Epilogue
Pascal
Six years later
“Are we there yet?” Ansel asked for the fifteenth time. He was mocking me, grinning below the sleep mask he wore as a blindfold.
“No. Not yet. A few more minutes.”
I swung to the left onto what I hoped would be a familiar road for both of us soon.
“Are we there yet?” This time, he snickered out loud.
“Do I have to reply?”
“I think it’s good training for fatherhood. I’m going to keep repeating the question until you find a way of distracting me, and I forget about it.”
I reached over the center console and patted his cute little belly. “Almost there.” Twenty weeks left.
“And now? You’re slowing down.”
“I am.”
“We’re there?”
“Yep.”
I parked in the driveway and turned the key. The engine quieted.
“Stay put and no peeking.”
Ansel fidgeted but remained seated.
I walked around the car and opened the passenger door. Holding his hand and covering the top of his head so he wouldn’t hit it on the doorframe, I helped him out of the seat.
“It smells nice. Is that jasmine?”
“I think so.”
The blooming bush grew by the patio on the western side of the house. I hugged Ansel’s shoulders and guided him across the lawn to the oak tree growing in the corner of the small garden. There I pushed him gently onto the bench and sat next to him.
“What now?”
“You can take it off.”
Ansel pulled the sleep mask down and blinked.
From this angle, the one-story building looked a little squat but cute.
We could see part of the patio with a porch swing under the overhanging roof and two wicker chairs.
The large living room windows reflected the sun, but the patio door was open, revealing a sliver of interior with a cream sofa and a blooming peace lily.
“What’s this?” Ansel breathed the question, staring at the house.
“Um. We have the papers ready. If you like it, we can sign today.”
“It’s ours?”
“Not yet. But it can be.”
A gorgeous grin lit up his face. His reaction was what I’d hoped for.
“It’s perfect!” He shot up from the bench and hurried toward the house. He paused by the jasmine bush and smelled the flowers. “Oh, Pascal, this is amazing.”
My Ansel twirled around, let out a giggle, and leaped to the left to look inside through the kitchen window. “Can we go in?”
“Sure. We have around one hour before the realtor arrives.”
“Awesome. Father will have a fit!”
Ansel said it in a cheerful tone, without a hint of apprehension.
He was taking great pleasure in provoking his parents, who were begrudgingly tolerating what they called his hippie lifestyle.
There wasn’t anything hippie about our apartment in the city or about this little house.
But if it were up to Ansel’s alpha father, we’d be moving into one of the grand mansions he’d wanted to purchase as soon as he’d found out about Ansel’s pregnancy.
But my Ansel wished for a quiet home in a more modest neighborhood.
I followed him through the house. With his usual clear-headedness, my husband pointed out which room would be best as an office and that it could double as a guest room, where our kids could sleep at various ages, and that we should get a sofa that wouldn’t stain easily.
He was excited, his eyes glowing, and it made me so happy I actually felt a little pressure in my eyes. I blinked it away and hugged my Ansel from behind. He was looking through the living room window into the garden.
“The property is small but so private,” he said. “You barely notice the road from here.”
I petted his stomach and kissed his temple.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“It’s perfect.” He twisted in my arms and tilted his face up for a kiss. “It shows how well you know me.”
I did know him. After six years, I felt like I could read his thoughts. But sometimes, he still surprised me.
Like now.
His eyes glinted, and one corner of his mouth curved up in a mischievous smile. Then his quick hand brushed the front of my jeans. “When did you say the realtor was coming?”
I growled under my breath. “I’m not fucking you now, Ansel. We don’t have the time.”
Ansel shrugged, grinning. “It could be symbolic. We could call it a housewarming ritual?”
I tried my sternest professor glare. “That is preposterous, omega. Under no circumstances am I indulging you here when we don’t even own the house yet.”
He pouted. “You’re no fun.”
Grabbing his ass cheeks, I squeezed him to me. “And you’re uncontrollably horny.”
“It’s your fault. You’re all sexy, smell delicious, do all these wonderful things for me, and you’ve knocked me up. I’m hormonal and needy.”
“We can dedicate the weekend to saying a proper goodbye to our old apartment?”
Ansel arched one eyebrow. “How?”
I bent lower, nuzzled the crook of his neck, and grazed it with my teeth. “We’ll have wild, half-shifted sex on every possible surface,” I whispered into his skin.
Ansel shuddered and groaned. “My big bad dragon.”
“Uh-huh. I’ll be very bad for you. Monstrous.”
I bit him gently and was about to lick the spot when tires crunched on the gravel outside. The realtor had arrived.
I straightened, looking down at Ansel’s flushed, glowing face. “So we’re buying the house? Your parents will hate it.”
My husband squared his shoulders and lifted his chin. “But I love it. We’re buying it.”
Then he stretched on his tiptoes and pecked my lips.
“Let’s get the paperwork done so we can go home and fuck.”
I laughed.
The End