Epilogue
A LITTLE OVER A YEAR LATER
QUINN
I wandered the venue, straightening a fork, retucking a napkin, making sure everything was perfect. It didn’t matter how often I walked this floor, looked at the wall of glass, or watched as a couple took their first spin on the dance floor as husband and wife, this room took my breath away.
I sat on a chair, recalling my wedding to John, a year ago today. We had been married late in the evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon and darkness kissed the sky. The fairy lights glowing around us, the flickering of the candles, and the scent of the flowers were things I would always recall about that day.
John wore a suit, looking handsome and sexy, a single rose pinned on his lapel. Abby wore a sparkly pink dress, and I chose a simple, lacy tea-length gown in a pale gold that glimmered in the subdued lighting. Abby and I walked the short distance together, John insisting on including her in our ceremony. There hadn’t been a dry eye in the house as he’d spoken of loving his two girls and being the man privileged to watch Abby grow.
We had celebrated hard. Eaten, drank, and danced the night away. Returned to the farm as husband and wife, John carrying me over the threshold. We had barely made it to our room before his suit and my pretty dress were on the floor.
I had been glad we hadn’t planned to pick Abby up until later the next afternoon. We were delayed getting there, and I doubted anyone believed John’s explanation of engine trouble.
Then we started our life together.
I still had the restaurant, but I also helped Helen run her wedding location. We offered delicious, local fare, made from the freshest ingredients. Handmade. Served by neighbors and friends.
The place was a roaring success, and it was booked solid for the next two years.
“What are you thinking about?”
I startled at John’s voice, smiling as he walked toward me, a bouquet in his hand.
“Daydreaming. What are you doing here?”
“It’s our anniversary. Did you think I forgot?”
I laughed. “You reminded me last week, last night, this morning as we made love, and you wrote me a poem. I knew you didn’t forget.”
“Well, I decided flowers were necessary.”
I took the bouquet, inhaling the blooms’ enticing scent. “Thank you.”
He bent and kissed me. “Thank you for a wonderful first year. I look forward to many, many more.”
Pulling out a chair, he sat beside me. “Memories,” he murmured. “Such good memories.”
“Yep. I was recalling how sexy you looked in your suit.”
“Not half as sexy as you looked in that damn dress. I wanted to throw you over my shoulder and run someplace so I could rip it off you.”
I nudged him. “What, my overalls don’t do it for you?”
He tugged on my straps, pulling me close. “Woman, you do it for me all the time.” He kissed me soundly. “Every. Damn. Day.”
“I see.”
“I got you a present,” he murmured, still holding me close, his lips hovering near mine.
“Is it in your pocket, or you’re just happy to see me?”
He started to laugh, kissing me again. “Both.”
He pulled out a folded envelope. “It’s not really from me, but I get to give it to you.”
I took the envelope and unfolded the document in it, gasping in happiness. “Really? The building is mine?”
“Signed, sealed, and delivered.”
I flung my arms around his neck. “I own a building!”
He hugged me close. “You do. The Dill has a permanent home, and if you want to expand, you can.”
“I was thinking of putting a small market next door. Showcasing local goods.”
He stroked my cheek. “Great idea. The tradesmen in town can help renovate it. Show off their skills. There is a new development down the road, seeing their work might help them find jobs.”
“Perfect.”
I smiled as I slipped my hand into my purse, pulling out a flat box. “I have something for you too.”
“Yeah?”
I handed him the package. “Yeah. Happy anniversary, John.”
He grinned. “I’m gonna love it.”
“I hope so.”
He unwrapped the box and pulled out a frame. He studied the blurry black-and-white image for a moment, then froze. He looked up, expectant and happy. “Really, Quinn?”
“I’m pregnant,” I confirmed. I tapped the image. “That’s our baby.”
In seconds, I was in his arms, being cradled in his embrace. “When? How? Are you okay?”
“About eight weeks,” I replied as he laid his hand on my stomach, his large palm pressed to me, his fingers spread wide. “I’m pretty sure you know how, and yes, I’m fine.” I covered his hand. “I was tired last week, and it hit me that not only was I tired because we’ve been so busy, but I was late. I went to see the doctor two days ago.” I sighed as I laid my head on his shoulder. “It’s been all I could do not to tell you, but I knew you would love it as an anniversary gift.”
He pressed a kiss to my head. “Best gift ever. But I’m coming to all the other appointments.”
“Okay.”
“Pumpkin is going to go wild.” He chuckled. “So is Laura.”
“I have to figure things out with the restaurant, here with Helen…” I trailed off.
“We will figure it all out,” he assured me. “But right now, we’re going to celebrate. Nothing else matters. You, me, Pumpkin, and baby.” He was quiet for a moment. “Our family is growing, Quinn. Exactly the way I hoped.”
I sighed, enjoying being in his arms.
“How about we go for a drive, pick up our girl, and take her for ice cream before we go out for dinner? We can tell her she is gonna be a big sister.”
“Let’s just stay home.”
He chuckled, the sound reverberating through his chest. “Somehow I knew you’d say that. You always prefer to be home.”
“I love home.” I tilted up my head. “I love you.”
He bent down, his mouth on mine. “I love you, darlin’. Happy anniversary.”
