Epilogue
Taron
Six months later
The cabin is just perfect. I mean it’s always been perfect, but now it’s perfect for the both of us in our new life together…
Sunlight pours through the big windows Kaleb installed last month—floor-to-ceiling, so we can watch the forest wake up every morning.
Racer and our new puppy Turbo are sprawled in twin patches of warmth on the rug: big brother snoring like a freight train, little brother twitching in some dream chase, paws paddling the air.
I’m at the kitchen table, laptop open, fingers flying.
The cursor blinks steady on the last paragraph of chapter eighteen. This book feels different—lighter, hotter, truer. The steamy scenes aren’t forced, they’re woven in like they belong there, because they do.
Because I wrote them for me, not for some imaginary market.
Jonathan’s voice echoes in my head every time I hesitate: Stay true. The right people will find you.
And they did.
Jonathan McAllen—my unexpected mentor, my accidental agent—worked his quiet magic. No flashy publisher auctions, no six-figure pressure. Just a small but respected press that loved the voice, loved the heart, loved that I refused to sand down the edges.
The contract came through last week: fair advance, full creative control, audiobook rights, even a modest marketing budget. Enough to breathe. Enough to keep writing exactly what I want.
And another thing I have my Daddy to be thankful for.
I hit save. Lean back. I smile so wide my cheeks ache.
The bathroom door opens down the hall. Steam billows out first, then Kaleb—bare-chested, towel slung low on his hips, hair ruffled. He catches my eye and grins.
“Finished?” Kaleb asks.
“Draft done.” I close the laptop with a satisfied snap. “Jonathan’s getting first read tomorrow.”
He crosses the room in three strides, leans down, kisses me slow and thorough. He tastes like mint toothpaste and him.
“Proud of you, baby boy.”
My heart does that familiar flip. And I know it always will where my Daddy is concerned.
He straightens, nods toward the bathroom. “Water’s still hot. Tub’s big enough for two.”
I laugh—soft, happy. “Daddy needs company?”
“Always.”
I stand and stretch. I feel the easy pull of muscles that have grown used to long forest walks, axe-splitting firewood under strict Daddy supervision, and nights tangled in quilts with the man who loves every inch of me exactly as I am.
Kaleb scoops me up—bridal style this time—carries me down the hall like I’m weightless. The tub is deep, fragrant with the cedarwood bath salts I love.
Daddy sets me on the edge, peels off my sweater, my leggings, my briefs. He kisses every new bit of skin he uncovers.
When we’re both bare, he steps in first, then helps me settle between his legs. My back to his chest. His arms wrap around me. Water laps gentle against our skin.
I sigh—long, content. Lean my head back on his shoulder.
“I love this life,” I whisper.
“And I love you in it,” Daddy murmurs against my temple.
Outside, the forest is quiet. Inside, the cabin is warm. Two dogs snoring in the living room. A finished draft waiting for morning. A man who calls me his Forever—and means it.
Everything is wonderful.
And the best part? It’s only the beginning.