Epilogue - Brady
SIX MONTHS LATER
I 'm standing in the kitchen of our cabin watching Imogen make coffee in nothing but one of my flannel shirts…and I'm positive this is what happiness looks like.
The shirt barely covers her ass, and every time she reaches for something in the upper cabinets, I get a glimpse of pink lace panties that makes my mouth water. She's humming some pop song under her breath, completely unaware that she's giving me the best show on earth.
"Stop staring at my butt and help me with this breakfast," she says without turning around.
"How did you?—?"
"Because you're always staring at my butt. Not that I'm complaining." She glances over her shoulder with a wicked grin. "But I need you to flip the pancakes before they burn."
I move behind her, pressing myself against her back as I reach around to handle the spatula. She melts into me with a soft sigh, and I can't resist nuzzling her neck.
"Brady," she warns, but there's no heat in it.
"What? I'm flipping pancakes."
"You're also getting me all worked up before breakfast."
"Good." I bite gently at the spot where her neck meets her shoulder, and she shivers. "I like you worked up."
She turns in my arms, her hands sliding up my bare chest. "Keep that up and these pancakes are going to burn while I climb you like a tree."
"I'm okay with that."
She laughs and pushes me away. "Food first. Then climbing."
Six months of living with Imogen, and I'm still amazed that this is my life—that this incredible, young, sexy woman chose me. That every morning I wake up next to her and every night I fall asleep with her curled against my body.
The transition wasn't seamless. Her moving into my cabin, learning each other's habits, figuring out how to share space; it all took adjustment. But the foundation we built during that first week at camp has only gotten stronger.
“I have news,” she says, as she settles onto my lap at our small kitchen table.
"Good news or bad news?"
"Good news.”
I take a bite of my pancakes.
“The spa's been so successful that they want me to hire three more therapists. And because I’ve done such a great job bringing in business from the camp, they’re giving me a raise.”
Pride swells in my chest. "That's awesome, babe. You deserve it."
"I know, right?" Her smile is brilliant. "It seems like just yesterday I was a freelancer without steady income or any kind of benefits, and now I'm building something real."
"You've always been building something real. Now you just have the recognition you deserve."
She kisses me softly, and it tastes like maple syrup and coffee . "I love how you see me."
"I love everything about you."
It's true. Even the things that drive me crazy—like how she leaves wet towels on the bathroom floor, or how she steals the covers every single night—I adore because they're part of her.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks, studying my face with those perceptive eyes.
"Just...this. Us. How different everything is now."
"Different how?"
I consider how to put it into words. "Before you, I thought my life was shrinking. Getting smaller as I got older. But now..." I shrug. "Everything feels bigger. Like there are more possibilities instead of fewer."
Her expression softens. "That's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me."
"I was just...existing. Going through the motions. Now I feel like I'm actually living my life."
She slides her arms around my neck. "You were living before. You just needed someone to remind you that life doesn't end at forty-three, you silly man."
"Little did I know it actually gets better."
She smiles up at me, like I’m serenading her with my words. Me. The quiet one.
We finish breakfast and get ready for the day. Imogen has appointments at the spa, and I've got a climbing demo for a group of outdoor education instructors. But before we leave, she corners me in the bathroom while I'm brushing my teeth.
"I've been thinking about something," she says, leaning against the doorframe.
"Mm?" I rinse and spit, then turn to face her.
"The future. Our future."
My stomach clenches. "What about it?"
"We've never really talked about what we want long-term. Besides the obvious staying together forever part."
I dry my hands slowly. "What do you want to talk about?"
"Kids."
"Kids," I repeat, blinking.
She swallows. "I know you're older, and maybe you think you've missed that window, but?—"
"I want kids," I interrupt, the words rushing out before I can second-guess them. "With you. I want everything ."
Her face lights up like the sunrise. "Really?"
"Really. I've been thinking about it too. What it would be like to have a little girl with your feisty attitude or a little boy with your stubborn streak."
