Epilogue
EPILOGUE
ULRICH
One year later - February 14th
“Are you sure about this?” I ask Nolan as we stand outside the Blacksmith’s Arms. It looks pretty much the same as it did last year—the balloon arch and the pretty lights. “I don’t mind a quiet night at home.”
A home I now share with Nolan. After a summer of spending as much time as we could together, he gave up his fancy apartment and moved into my tiny cottage with me. Even though he’s over six foot, he doesn’t seem too big for it. He commutes to his business in Oxford, but sometimes works from home, which usually means he comes and distracts me in the flower shop. Not that I’m complaining of course. The last year has been the happiest of my life. But Nolan suggested a return to our first date.
“I’m sure,” he says, taking hold of my hand and giving it a squeeze. Then he takes a deep breath and leads me through the open door.
This time he doesn’t freeze and tense up and we walk to the bar.
In the last year we’ve become frequent visitors to Larchdown and the Blacksmith’s Arms. After Keith introduced us to Luca and Jackson, the new owners of Larchdown House—Luca being Frances’ nephew—Nolan and I have visited several times and we’ve become friends. Through them we know a few more of the locals, and it’s to this group we head over to when we have our drinks, and space is made for us at their table.
They’re all couples, and we fit right in with the easy conversation. Even though we’re talking as a group, I see Nolan keeps glancing over to the other side of the pub, where the tables are arranged and decorated for couples on Valentine’s Day.
I squeeze his knee to get his attention.
“What is it?” I whisper so only he can hear.
“Do you think we could sit over there?”
“Do you want to?” I’m surprised, last year he could barely look at them.
He looks at me, his grey eyes calm, and I know he’s not having the same problems this year.
“I want you to myself,” he murmurs in a voice laden with promise, and I shiver in anticipation.
“Then I’m more than happy to sit wherever you want,” I reply. Hell, I’ll even sit in his lap, though we can save that until we get home—most definitely when we get home.
He rises, much to the friendly jeers of the group, but he takes it good-naturedly
“It’s our anniversary,” he tells the group, and of course the ribbing increases, but he ignores them and we settle at one of the smaller tables, prettily decorated with red and pink flowers.
“Anniversary?” I ask. We don’t have an official getting together date, so I’m not sure we can claim any day as our anniversary.
He reaches for my hand across the table.
“A year ago today was one of the worst days of my life, I was dreading it and I tried to hide away from everyone. But the universe had other ideas and instead my peace was disturbed. You burst into my life at my lowest point and showed me how to live again. I’m reclaiming this day as a good day. Our day. Thank you, Uli.”
I can’t speak for a moment around the lump that’s formed in my throat. I take a moment to look at this man in front of me who captured my eye the first time I saw him, even though it didn’t go well at first. I love him, he knows that, as I tell him regularly.
“You know who we should be thanking?” I smirk and watch as a frown appears and his eyes darken. He shows everything on his face and I love him all the more for it—the stormy and the calm seas in his eyes.
“Who?’
“Ross,” I say. “If he had better handwriting I might have got the right address in the first place.”
His brow straightens and he laughs.
“To Ross.” He lifts his drink and I raise my own, to toast with him.
Then his face changes and a glint appears in his eyes. I’m familiar with that look and know what’s coming, my body already tingling with anticipation. “How hungry are you?” he asks lowly, in a voice that heats up my insides.
“I could eat . . .” I shrug, playing along. “Or . . .”
That’s all the encouragement he needs and he rises, pulling me to my feet.
“Come on, cutie. I have better things to do than eat.”
I can’t argue with that and I’m as eager to get home as he is.
Just outside the door he stops under the balloon arch. He looks up at it with a smile on his face. I turn to him and he steps close.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Uli,” he says and kisses me.
It’s romantic. It’s magical. It’s perfect.