Epilogue
Ilean back against Gunnar’s truck, one arm hooked over the side, face upturned to the spring sunshine. The snow is long gone and trees are in blossom all over the mountain.
Gunnar sighs. “He’s not coming.”
“He promised me he would,” I reply.
Gunnar gives me a suspicious look. “How did you manage that?”
I shrug. “I told him we’re celebrating me passing the bar exam.”
“Oh… you passed, huh?”
I turn to him, grinning. “Yes, I did.”
He pulls me in and kisses me, hard enough to make me laugh against his mouth. I only found out yesterday, and I’m not yet tired of being congratulated.
“Did you happen to come top of the class too?”
“I sure did.”
His gaze lingers on me, proud and a little amused.
He drove me to the exam himself and booked us into a hotel the night before so I’d actually sleep.
“That was enough to convince him to come?”
“Well, he did say can’t we just have a beer at home? I told him I’d buy him one in town when we’re done.”
He snorts. “That’s the Orson I know.”
At last, Torin appears in the doorway.
“Come on,” he says over his shoulder. “It’s a store, not a firing squad.”
No answer.
Torin steps back inside. “You’ve been in worse places than a lighting aisle. Get a grip.”
There’s a low, unimpressed sound from somewhere deeper in the lodge.
Torin reappears, backing out this time, one hand braced on the doorframe, the other gesturing like he’s physically pulling someone along.
“Fifteen minutes,” he adds. “We’re in, we’re out. You can glare at everyone on the way through. You’ll love it.”
A shape moves behind him.
Torin grins. “And here he is.”
Orson steps out, shoulders set, scowling at the truck like it’s personally offended him.
“This is a waste of time,” he says. “Why do we need more stuff?”
I plant my hands on my hips. “Because I want it.”
He looks at me, unmoved.
“And because you’re getting a beer after.”
He works his jaw. “Two.”
“Two,” I agree.
He considers that, then jerks his chin toward the truck.
“Fine.”
We pull away from the lodge, the track opening out ahead of us, green now where it used to be white.
I rest my elbow on the window and watch the mountain roll past.
“So beautiful,” I murmur.
I’ve loved winter at the lodge, all cozy indoors with the blizzards blowing outside, but spring feels different. Lighter. Full of possibility.
“You can see it all from the lodge,” Orson grunts.
Torin barks out a laugh.
“What’s so freaking funny?”
“You,” Torin says. “You miserable bastard. You’re like the Grinch of spring.”
“Any season,” Gunnar adds dryly.
Orson folds his arms. “Can’t see the point of going out in the world when we’ve got everything we need right here.”
“Some of us prefer chairs that don’t feel carved out of stone,” Gunnar says.
Orson snarls and falls silent.
I smile and turn back to the window, watching the mountain come alive around us.
Before long, we pull into the store’s lot and Gunnar cuts the engine.
The place is enormous—glass, metal, carts rattling over asphalt, people weaving in and out through the sliding doors.
Gunnar climbs out first.
I follow, the warm air hitting me as I step out, carrying the smell of asphalt and civilization.
Torin stretches as he gets out beside us, taking everything in.
Orson climbs out last.
He slams the door and glares at the building like it personally offended him.
I walk over before he can retreat.
“It’s fine,” I say.
His eyes flick to mine.
I reach for his arm, just a brief touch.
“Stay with me,” I add.
He holds my gaze for a second, then nods.
The doors slide open and we walk straight into the light and space of it—things laid out in endless displays, people wandering in every direction.
Torin slows, looking around.
“This is… something,” he says.
“Stay close,” I tell him, grabbing a cart and pushing it toward him.
He takes it automatically.
“Why does everyone keep looking at us?” he asks.
At least six women have turned to stare at us in the last thirty seconds.
One of them walks straight into a lamp display.
I glance at the three enormous mountain men in the middle of the store.
“Absolute mystery,” I say.
Gunnar walks beside me, one hand at my back.
Orson stays just behind us, close enough that I feel him there.
I pick things up as we move—lamps, a stack of plates, a couple of cushions—dropping them into the cart without stopping.
We turn a corner and I stop.
Sofas. Armchairs. Rugs. Warm pools of lamplight.
I stare at it for a second. “Oh, look at this,” I say. “Imagine this in the lodge.”
“We already have chairs,” Orson mutters.
“Hard ones!”
Torin drops into an armchair and lets out a satisfied groan.
“Yeah,” he says. “This is better.”
Gunnar runs his hand over the soft gray fabric of the sofa.