A YEAR LATER -JOHN
A noise jolted me awake, and I slipped from the bed before Quinn could. “I’ve got him,” I assured her. “Go back to sleep.”
I headed to the nursery, picking up our son, who instantly settled as I cradled him against my chest. After changing him, I went down the hall toward the kitchen, putting a bottle on to heat, then checked on Abby. She was fast asleep, her ceiling glowing with the stars we had put on it and her newly purple walls glittering softly. Pink was still good, but purple ruled. Add in glitter?
Abby was a happy girl.
I tugged her blanket up and bent to kiss her head. Then I carried my son back to the kitchen, checked the milk temperature, and sat in the large cuddle chair we had bought when Quinn was pregnant. She loved being held, and it was exactly what we needed on nights when she couldn’t sleep and couldn’t get comfortable in our bed.
I settled down and pressed the nipple to his mouth, smiling as he latched on fast. He made his growly noises as he sucked, and I watched him eat in wonder. At three months of age, he was still fascinating to me.
James Owen Elliott had come into the world two weeks late, screaming his displeasure and letting us know he had arrived and wanted our attention. Abby had promptly nicknamed him Jimjam, and it had stuck. Quinn had wanted to name him after me, but I thought another John was too much. James had been my gramps’s name, and since it was my middle name, we both were happy.
Abby adored him, and no one could get him to quiet down when fussy the way his big sister could. He loved his momma fiercely, but he and I had a special bond. I loved the chance to sit in the dark and feed him. Talk to him about silly things. I told him stories of his grandparents, great-grandparents, and the farm. His aunt. His big sister. His amazing momma and how incredible she was. He listened, absorbing, I was certain, every single word. He was my boy.
I could hardly wait to get him on the tractor with me. Teach him about the fields and crops. Encourage him to discover the world. I wanted him to be free to choose the life he wanted, be it the land or an office. Or neither.
Abby was determined she was going to be a farmer like me. She loved every aspect of the land, and I loved teaching her. Whether her brother would remained to be seen.
If there would be more siblings was a mystery to be solved in the future.
Quinn appeared, smiling as she stood beside us, trailing a finger down his chubby cheek. “He’s eating so well.”
I grinned. “Like his daddy.”
“He is certainly built like him.”
Jimjam had been a large baby. Far bigger than Abby, which was the reason he might be the last of the line. Quinn was worried the next one might be even bigger.
“You know,” I teased, “the next one could be a girl. A tiny one.”
“Or a linebacker,” Quinn responded.
“Three is a nice number.”
She pursed her lips.
“Or four.”
Her gaze snapped to mine, and I winked. “Simply saying. Any number up to five is good in my books.”
Her eyes grew round with horror. “ John James Elliott . You take that back.”
I looked down at our son. “Momma isn’t happy, little man. I need to go apologize.”
She sniffed. “I know what your apology consists of. That’s what got us into trouble in the first place. I’m not falling for that again.”
I lifted him to my shoulder, rubbing his back. “I have no idea what you are referring to, Mrs. Elliott.”
That made her smile. She loved it when I called her Mrs. Elliott. I loved calling her that. “My wife” was a close second.
I held out my hand. “Come sit with us.”
She snuggled beside me, resting her head on my shoulder as Jimjam burped, and I gave him back the bottle. He fell asleep while eating, his mouth going slack and a little dribble of milk leaking out. Quinn reached over, wiping it away with a sigh.
“He’s so damn cute.”
“He is.”
“Maybe one more,” she whispered.
“We can work on that.”
“I want another girl.”
“I’ll do my best.”
She looked up and I bent, kissing her. “We can always practice,” I whispered.
She laughed, the sound low and sweet. “We don’t need any practice, John. We’re damn near perfect.”
“Ah, but you know how I feel about anything less than an A-plus.”
She stood. “Then you better be ready to show me your new tricks, Mr. Elliott. I’ll try to judge fairly.” She winked. “I’ll be waiting. I hope you got enough sleep. You’re gonna need it for what I have planned.”
I watched her walk away, an extra swing to her hips. A smile tugged on my lips. I loved my wife. Our family. Our simple but incredible life. It was full of love, laughter, and joy. All because of her. She was the center of everything right in my world. She comforted me during bad times and was always the reason for the good times.
And she was full of shit.
I knew, without a doubt, she’d be out as soon as her head hit the pillow. And I would crawl in beside her, pull her into my arms and be content to fall asleep with her.
We’d wake early, hopefully before the baby, and greet the morning by making love, fast and furtive under the blankets. Or find five minutes together in the shower. A quick round on the sofa when the kids went to bed. Maybe a quickie at lunch if we were lucky.
Our all-nighters were a distant memory. At least for now.
I tucked our son back into bed, then headed to our room. As I suspected, my wife was asleep, her cheek cushioned on her hand, the moonlight showing me her form under the blankets.
I sighed as I slipped in beside her, and she eased back into my arms.
Tomorrow would come early, and the day would be another long one.
But as long as it ended the same way, her with me, it was good.
Simple as that.
Thank you so much for reading A SIMPLE LIFE . If you are so inclined, reviews are always welcome by me at your retailer.