Epilogue
HOPE
“Are you sure about this?” I ask, my finger hovering over the Pay Now button on the moving company’s online invoice. “It’s a lot of money that I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay back, and I could just as easily go back and do it myself.”
Ogram sets aside the ledger he’s working on—an actual paper ledger because he so vehemently dislikes the tiny human-sized buttons of a computer—and comes around the dining table to stand behind me.
“There is no ‘paying back’ because it is our money,” he says, massaging my shoulders.
“And you shouldn’t be lifting heavy objects. ”
“I might not be pregnant.”
The rumble in his chest is equal parts amusement and male pride. Ever since his super-strong troll semen essentially ate the spermicidal sponge a couple of weeks ago, he’s been quietly certain my womb is now home to a baby troll or baby human, or some mixture to be determined.
I haven’t told him I think he’s right. I’m afraid to get his hopes up. Or mine. Because, as much as I didn’t plan this, I want it. I want it so much, I’m not sure I can wait for nature to give the thumbs up or down. The not knowing is killing me.
Leaning in, he covers my hand where it sits on the mouse and presses the left-click button. “Done. When is the delivery date?”
“I don’t know. Human pregnancies are forty weeks. How long are troll pregnancies?”
His hands go tense. “The moving truck delivery of your things.”
“Oh.” And shit.
He pulls my chair away from the table and crouches in front of me, his dark eyes searching my face. “Are you pregnant?”
“I’m not sure. My cycle fluctuates a bit, but my period should be now-ish. I bought a pregnancy test yesterday, but I’m afraid.”
“I understand. You said you aren’t ready and tried to prevent it,” he says, gently stroking my face. “If you don’t want to be pregnant, then you won’t be pregnant. There are several good doctors in Harmony Glen who will ensure your safety and well-being, and I will be by your side at every step.”
“But you want a baby. You told me you wanted to get me pregnant the first night we walked on the beach.”
“I want your happiness more. Always.”
Every single day, he shows me how sweet he is. How beautiful and perfect our life together is going to be.
“I’m not afraid of finding out I’m pregnant.
I’m afraid I won’t be. And not because it’s what you want.
The morning it happened, I was upset for all of three seconds, just out of shock.
Then you told me you want to be with me, baby or not, and I started building a picture in my mind of how that would look.
I already knew I wanted a picture of me and you, but I loved the picture even more with us holding our baby.
It was adorable and green like you, by the way. ”
Ogram drops to his knees, reaches deep into his pocket, coming out with a ring pinched between two fingers. A braided gold band with a large, square-cut emerald, flanked on two sides by diamonds surrounded by small rubies.
Taking my left hand in his, he looks deep into my eyes.
“I didn’t want to rush you, so I was going to wait for the right time, but there is no righter time than this.
I have known since laying eyes on you that you’re my mate.
In every minute since, I’ve learned that you are who I would choose if fate hadn’t.
I love you. Whether we have one baby, a house full of them, or none, I want to spend forever making you happy. Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” I whisper as tears roll down my face. “Yes, yes, yes.” Launching myself at him doesn’t so much as budge him. My big, solid, sweet, sexy troll. “I love you so much. How is it possible to love you so much?”
“That’s how mates love.” He kisses me then. Gently. But not sweetly. “Get the pregnancy test,” he says when we break for air. “So we can celebrate.”
“What if I’m not pregnant?”
“Then we’ll celebrate the opportunity to keep trying when your scent sends me into another rut.”
Heat pools between my legs at the thought of him rutting me again. “I’ll go pee on the stick.”
Three minutes always go by in a blink—except when you’re waiting for two pink lines to appear.
When I open the bathroom door, Ogram is right there waiting.
I have never been good at playing it cool. Or faking things. Or being quiet.
And now is not the time to start.
“I’m pregnant!” I squeal, throwing my arms around him.
My feet leave the ground, the air whooshing out of me as he spins me around.
Carefully, of course. Because I’m pregnant.
“And a little disappointed,” I say, trying—and failing—to keep a straight face when he sets me down.
“Your troll super-sperm deprived me of more super-hot troll rutting.”
Chuckling, he scoops me into his arms and heads toward our bedroom. “You’ll be fertile again, my mate. Until then, we’re celebrating that you’re not.”
Best celebration ever.
So far.
Thank you for reading A Troll in the Hay! I hope you enjoyed Ogram and Hope’s sweet and steamy love story.