Chapter 49
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
dexter
NEW YEAR’S EVE
“Okay, everyone. Huddle together,” Claire instructs, face hidden behind Ted’s old Polaroid camera.
Someone steps on my foot. I jam an elbow into Booth’s rib “accidentally.” A hand I hope belongs to Florence squeezes my ass.
“Perfect. Say cheese.”
Looking like a pack of sardines in a tin, we pose for the camera, gritting out “Cheese” through our teeth. I definitely blink when the flash goes off. When my vision clears, we break apart.
“Who farted?” Quinn gags.
Johanna raises the bundle in her arms up to her nose and winces. “I found the culprit.”
Baby Madeline doesn’t flinch at the accusation, snoozing away peacefully in her mother’s arms.
“Oooh, stinky butt,” Lottie coos at her little sister.
We’re at Our Place for the annual New Year’s Eve party. The guests are due to arrive in a few hours, but before the celebrations kick off, Booth took his old position behind the pass and cooked us all dinner.
There’s plenty to celebrate.
Quinn and Graham got married in November.
A week later, Johanna and Patrick welcomed their daughter into the world.
Booth and Aly closed on their house in New York.
Florence finished her first semester of night classes at the local college.
And we finally nailed down the plans for our home.
The streets outside are white, red and green lights twinkling from the street lamps as a fresh dusting falls from the sky. Construction on the cabin won’t commence until the snow clears, but we’re hoping to be complete by August.
Slender arms slink their way around my waist. Even in the winter, her coconut scent remains.
I lock eyes with an emerald pair.
“Fancy seeing you here.” Florence beams up at me.
Chuckling, I bend and kiss her glossy lips. “I’m getting a sense of déjà vu. How about you?”
She winks. “Nope. It was wayyyyy past midnight by the time you got into my pants.”
Three deep voices protest.
“Fuck my life.”
“I feel sick.”
“Is it too late to punch him?”
We turn to find her brothers wearing a mix of repulsion and annoyance. Florence pays them no mind and draws my attention back to her.
I go to speak when a high-pitched noise comes from the speakers. My hand flies to my right ear, clamping over the hearing aid. The DJ winces and continues setting up.
A hand covers mine. “Are you sure you want to wear them tonight?”
I fiddle with the wire and shrug. “Got to get used to wearing two eventually.”
After my appointment in August, I took some time to weigh the options Doctor Accetta recommended.
The idea of surgery was too invasive, and over the fall, I opted for steroid injections.
More recently, I was fitted for a second hearing aid.
It’s taking some getting used to, but the tinnitus is less noticeable, and so far, I’ve had no vertigo attacks.
Florence also had some changes to adjust to.
In September, she started taking ADHD medication.
There were some initial side effects, but she powered through.
There’s no denying she’s more settled in herself and catastrophizes less.
It didn’t seem to come as a surprise to her when the doctor recommended anxiety medication as well.
What made it easier—for the two of us—was not doing it alone.
I know for certain I wouldn’t have taken the next step without Florence.
“If the music gets too loud, we can go home.” She quirks her eyebrows. “We haven’t used that new toy—”
“Trouble…” I nod at her brothers.
“Oops.” She giggles, not an ounce of apology on her face. “I’m gonna help Jo change Madeline’s diaper. Be right back.”
She smacks a sloppy kiss to my cheek—definitely to torture her siblings—and holds her arms out to Jo for the sleeping baby.
I watch her walk toward the restroom, smiling and rocking Madeline.
We’ve spoken about children. We had to, considering how vocal I am about certain kinks.
We both saw them in our future. Florence wants to finish classes first and get comfortable with her meds, and once she’s ready, we’ll see what happens.
“Plenty of time for practice, lumberjack,” she teased following the conversation.
Then, I bent her over the bed of my truck, flipped up her pretty pink dress, and fucked her.
We’ve practiced a lot.
Someone slaps me on the back, jolting me out of my daze.
Patrick hands me a glass of whiskey, looking at me expectantly. True to his word, he’s given us his blessing, plus a couple of disgruntled comments.
“Another year gone. We’ll be forty before we know it.” He sips his beer.
“Shit, don’t remind me,” I grumble.
“Are you crying over your gray hairs again?” Booth hooks an arm around his brother’s neck, grinding his knuckles into his head.
“Fuck off, you delinquent.” Patrick shoves him away.
Graham observes the scuffle from behind his glasses. “Can I go home now?”
“No!” we all reply in unison.
The four of us chat while we wait for our partners to return. Apparently, changing a diaper requires multiple sets of hands.
“Can you believe this time two years ago, we were all single, lonely bastards?” Booth says, gesturing in front of him. “How did we get so lucky?”
We turn and find our better halves walking our way.
Lottie hangs off Quinn’s arm before sprinting toward us and plowing into me.
“Oomph. You’re getting big, kiddo.” I ruffle her hair.
Johanna hands Madeline to Patrick. He kisses the tuft of blonde hair on the baby’s head and exchanges a look with his wife.
Quinn and Graham stare dreamily at the baby, which is when I notice Quinn, like her husband, isn’t drinking tonight. Interesting.
Aly tucks herself into Booth’s side, pressing a kiss to his cheek and leaving a bright red lipstick mark on his skin. He doesn’t seem to care one bit.
Then, there’s my girl, already grinning up at me wildly, a sight I’ll never tire of. I move her to stand in front of me and wrap both arms around her, sealing us together.
“I like this,” Florence announces. “The eight of us together.”
“I hope we’re still doing this for years to come,” Quinn sniffles.
“Of course we will.” Jo nudges her arm. “You’re stuck with us.”
Aly raises her drink. “No matter where we are, we’ll make time to do this. That’s what family’s about. New, old, blood or not. Yia mas!”
We all echo the Greek toast and clink our glasses together.
Florence nestles further into my chest, closing her eyes and smiling to herself.
I bend, lips hovering by her ear. “What are you thinking about, Trouble?”
“Us,” she says dreamily. “The past year and the years to come. Our future.”
“What does it look like?”
She cranes her neck, meeting my gaze. “Beautiful. I can’t wait to see what’s next.”
I know exactly what’s next, but I don’t share that with her.
Mentally, I add a new item to our list. It’s been on my mind for a while, probably before I accepted Florence was my future. There was a time it was a dream. Now, I’m living it.
Ask Florence Sadler to be my wife — pending.
“What’s that smile for?” She presses a finger to my lips.
“You’ll find out.”