hand tightened painfully around hers, but Finley welcomed the slight ache. It was difficult to talk about what happened, but it had to be done. Brock’s tight hold kept her grounded, made her feel safe. “I didn’t know what to do. I should’ve thrown the car in reverse and left.”

“If you’d tried, she would’ve shot you right then and there,” Simon said gently. “What happened then?”

Finley went through Hillary’s next steps. She told the police chief and Brock about the zip-ties—which Doc Snow had cut off—about Hillary ranting, about how surprised she’d been when the enraged woman dumped gas over her head. How scared she was, positive she’d be set ablaze while still alive. When her hands began to shake, Brock simply tightened his hold on her fingers yet again.

“I guess the gas she’d spilled on herself ignited when she lit the match. I remember being oddly surprised she had an old-fashioned book of matches,” Finley said with a shrug. “Although, I suppose it doesn’t matter what she was going to use to set me on fire.”

“It was very smart of you to pretend to attach your legs to the chair,” Simon told her. “So…after…you ran into the kitchen?”

Finley nodded. “Yeah. The gas felt as if it was burning my skin, but I knew if I didn’t get out of there, it wouldn’t matter if Hillary hadn’t thrown that match on me or not. I’d go up in flames as easily as she did. I’d knocked out the window and was ready to crawl through when she came stumbling into the kitchen.” Finley shivered and her voice lowered to a whisper. “It was awful. Her face looked like it was melting. I don’t know how she found the strength to walk. Maybe she was just that determined to see me die.”

Finley jerked when Brock’s hand touched her face. She’d been so intent on telling her story that she hadn’t realized she was crying. He gently wiped the tears from her face with his free hand.

Brock took up the story then, explaining how he’d discovered where she was, how he, Tal, and Raid had broken into the backyard and found her.

“Was all this really about me seeing that black truck?” Finley asked Simon.

“Yes and no,” Simon said. “After looking into Pete and Cory’s histories, and now that I know Hillary was behind what happened to you…I can extrapolate and guess that Hillary Kendall was addicted to the pain pills she was selling, and she’d managed to work her way up the chain from just a user to the local supplier. Probably got involved just for easy access and free pills…at first. But like these things usually go, the further you’re embroiled in the drug trade, the more desperate and power hungry you become.

“I’m fairly certain you saw her supplier delivering pills to a contact here in Fallport. That contact would then get the drugs to Hillary, who’d package them up and get them to her clients either herself or with the help of small-time dealers.”

“Like Pete and Cory,” Brock said.

“Yes. But from what you’ve told us,” he said to Finley, “you obviously spooked her supplier. He refused to drive to Fallport, so she had to go to him. I talked to her husband before coming here. He said recently, she’d been going to Roanoke all the time. Was never home anymore. When we get the records from your satellite phone back, I’m positive they’ll lead back to her somehow, indicating that she was the one who sent Pete and Cory to find out exactly what you’d seen and who you’d told. In her mind, if she could reassure her guy that you hadn’t seen anything—or if you had, that you were too scared to tell anyone—he’d resume their previous arrangement. But…that didn’t happen.”

Finley shook her head. “Yes, I saw the truck and wrote down the license plate, but if she hadn’t sent those guys after me, I would’ve forgotten all about it.”

Simon nodded. “She didn’t know that though. Anyway, I’m thinking things went downhill from there and she was cut off altogether. She was desperate for the drugs and turned to heroin, as you mentioned. And she blamed you for her little empire falling apart.”

“She’s dead?” Finley asked tentatively.

Simon nodded.

“What about her family? Will they be all right?”

She heard Brock make a noise, and she turned to him. “What?”

He merely shook his head. “I’m not surprised that, even after everything that happened, you’re worried about a drug dealer’s family.”

“They’re innocent in this. At least, I’m assuming they are. And it won’t be easy living in a small town and dealing with the fallout of her actions.”

“I’ll keep my eye on them. Make sure they’re good,” Simon said.

Finley rested her head on the pillow behind her and closed her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Go home,” Simon ordered gently. “Let Brock take care of you. You did good, Finley. I’m proud of you.”

His words echoed in the room, but strangely they made Finley feel sad. He might be proud of her, but she wasn’t proud of herself. She should’ve done more to get herself out of that awful situation. She did almost nothing…just as she did nothing when she and Brock were in the woods. She waited for him to act.