“This one?” he says.
I lay my hand on his. “Yeah.”
Torin glances at Orson.
“Imagine your ass stretched out on this by the fire.”
Orson folds his arms.
“We don’t need it,” he says.
I meet his eye.
“We do.”
He looks between us—at Gunnar already moving ahead, at Torin half-sprawled in the chair, at me standing there like it’s already decided.
His jaw shifts.
“Fine.”
That settles it.
Back at the lodge, the sofa sits where the table used to dominate the room. The chairs angle toward the fire, the rug soft underfoot, lamps casting warm pools of light across the space.
Torin drops onto the sofa first, stretching out like he’s been waiting for it his whole life.
“Alright,” he says. “This is good.”
Orson takes one of the chairs, slower, testing it before he settles back. He doesn’t say anything, but he stays there.
That’s enough.
Gunnar wraps his arms around me and pulls me down onto his lap.
“This is better,” I murmur, close to his ear.
“Much,” he agrees, drawing me closer.
I rest my hand against his chest, feeling the steady rumble of his breathing.
Torin sprawls across the other end of the sofa, one foot hooked over the arm.
Orson sits back in the chair, his attention fixed on the fire.
I look between them, warmth spreading through me.
“Worth it,” I say.
Gunnar brushes his mouth against my hair.
“Yeah.”
“You see Orson’s face as we left?” I say, unbuttoning my shirt.
Gunnar leans against the wall, watching me. “What about it?”
“It was kind of contorted.”
He laughs. “That was Orson being happy.”
“Oh.” I grin. “I thought he’d pulled a muscle or something.”
“He was trying hard not to show it. He’s probably terrified we’re going to redecorate his room next.”
“And we are,” I say, tossing my shirt onto the chair and reaching for my jeans.
He sucks in a breath.
“Good luck with that.”
“I’ll be subtle. Maybe I’ll tell him it’ll impress a woman.”
Gunnar snorts. “Orson? Find a mate? Never gonna happen.”
I tilt my head. “Even humans say there’s someone for everyone.”
“That’s because they’ve never met my brothers.”
“Fate works in mysterious ways.”
I throw my jeans onto the chair too. I’m reaching for the clasp on my bra when I catch the look in his eyes.
Gunnar pushes off the wall and comes toward me.
His hands go around my waist and he draws me in until our bodies meet.
“You’re not subtle,” he says.
“I am,” I reply. “You just don’t notice.”
His mouth curves before he leans in and kisses me, slow and deliberate.
I slide my hands up his chest, the heat of him burning through his shirt.
He deepens the kiss, one hand sliding into my hair, holding me close.
I slip my hands under his shirt, feeling warm skin and rippling abs.
Without breaking the kiss, he lifts me onto the bed.
I smile against his mouth.
“Efficient.”
“Yeah.”
I push his shirt up and drag it over his head.
He watches me for a second before dipping his head to my throat again, his mouth warm against my skin.
My fingers slide into his hair.
He stills suddenly.
“You know what?”
“What?”
“You’re fertile right now.”
I go still. “I am?”
“Yeah,” he growls. “Very.”
His finger traces slowly down between my breasts.
Heat coils low in my stomach at the look in his eyes.
This is the third time he’s told me.
The first two times, I wasn’t ready. I wanted the bar exam behind me first.
Now it is.
“It would be a winter baby,” I whisper.
He strokes my face gently. “Here in February. I’ll make sure the place is all cozy. Turn your old room into the baby’s room.”
I picture it. Snuggled up indoors, fire glowing in the hearth. Feeding the baby while the snow falls outside—just like when I arrived. Gunnar holding our child in his huge arms.
Emotion rises so fast it catches me off guard.
“I would love that,” I say.
A breath rushes out of him. “Our first cub,” he murmurs.
He lays a hand against my belly. “Growing right here.”
I put my hand over his, imagining my stomach swelling with his young.
“Right here,” I echo.
“Tonight,” he says roughly. “I’m giving you our baby.”
Heat rushes through me.
“Yes,” I whisper.
His gaze burns into mine as I slip my bra from my shoulders and let it fall. My panties come off next, all while he watches with hungry eyes.
Mine.
The word moves through me, hot and possessive.
He comes for me fast after that.
One second I’m standing there—
The next I’m on my back beneath him, his weight covering me. His kisses burn my lips while his hand spreads across my stomach like he can already picture it swollen with his child.
“Mine,” he growls again.
I wrap my legs around him and pull him closer, the promise of what he’s just said thrumming between us.
“Always.”