Epilogue
Eight years have rolled by since Leni and I tied the knot, and what a wild ride it’s been. As I head into the living room, the sight before me defines the perfect chaos of our family. Nora Anne, our adorable five-year-old tornado, is sprawled across the floor surrounded by books, toys, and every single teddy bear she’s decided to adopt in the last month. It’s a mess, sure, but it’s our mess, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Her little brows are furrowed in intense concentration as she works on what I assume is another ambitious masterpiece. Pride swells in my chest but is quickly interrupted by her loud, commanding voice. “Daddy!”
I turn to face my miniature negotiator, who has dropped the crayon and is now standing, hands on her hips. “I have a very important question for you.”
“What’s up, munchkin?” I chuckle. She's the kind of kid who knows how to get what she wants, and I can’t help but admire the fierce spirit already shining through.
“May I have ice cream for dinner?” she requests, a serious expression plastered across her face like she’s just laid down a monumental law.
I lean back against the doorframe, arms crossing over my chest. “Ice cream for dinner? Hmm, that’s a pretty big ask.” I try to keep my smirk in check, knowing how this type of negotiation usually goes down.
She narrows her eyes, a determined look that’s all too familiar. “But I already had vegetables for lunch.”
“You’re a growing girl,” I respond, keeping my tone light but firm. “You need more than ice cream for dinner if you’re going to grow up big and strong.”
“What if I eat all of my dinner first?” she counters, the gears obviously turning in that clever little head of hers. “Can I have ice cream then?” she pleads, her voice climbing an octave as she bats those big innocent eyes my way.
I chuckle, shaking my head in mock defeat. “Alright, you negotiate like your aunt. Eat all your dinner and I’ll make sure you get a bowl of ice cream for dessert.”
“With rainbow sprinkles on top?” This kid is a pro.
“Of course.” And she has me wrapped around her little finger.
Her face lights up and happiness flows off of her in waves. “Yay!” Nora exclaims, bouncing on her feet before she dashes toward the kitchen with a triumphant giggle.
Just then, Leni walks in the garage door and my heart does that ridiculous little flip it always does when I see my wife. She’s got her hair tied back but with a few loose strands bouncing around her face and her work bag thrown over her shoulder. “Hey, what’s going on?” she asks, glancing between me and Nora before dropping her bag on the barstool.
“I just struck a deal with our future lawyer here,” I say, nodding toward Nora, who’s now rummaging through her crayon box for the perfect shade of pink. “Ice cream for dessert if she eats all her dinner.”
Leni raises an amused eyebrow, walking over to wrap her arms around my waist. “You did a great job.”
“Thank you.” I lean over and kiss her soft lips while Nora gives her teddy bears instructions on how to draw the perfect sun.
I see the fatigue etched on my wife’s face as I lead her over to the sofa. “So, how was your day at work?” I ask, knowing full well she’s been juggling a lot lately between massage therapy and this pregnancy. I kneel down at her feet and take off her tennis shoes. Sitting back on my heels, I slowly rub each of her slightly swollen feet.
“It was good, but I’m absolutely wiped,” she replies with a sigh, stretching out her legs in an attempt to get comfortable.
“Is this little guy causing you trouble?” I ask. As I run my hand over her rounded stomach, the baby kicks hard against my touch.
Leni laughs, an easy sound that warms my chest. “You have no idea. It’s not even that your son’s misbehaving. I just can’t seem to find a comfortable way to sit or stand. No matter what I do, something aches.”
I lean in to whisper next to her ear, “After we get the little miss down for the night, I’ll give you a whole-body massage and see if that helps.”
She turns her head toward me, a teasing smile slowly forming, and the heat in her gaze makes my gut tighten. “Now that’s a great idea,” she says, her voice playful yet sultry. “Then I can have my dessert, too.”
“I love the way you think, Mrs. Hart.” I lean in close, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo mixed with a hint of something that’s uniquely her. “I love you,” I murmur against her lips. “I’m the luckiest bastard on the planet to call you my wife.”
Her expression softens, the initial spark of surprise in her eyes melting into something deeper and more genuine. “I love you, too,” she says, and those words hit me like a blow to the chest as she snuggles against my side. “And we’re both lucky.”