Maybe if she hadn’t, her life and the life of her child wouldn’t have been threatened. Hillary might not be dead, and she could’ve gotten the help she’d obviously needed.

Finley’s hand went to her belly. She thought of Hillary’s two kids, how they didn’t have a mother anymore. Maybe the woman hadn’t been the best mom in the world, but she was the only one those teenagers had…and now she was gone.

Guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders, and Finley just wanted to sleep, to block it all out.

Simon stood. He shook Brock’s hand and patted Finley gently on the calf before he walked out of the room.

“You ready to go home?” Brock asked quietly.

Finley nodded, but she didn’t open her eyes. She was tired. So damn tired.

* * *

A week later, Brock stood in his kitchen. He braced himself on the counter and stared down into the sink, frowning. He’d just made breakfast for Finley, and she’d only eaten a few bites of the omelet before saying she just wasn’t hungry and pushing it away.

She was here, but she wasn’t here. She’d barely gotten out of bed since the fire, and it was clear she wasn’t dealing with what happened. Brock had talked with Doc Snow about getting a psychologist to come to the house to see her, and they were working on making that happen, but in the meantime, his spunky, glass-half-full woman was a mere shell of who she’d been before the kidnapping.

Brock was at a loss as to what to do to help her, and it was eating him up inside. All the other women had been by to see her, but it was obvious she wasn’t ready to talk. They only stayed for a short time, worried when Finley wouldn’t speak or outright refused to see them. Each of them promised to keep coming back, to do what they could to help Finley feel better.

But with every day that passed, Brock could feel the woman he loved slipping through his fingers. She spent as much time as possible sleeping, and when he tried to gently coax her to get up, to open her bakery, to get out of the house, she argued that she wasn’t feeling up to it. That she wanted to stay off her feet for the baby’s sake. He was terrified to push too much.

Brock felt helpless, and he hated it. At night, Finley held him almost desperately, but in the morning, more often than not she wouldn’t meet his eyes and was barely going through the motions of living.

A knock on his front door made Brock sigh. People had been arriving nonstop since the fire, and while he appreciated it, his refrigerator and freezer were already overflowing and it was hard to carry on a conversation with someone when the woman he loved was slowly disappearing into herself.

Brock had to do something.

And he would…as soon as he got rid of whoever was at his door.

When he opened it, Brock was shocked to see Khloe Moore standing there. At only five foot four, she was a tiny little thing…but at the moment, she looked ready to do battle.

“I’m here to see Finley,” she announced.

“She’s not feeling up to visitors,” Brock said quietly, repeating what she’d told him every time someone had stopped by to see her in the last few days.

“Tough,” Khloe retorted, pushing past Brock into the house.

He stood there, shocked for a moment, before slowly closing the door and following Khloe into his living room.

“Seriously, Khloe, she’s struggling hard, and she doesn’t want to see anyone.”

“I don’t care, Brock. She’s seeing me.”

He couldn’t help but feel a twinge of relief. He had no idea how this visit was going to go, but maybe Khloe’s approach would be the catalyst for him to finally have a heart-to-heart talk with Finley. She needed to get out of bed. Start living again. What happened to her was awful, and he’d always hold guilt in his heart that he hadn’t found her faster. That he hadn’t taken the threat against her more seriously. That he hadn’t figured out who was behind Pete and Cory’s actions in the woods that day.

Without waiting for him to tell her where Finley was, Khloe turned and practically stomped down the hall toward his bedroom, the movement even more pronounced thanks to her slight limp. Brock debated whether or not to stay. He wanted to ensure Khloe didn’t upset his woman…but he grudgingly admitted his approach of not pushing, of catering to her desire to stay in bed all day, had failed hard.

“I’m going to go mow the lawn. I’d appreciate anything you can do to help bring back my Finley…but if she’s even more worse off when you leave, I’m not going to be happy.”

She turned, and for the first time since he’d met her, Brock saw deep pain in the other woman’s hazel eyes.

Whatever Khloe Moore had been through in her life, it had deeply affected her.

“I’ll handle her with care…and tough love,” Khloe promised before turning to his bedroom door.

Brock stared down the hallway, hoping with everything he had that Khloe would be able to do what he hadn’t…pull Finley out of the depression she’d fallen into.

* * *

Finley was in that weird space between sleep and wakefulness when the door to the bedroom opened. She rolled over, expecting to see Brock. No matter how shitty she felt, she couldn’t not want to see him.