"Me?" She swats my arm. "You’re the stubborn one."
"Babe, you once spent three hours trying to work a knot out of my shoulder because you refused to admit it might need a different approach."
"That's persistence, not stubbornness."
"Same thing." I grin.
She laughs and launches herself into my arms. I catch her easily, spinning her around our small bathroom.
"So we're doing this?" she asks when I set her down. "The whole domestic bliss, babies, mini-van thing?"
I shake my head. "I draw the line at mini-vans."
"Fine. But I want the rest of it. With you."
"Even when I'm fifty and you're thirty-four?"
"Especially then. You'll be even sexier and so distinguished, and I'll be in my prime. Perfect combo."
I kiss her hard, pouring all my love into it. "I love you," I murmur against her lips.
"I love you too."
Later that afternoon, I run into Teagan at the main office while she's juggling Jamie and what looks like three different phone calls.
"Brady!" She hangs up and shifts Jamie to her other hip. "Perfect timing. I need someone to tell me I'm not insane.”
"What's going on?"
"My sister Opal is flying to Vegas this weekend for some architecture conference, right? And Rourke's there too for his friend's bachelor party."
I nod, waiting for the punch line.
"Same weekend. Same city. And..." She gestures vaguely. "You know how they are."
I think about party-loving, chaos-creating Rourke and quirky, up-for-anything Opal. "Yeah, I can see how that might be interesting."
"Interesting is one word for it. I'm half-worried they'll either become best friends or burn down the entire Strip."
"My money's on both."
Teagan laughs. "That's exactly what Connor said. I guess we'll find out Monday when they both get back."
I grin, thinking about the potential for disaster. "Vegas won't know what hit it."
When I get home that evening, Imogen's already there, curled up on our couch with a book and a glass of wine. She looks up when I walk in, her smile bright.
"How was your day?" she asks, marking her place and setting the book aside.
"Good. Yours?"
"Exhausting but satisfying. I worked out some serious knots in a software developer's neck. Poor guy spends twelve hours a day hunched over a computer."
I settle beside her, pulling her feet into my lap. "Well, I’m sure he’ll be back. You are magic at working out knots."
"Flattery will get you everywhere." But she melts when I start massaging her feet. "Mmm, that will get you anything you want, too."
"Anything, huh?”
“You heard me.” She chuckles, then lets out a sigh.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the small velvet box I've been carrying around for a week, waiting for the right moment.
Imogen's eyes go wide as she spots it, her wine glass slamming down hard on the coffee table. “Brady...what is that?"
"I know we just talked about kids this morning, but?—"
She launches herself at me before I can finish the sentence, knocking us both sideways on the couch. "Yes!"
"I haven't asked you anything yet."
"I don't care. Yes to whatever you're about to ask."
I laugh, rolling us so she's beneath me. "Imogen Navarro, will you marry me and put up with all my silliness and stubborn streaks for the rest of our lives?"
"Only if you promise to keep climbing trees and letting me massage your sexy body until we're both too old to care about anything except each other."
I bark out a laugh. "Deal."
I slip the ring onto her finger—a simple solitaire that catches the light like a captured firefly.
She stares at it for a long moment, then looks up at me with tears in her eyes.
"I love it so much."
"I’m so happy."
"Me too," she says, pulling me down for a kiss that I’ll remember forever.
"So," I say, as we come up for air. "When can we start working on those babies?"
"How about right now?" she replies, getting up from the couch.
I laugh, and stand with her. "I love your work ethic."
I squat down so she can climb up on my back and then I carry her to the bedroom.
And as I make love to my fiancée that night—this little pink menace who saw past my fears and convinced me that the best chapters of my life were still being written—I think about how wrong I was six months ago.
Getting older isn't about losing yourself.
It's about having the confidence and the courage to reach for what you want.
And if this is what forty-three looks like, I can't wait to see what fifty has in store.
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