Epilogue
Trent
F ive Years Later
"Shit," I groan, sitting upright in bed when I hear our four-year-old giggling from the kitchen. It's five in the morning on Christmas…not a great start to the day, frankly.
My wife's side of the bed is empty, the sheets cold.
As soon as I realize she's missing, my first thought is worry for my survival. My second is that whatever is happening down there is probably going to cost me a fortune to fix.
I groan and peel myself out of bed. My back twinges and my knees creak in protest, but I've got another full week off before I'm due back on the campus where I coach, and nothing to do except be a husband, a dad, and—if I play my cards right—a consumer of at least four cinnamon rolls before noon.
It's a damn good life, even if I never did learn to sleep past six.
I drag on a pair of sweatpants, step over the Legos scattered like booby traps in the hallway, and nearly get impaled by a rogue rainbow unicorn horn Alisha left on the stairs.
At the bottom, I'm immediately blinded by the Christmas tree, which blinks with approximately eight thousand watts of sparkling LEDs.
Dani went all in on Christmas this year. She's got the tree covered in hockey ornaments, a train that circles the base, and tinsel on every flat surface. She even dressed up the thermostat as Santa.
I grin, because the only thing more over-the-top than our living room is the sound of our daughter cackling at whatever ungodly science experiment is happening in the kitchen.
I round the corner, bracing myself.
The kitchen looks like a fudge factory detonated.
There's flour on the cabinets, cocoa powder streaked across the fridge, and chocolate splatters on the ceiling.
Bowls, measuring cups, and spatulas are everywhere.
There's a haze of sugar in the air so thick I can taste it, and the oven is giving off a smell that's more arson investigation than holiday treat .
Dani stands in the middle of it, radiant and wild as always, wearing an apron that says "Kiss the Cook" over her baby bump. The once-white apron is now the color of brownie mix. Her hair is piled on top of her head in a bun that's already unraveling, and her face is streaked with chocolate.
Alisha, our four-year-old and the light of my goddamn life, stands on a stool in front of the counter, wielding a wooden spoon like a weapon of mass destruction. She's got Dani's blue eyes and my dark, disaster-prone hair.
"Daddy!" she yells, beaming at me with teeth that are already suspiciously coated with chocolate. She abandons her post to run at me, smearing cocoa across my calves as she flings herself at my legs. "We're making fudge for Santa's favorite girl!"
Dani turns, brandishing a mixing bowl that sloshes dangerously close to the edge. "Correction," she says. "We're making fudge for everyone except Santa's favorite girl. She's already eaten two pounds of marshmallows and three candy canes."
"I was testing them," Alisha says, completely unrepentant.
"Uh-huh," Dani mutters, licking a glob of fudge off her thumb.
I snort, but instantly regret the choice. There's a burned sugar tang to the air that makes my immune system quiver in terror.
Dani must see the look on my face, because she wipes her hands on the apron and comes over, squinting up at me. "You okay? You look like you're about to faint."
"I'm not allergic to chocolate," I remind myself, one suspicious eye on the mixing bowl. "Just…having flashbacks."
She grins, all teeth. "Pretty sure this batch won't kill you. We didn't even buy honey." She winks at me, then plants a kiss on my cheek, right above the fudge smear she left behind.
"Want to help us, Daddy?" Alisha calls, already up to her elbows in the mixing bowl again. "You can do the stirring."
I hesitate, because the last time I helped, I broke three eggs directly onto the floor and nearly lost my wedding ring in the batter. But Dani's eyes are all warm and sparkly, and there's not a force in the universe strong enough to say no to either of them.
"Sure thing, baby girl." I grab a spatula, squeezing Dani's hip as I pass. "What's the plan?"
She shrugs. "I'm not sure. The recipe said to combine everything and 'bring to a rolling boil,' but Alisha interpreted that as 'throw everything into a bowl and spin in circles until dizzy.'"
"I did not," Alisha argues. "I only spun for, like, three minutes."
Dani rolls her eyes, but she's smiling.