But it wasn’t the man she loved. Khloe was closing the door behind her. She strode over to the side of the bed, studied Finley with her hands on her hips, and finally declared, “You look like shit.”

For a second, Finley could only gape at her friend. Then she chuckled. The sound was rusty, but it was still a laugh. “Wow, why don’t you tell me what you really think,” she quipped.

“I plan to,” Khloe informed her. “But not until you get your ass out of bed and make me a cinnamon roll.”

Finley’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“I’m hungry, and I want a cinnamon roll. Since The Sweet Tooth is closed, I haven’t had one all week. So get up and get into the kitchen and make me one.”

Finley should’ve been surprised at the complete gall of Khloe’s request—no, order—but for some reason, she wasn’t. Emotion was beyond her. “Today’s not a good day,” she said with a shrug. “Sorry.”

“When will be a good day?” Khloe returned. “It’s been a week, Finley. You need to get back to your life.”

“A week? You think that’s enough to get over almost being set on fire and burned alive?” Finley shot back.

“The operative word in that sentence being almost,” Khloe replied.

“I can’t…I just…I can’t,” Finley said lamely.

“Bullshit. You can, you’re simply wallowing. You need to snap out of it.”

For the first time in a week, Finley felt an emotion begin to stir—anger. “You think it’s that easy?”

“It’s never easy,” Khloe returned. “It’s hard as hell. Maybe the hardest thing you’ll ever have to do. But you’re alive, Fin. What happened sucks. Big time. You were kidnapped not once, but twice. But you’ve got friends who love and support you, a man who thinks the sun rises and sets for you, and you have a business to run.”

“I’m not sure I want to anymore,” Finley admitted.

“Right. I get that. But what about Liam? And Davis? What about the people who’ve come to look forward to your baked goods every morning? Liam would literally do anything for you. Yes, the money he’s earned has changed his family’s life, but more than that, he respects and admires you. And he’s so damn thankful you gave him a chance, especially since so many other people didn’t.

“And Davis? Shit, Finley, he’s so much better than he was. He’s always going to have his demons, but feeling as if he’s needed? As if he’s contributing? That’s something no counselor has been able to do for him since he left the military. But you did. Simply by accepting him exactly as he is. You gonna throw all that away?”

Finley felt sick inside. “That’s not fair,” she whispered.

“I know. It really isn’t. But I’m not sorry for using Davis or Liam against you. You need someone to kick you in the ass, and Brock won’t do it because he loves you too much. I envy you, Finley.”

She snorted. “Envy me? You’ve got to be kidding.”

“I’m not.”

Finley sat up, all the rage and pain she’d been trying to suppress swirling up from deep within her. “I sat there and let a crazy woman do whatever she wanted! I wasn’t attached to that chair! When she poured gas on me, I should’ve attacked her. Should’ve done something to try to protect myself and my baby. But I didn’t! I sat there and watched her light that damn match, knowing she was about to throw it at me, and I’d burst into flames. I want to be strong, like everyone else, but I’m not!”

Khloe sat on the edge of the bed and put her hand on Finley’s arm. “There is literally no right or wrong way to act in a dire situation. If you bum-rushed that bitch, she could’ve shot you. I heard through the grapevine that she kept that pistol pointed at you the entire time. You bided your time until you could get away.

“Do you think Bristol should’ve fought her kidnapper? You think there’s a day that goes by that she doesn’t wonder what if? What if she’d done more to escape? What if she didn’t lie there docilly and let him believe she wanted to stay with him? And do you think Elsie doesn’t beat herself up for letting Tony go with her ex when, deep down, she knew something wasn’t right with his sudden appearance? Or Lilly isn’t embarrassed that she didn’t realize her co-worker was a freaking murderer?

“And if you think I don’t feel like complete shit because I was the one who asked you to look after those kittens while I was gone, that I’m the reason you saw that drug deal to begin with, you’re crazy.

“Being strong and brave isn’t about going all kung fu on someone. It’s about using your brain to decide when to bide your time, and when to fight back.”

Finley had never seen Khloe like this, and all she could do was sit there and listen.

