Mid-Season
EPILOGUE
[Ruthie]
A s Bolan pulls up in front of the city college, I’m confused.
“What are we doing here?” I ask, staring at the large building beside the visitor’s parking lot.
“Just trust me.”
I turn to look at him. “Always green,” I whisper.
I do trust him.
He smiles and holds out his hand. I take it and he pulls my fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss to my knuckles before hopping out the driver’s side and coming around his truck to open my door.
We’ve been talking about my future lately. I told Bolan how I’d been thinking about going back to school and earning a teaching certificate. However, I’m no longer certain that’s the path my life should take.
Bolan is too giddy about wherever we’re going that I don’t have the heart to tell him I might have changed my mind. But I will tell him. No more secrets.
First, I just want to let him revel in whatever surprise he has in store for us.
As we wander down the hallway, classrooms lining each side of the campus building, I don’t miss the sign on the wall marking the psychology department.
“Wait right here,” he says, holding up both hands outside an office. “No peeking.”
As I don’t know what I’m not supposed to be peeking at, I giggle. Within seconds, Bolan steps back into the hallway and takes my hand again, leading me to a classroom. He pulls a key for the room from his pocket, and he opens the door, locking it behind us once we enter.
The room is dark, but from the hallway light streaming into the space from a narrow rectangular window in the door, I can see the desks are pushed to one side of the room and a photography lamp is set up in the opposite corner.
Bolan walks over to the lamp and clicks it on.
“What’s going on here?” I chuckle, noting how the set-up is very similar to the first time I met Bolan, minus a video camera and a college professor. Instead, a tripod is positioned a few feet from the photography light that looks like an umbrella with a lightbulb in the center.
Bolan holds out his hand again and leads me to a mark on the floor. “Stand here, please.”
His voice is formal while he’s dressed in a T-shirt and jeans, plus his signature baseball cap. As I stand in position, smiling wide and giddy, Bolan rounds the tripod, sets his phone in the holster, and taps the screen a few times.
“Okay. And . Ready.”
He steps over to me and stops directly in front of me.
“Ruthie Adler, welcome to the reenactment of our first kiss. We’ll have sixty seconds on the clock. No groping.” He playfully points his finger at me. “Nothing below the belt. No boob play.” He pouts.
“But we kiss. No breaking lips.” He rubs his fingertip along my lips. “Now. Just look into my eyes. And breathe.”
My breath hitches. I’d told him that I remembered him saying these words all those years ago, but I didn’t expect him to remember them now.
Bolan clicks a clicker in his hand, slips it in his pocket and cups my face.
And we kiss like we did fifteen years ago. The connection instant. The energy intense. With a clock winding down, we try to take in as much of each other as we can. But in the back of my head, I know we have more than these sixty seconds.
Bolan Adler is more than a moment.
He’s a lifetime.
When the timer beeps, Bolan abruptly pulls back, but I follow his retreat as I often do. My body craving more of his.
He rushes to turn off the timer and then takes giant steps back to where I stand, still a little breathless, still thoroughly kissed.
“Any questions?” he jokes, wiggling one brow.
“What’s your name?”
“ Our name is Adler.” He winks at me. “But I’d like to know if I can have your number?”
I hum. “My favorite number is twelve.”
He gives me a quick peck, smiling against my mouth.
“Well, Mrs. Adler. I have another question for you.” Bolan slowly lowers to one knee and my breath hitches once more. He pulls from his pocket a beautiful diamond solitaire ring on a silver band.
“Will you do me the honor of staying married to me and continue to be my wife?”
With my hand over my mouth, as if it can contain my smile or my shock, I nod vigorously. “Yes, I would love to remain your wife.”
“I love you, flower. You’re my first pick. Every time. Like kids picking other kids for sandlot teams, I’ll always want you on my side.”
“I love you, too.” Tears stream from my eyes. Happy tears.
“Now, I have another question for you.”
Bolan slowly stands, kissing me before I can ask him mine. “Anything.”
“How do you feel about February for a baby?” I lower my hand and cover my belly.
Bolan leans back, looking down at my stomach, then back up at my face. Suddenly, he bends at the knees, wraps his arms around me and lifts me up beneath my backside.
“Are you serious?”
My hands land on his shoulders. “Never been more serious.” Or in love with this man.
He sets me down, steps back, and glances down at my belly. Placing his hand over my stomach, he says, “I say yes to that.”
Then his hands are on my face, and he’s kissing me again. The crackle between us will never grow old. The spark\ I look forward to each time our lips connect. The electricity zapping through me, which was all just a sign of what was to come.
Bolan is my happily ever after.
And I’m his.
I look forward to every kiss (and more) with him.
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