I take over the stirring. The batter is thick and sticky, and I have to use both arms to keep it moving.
After a few minutes, I'm sweating, but Alisha is giggling again, and Dani is humming along to the Christmas playlist on the speaker.
The kitchen is a war zone, but it's the happiest I've ever been.
"Hey, Sunshine?" I say, glancing over my shoulder.
"Yeah?"
"I think the fudge is starting to seize up."
Dani sets down her mixing bowl and sidles up next to me. "Oh, wow. That's…that's a lot of fudge."
"Want me to pour it?" I ask.
She shakes her head, then grabs the pan and starts lining it with parchment paper. I scrape the mixture into the pan, then help smooth it out with the spatula. It's a mess, but it looks vaguely edible.
Alisha is still working on decimating the marshmallow supply.
"Okay," Dani says, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. "We need to let it set for at least an hour."
"An hour?" Alisha shrieks. "I'll die by then!"
Dani laughs and ruffles her hair. "You'll survive. Why don't you go watch The Grinch while Daddy and I clean up? And then we'll open presents."
Alisha sighs, but immediately abandons her post and heads for the living room, a marshmallow clenched in each fist .
Dani leans back against the counter, exhaling. Her bump is front and center now, round and perfect under the apron.
I set the spatula down and wipe my hands on a paper towel. The kitchen is quiet, except for the sound of Alisha singing the theme song at the top of her lungs in the living room.
My wife tilts her head, watching me. "You're thinking about it again, aren't you?"
I try to play dumb, but she can see right through me. "About what?"
She reaches for my hand, threading our fingers together. "Scratching your ass in the ER."
I laugh softly. "It's not every day a guy loses his dignity before the first date, Sunshine."
She squeezes my hand. "It worked out pretty well for you, though."
I look around at the kitchen—the chaos, the fudge, the woman I love more than anything—and realize how absolutely true that is.
"Yeah," I say, drawing her closer. "It really did."
She smirks, pressing a chocolate-smudged finger to my chest. "I seem to recall you saying that I saved your life, you know."
"You did," I agree, kissing her on the forehead. "And then you let me ruin yours. "
She snorts, but there's a softness in her eyes that I never get tired of seeing.
We stand like that for a while, just breathing each other in.
I think about the last five years—the first Christmas, the fudge, the proposal, our wedding.
Alisha's birth. Her first steps. The look on Dani's face every morning when she wakes up next to me, as if she still can't believe this is our life.
I think about the new baby coming in the spring. My new job coaching at the college level. Our future.
If you'd told me five years ago that I'd end up here because I couldn't keep my hands off a batch of fudge, I would have laughed you off the ice. But right now, with Dani in my arms and the kitchen smelling like chocolate and love and home, I know there's nothing I wouldn't risk for this.
She buries her face in my chest, her voice muffled. "You gonna help me clean, or are you just gonna stand there getting emotional?"
"Depends," I say. "Is there still fudge on your apron?"
She lifts her head and grins, devilish. "Why don't you come over here and find out?"
I do.
L ater, when the fudge is set, the kitchen is back to some semblance of order, and there is wrapping paper all over the living room, Alisha passes out on my lap, her mouth covered with chocolate.
Dani stretches out on the couch with her feet in my lap and her head propped on a pillow.
The Christmas lights blink in the window, and snow falls outside, slow and silent.
Dani sighs, content. "I never thought I'd have this, you know."
I run my hand along her leg, my touch gentle. "Me neither."
She smiles at me, then at Alisha, then at her own belly, which moves under her hand.
"You ever wonder what would've happened if I hadn't brought that fudge?" she asks, her eyes dancing.
I laugh. "I'd probably still be following you around the arena, hoping you'd notice me."
"You were hard to miss, babe. Even before the hives."
I grin, my heart pulsing.
She closes her eyes, content. I just watch her for a while, memorizing every detail.
This is it , I think. This is everything.
As Alisha snores softly and Dani's hand finds mine, I realize that this is precisely where I was always meant to be.
Right here with them.
Fudge, hives, and all.