“Life is full of shit, Finley. But it’s also filled with so much beauty and goodness, it’s almost painful at times. People who will be your friend even when you’ve given them absolutely no reason to like you. Small-town parades where people laugh and find joy in seeing how far they can spit a damn watermelon seed. Innocent kittens who know nothing about how awful life can be, and welcome you with purrs and snuggles. I know it’s hard to see that stuff when the weight of the world seems to be on your shoulders, but it’s always there. You just have to open your eyes to see it.”

She was right. Of course she was.

Finley closed her eyes and did her best to keep her tears at bay. But it was no use.

“One more thing, then I’m done and you’re going to get up and shower—because, girlfriend, your hair desperately needs washing—and make me a cinnamon roll. You’re really lucky, Finley. That Hillary woman is gone. Dead. I know you’d never be so crass as to be relieved someone died, so I’ll be relieved for you. And I’m sure the people of Fallport are just as affected by what happened. They’ll be more aware from here on out, at least for a while. They’ll be a little more watchful of their friends and neighbors, and if something seems off, I’m guessing they’ll do what they can to find out why. What happened to you was awful…but it’s over. Done. And I’m so jealous, it’s hard to explain. The person who caused you so much pain and trauma is no longer a threat to you or the ones you love.”

Finley opened her eyes and stared at Khloe. Her mind spinning with her words…

“The person who caused you pain and trauma is still a threat, isn’t he…or she?”

Just like that, a shutter slammed down over the emotion Finley saw in Khloe’s eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”

It did matter. She had a feeling it mattered a great deal.

But when her friend stood, Finley realized the moment of sharing had passed. Khloe had said what she wanted to say.

“Get up,” she said crisply. “Shower. Wash your hair. I’ll be in the kitchen, waiting for my cinnamon roll. If you aren’t out there in ten minutes, I’m coming in here after you. And trust me, you won’t like it if I have to come back.”

Finley smiled for the first time in what seemed like forever. “Okay.”

Relief filled Khloe’s eyes. “Okay,” she said a little gentler. Then she turned and walked out of the room.

She didn’t make Khloe’s ten-minute window, but twenty minutes later, Finley was in Brock’s kitchen gathering the ingredients to make cinnamon rolls. It was a surprise to see how full the fridge was. She’d had no idea so many people had brought food by.

“Brock’s been handing out free food all over Fallport,” Khloe informed her. She was sitting on the counter, watching her as she moved around the kitchen. “The first place he brought food to was the Fallport Fire Department. He brought some to Davis. Then he went to the Mangree Motel, and Edna said she’d distribute it to the long-term tenants.”

Finley wanted to cry again. She hadn’t even asked what Brock had been doing while she’d been lost in her head. Not only had he done whatever he could for her, he’d been taking care of those in Fallport who needed it.

She’d been extremely selfish for the last week. Yes, she needed some time to deal with what happened, but she’d taken it too far. Brock had gone above and beyond, and she hadn’t shown him the least bit of appreciation.

Worse, she knew he’d been feeling just as guilty as she was…and she’d done nothing to soothe him.

She began to prepare the dough without a word. And bless Khloe, she didn’t try to fill the silence with meaningless chitchat. It wasn’t until she’d gotten a tray of cinnamon rolls in the oven that Finley turned to her friend. “I want to re-open The Sweet Tooth, but I’m scared,” she admitted.

Khloe hopped down off the counter and leaned against it. “I can understand that. But it seems to me, this is a perfect time to make some changes.”

“I’ve already made so many,” Finley protested.

“So, make more,” Khloe said with a shrug. “What are you scared about, specifically?”

“Making deliveries.”

“Then don’t.”

“It’s not that easy,” Finley protested.

“Why not? It’s your business, you set the rules. You can make a no-exception policy that all catering orders have to be picked up by close of business each day. Or, because I know what a soft heart you have, you could hire someone to deliver for you.”

“I wouldn’t want to put anyone else in the same position I was,” Finley said with a shake of her head.

“Look, you own The Sweet Tooth. You make the decisions when it comes to what you bake each day, what time you open, what time you close, the services you offer, and how you spend your money. Do what you want and what makes you comfortable. The people of Fallport will adjust.”

Finley stared at Khloe. She was right. More than that, it sounded as if the things she was saying came from experience. Finley was going to ask if she’d followed her own advice, but decided this wasn’t the time or place. “You’re right,” she said instead.

“I know.”

The two women smiled at each other.

“Fallport needs you,” Khloe said after a minute. “It needs your goodness. Your decadent treats. Your caring. You’ll bounce back. I know you will.”

“I used to think you were a hard-ass,” Finley teased. “But here you are, being all sappy.”

“I am a hard-ass,” Khloe said. “I’m standoffish and a total bitch. Just ask anyone.”

“Maybe I’ll ask Raiden,” Finley couldn’t help but say.

And just like that, Khloe shut down again. “How much longer until my cinnamon roll is done?”

Finley looked at her watch. “Not long now.” She was more curious than ever about what was going on between Khloe and Raid, but she didn’t want to upset Khloe. Not after she’d cared enough to come over and pound some sense into her.

The door opened, and a sweaty and half-naked Brock walked into the house. “Something smells delicious,” he said with a smile.

And just like that, Finley’s libido kicked into gear.

“No,” Khloe said firmly.

Finley turned to her. “Huh?”

“I came for a cinnamon roll, and I’m not leaving until I get it. You and your boyfriend can have sex after I leave.”

Finley laughed. Khloe was definitely a pushy little thing.

Brock approached and gently ran his fingers down her cheek. “You’re back,” he said quietly.

She nodded shyly. “I’m sorry I’ve been so self-absorbed.”

He shook his head. “Nothing to be sorry about, Fin.”

“Cinnamon roll,” Khloe reminded them.

“It’s so good to see you smiling and hear your laughter,” Brock told Finley. He leaned down and kissed her. It wasn’t a long kiss, but it wasn’t a peck either. When he lifted his head, he said, “I’m going to go shower.”

“Yes. Shoo,” Khloe said.

Finley laughed again, glad to see that Brock wasn’t offended in the least.

When he was out of earshot, Khloe fanned herself with her hand. “Whew! That man is hot!”

Finley giggled. “He is. And he’s all mine.”

“Of course,” Khloe said. “He doesn’t have eyes for anyone but you.”

By the time Brock was done showering, Finley had three cinnamon rolls dished up and waiting on the table. They were still piping hot and the icing she’d drizzled over them immediately melted into a puddle of sugary goo.

Khloe didn’t stick around after she finished hers. She stood and said, “I’ve got to go. Some of us have jobs.”

Finley stood and hugged her. Khloe was a little stiff, but she did return the embrace. Then it was Brock’s turn. He tugged the small woman into his arms and bent his head. He said something into her ear that Finley couldn’t hear, but she saw Khloe blush and nod. Then he pulled back and stared at Khloe for a long moment, before leaning down and kissing the top of her head.

Khloe headed for the door, waving as she went. “I’ll see myself out. If I run into Davis, I’ll tell him to meet you at the bakery tomorrow morning,” she said.

“Not until six. I’m changing the hours of the shop. We now open at eight.”

Khloe turned back around and sent Finley a huge smile. “Good for you. Don’t forget to call Liam and tell him.”

“I won’t. Khloe?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you. Anytime you need to kick my ass in the future, you’re welcome to.”

“I’m gonna take you up on that,” she said, then she opened the door and was gone.

Before she could move, Brock was in front of her, framing her face with his hands. He leaned in and inhaled deeply. “Cinnamon,” he muttered. Then he said, “You okay?”

“I am now. I’m sorry I’ve been so horrible.”

“You haven’t been horrible. I get it, you’ve been trying to process what happened.”

Finley nodded. “Are you okay?”

“Me?”

“Yeah. You’ve been taking care of me for a week. And apparently running all over Fallport delivering the extra food people have brought over. Have you been going to work at all?”

“No. Jesus is taking care of the shop.”

Finley frowned. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than by your side. I just wish I could’ve done something to make you feel better.”

“You did. You were there for me.” When the frown didn’t leave his face, Finley grabbed his wrists. “You did,” she insisted. “If you’d have pushed me, I think I would’ve shut down more. I needed your concern. And love.”

“Well, those you have. In spades.” Then Brock got down on his knees in front of her and lifted her shirt. He kissed her belly reverently. “Have I thanked you for taking care of our Little Bean?” he asked.

Finley’s throat threatened to close. But he didn’t give her a chance to reply.

“I want this baby so much, but I want you even more.” He looked up at her, love shining in his eyes. “Marry me, Finley. As soon as we can make it happen. No ceremony. No huge party…although we can have one later if you want. I need to make you mine. Make this baby ours.”

“I am yours,” she countered. “As is our baby.” When he didn’t say anything, just continued to stare up at her, she asked, “Are you sure? As I’ve demonstrated over the last week, I can be moody. And selfish.”

“You aren’t selfish. Not in any way, shape, or form. And I don’t mind your moodiness. Please marry me, Finley. I’ve waited for you my entire life.”

She nodded.

“Yes?” he asked.

“Yes,” she confirmed.

Finley thought he’d smile, stand up, kiss her, then maybe even carry her back to bed and make long, slow, sweet love to her. It had been a week since they’d been intimate. And the wounds on her arms and hips were healing nicely. She barely even felt them anymore.

But instead, when he stood, Brock immediately turned away from her and picked up his phone from where he’d put it on the counter after he’d come in from mowing the grass.

“Brock?” she asked in confusion.

“Yeah?” he asked, distracted by whatever he was searching for on the phone.

“Um…I was hoping maybe we could celebrate or something. You know, now that I’m kind of back to my normal self.”

“Oh, we’re gonna celebrate,” Brock reassured her without looking up. “I spent the last week hoping you’d get out of bed and I’m about to take you back there without a second thought. And I’m gonna be there with you, to show you exactly how much I love you and our Little Bean. You might want to call Liam now because you won’t get another chance anytime soon.”

Finley smiled. She liked the thought of that. All of it. “So what are you doing then?”

Brock looked up. “I’m searching for info on marriage licenses in Virginia and how long we’ll have to wait.”

Tingles shot through Finley. Brock wasn’t kidding. He really did want to marry her as soon as possible. She watched as he read something on the phone. Love for this man almost overwhelmed her. He’d proven over the last week just how much he cared for her. She couldn’t imagine anyone else putting up with her like he did. Yes, she’d been through something traumatic, but so had he. He’d told her more than once how terrified he’d been when he realized she was missing and something was wrong.

Brock’s head came up, and he looked at her funny.

“What?”

“There’s no waiting period,” he said.

“For what?”

“For getting married. We can get a marriage license from any circuit court in the state and there’s no waiting period for the actual ceremony. Is that what you want to wear to marry me?” he asked.

Finley looked down at herself and laughed. “Um, fat pants and one of your T-shirts? No.”

“Then you better go change, baby.”

“Wait—you want to go right now?”

“Yes.” Brock put the phone down on the counter and stalked toward her. He grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close. “I want you to be Mrs. Finley Mabrey more than I can say.”

Finley went up on her tiptoes and kissed him. Hard. Brock returned the kiss almost desperately. The next thing she knew, she was lying on her back on the couch and Brock was pulling her pants down her legs. “I thought we were getting married.” She giggled.

“I need you,” he growled.

Mentally shrugging, Finley sighed, “I need you too. Now. Inside me, Brock.”

But instead, he lowered his mouth between her legs and proceeded to drive her out of her mind.

Later—much later—they were lying in bed, completely boneless. Brock had been careful with her mostly healed wounds, but he hadn’t held back in any other way. He’d been insatiable, just as she had.

“Tomorrow we’ll get married,” he mumbled into her chest. He hadn’t shaved that morning and his five o’clock shadow was scratchy against the sensitive skin of her chest.

“I need to get back to work,” she told him gently. “As do you. Jesus is great, but it’s not fair to let him do all the work at your shop.”

Brock growled against her and he propped himself on his elbows. His biceps, which she loved so much, rippled as he moved. Finley couldn’t keep her hands off him. She caressed up and down his huge arms as she smiled.

“Fine. Friday afternoon. We’re getting married.”

“Okay.”

His muscles relaxed, and for the first time, Finley realized just how tense he’d been.

“I love you, Finley.”

“I love you too.”

“I’m proud of you. Awed by you. Admire you.”

“I feel the same about you,” she said gently.

“I knew you’d be worth the wait,” he told her with a small smile. “You were so shy and awkward around me, and it only made me want you more.”

“You’re weird,” Finley informed him.

He grinned down at her before lowering his head. Five minutes ago, Finley would’ve told him she was too tired to do anything other than sleep. But one touch of his lips on hers, and she was primed and ready to go again. She’d never get enough of this man. She’d been his from the second she’d seen him, but never thought she’d have a chance in hell to be right where she was, right now.

And soon she’d be his wife. And she was having his baby.

Khloe was right…life was hard sometimes, but the good times more than made up for the bad.