Epilogue
ROBBIE
One month later
By the time Ames and I make it downtown, the Spring Fling’s in full swing, and Winsome’s outdone itself.
Paper lanterns in soft pastels hang from every lamppost on Main Street, swaying gently in the warm May breeze.
Chapel Creek Park’s been transformed into a maze of white tents and colorful booths—local artists selling paintings and pottery, the Gardening Club hosting their seedling station, Mrs. Chen’s dumpling cart sending up clouds of fragrant steam.
Kids run past us with balloon animals, their faces painted like butterflies and their shrieks of laughter filling the air.
It’s perfect. Really.
Better than I can ever remember…
At least, I’m pretty sure.
The truth is, I’m a little too busy looking at the gorgeous man beside me to take in the details.
Ames is wearing dark jeans and a soft gray T-shirt that says Winsome FD.
The jeans show off the firm muscles of his thighs and ass, and the shirt shows off his toned arms—which are both almost fully functional since Ames is fully committed to his physical therapy.
Best of all, the sleeves of the shirt are short enough to show off the tattoo on his right arm, which brushes up against my left arm as we walk.
A perfect, visible sign that we’re a unit.
I mean, not that anyone in Winsome has any doubts. Not after the past month.
“You’re doing it again,” Ames murmurs without looking at me.
I dart a glance at his face and find him fighting a smile.
“What?”
“Giving me that look that says you want to eat me.”
I make a noise of amusement. “I think you mean,” I say blandly, “like I want to eat you again .”
Ames darts a glance at me, and as I hold his gaze, I swipe a thumb over the corner of my mouth deliberately.
Ames’s tanned cheeks flush pink as he looks away. “Robert, I love you so much. You know I do. But…” His voice sounds strangled.
“I know you do, baby. And I appreciate you saying so. Just like I appreciated you yelling it an hour ago, while you were riding my cock.”
“That’s…” He clears his throat. “May I remind you that this is how the incident started two Saturdays ago?” he demands.
I tug him closer so we’re facing each other with our hands clasped between us and murmur in his ear, “Remind me again?”
Ames’s glare is more heated than angry. “I think you remember. ”
“Do I? Hmm. All I recall is that I happened to come help you do prep for the Saturday dinner rush—a thing I’ve done for years,” I say mildly. “You were wearing these very jeans.” I grasp his belt loop with one finger. “I remember that too. Love these jeans, by the way?—”
“Robert,” he warns again, but his lips are twitching, and his eyes are dancing with amusement and arousal.
“—and I remember I just happened to remind you that I knew what you were wearing under these jeans, since I’d watched you get dressed that morning.” I blink at him. “The rest is kind of a blur.”
He laughs out loud. “Oh, is it? Maybe you should ask Rocco for the details since he nearly walked in and found you on your knees?—”
“Only nearly .” I grin, unrepentant. “The kitchen door stayed firmly closed, and he had no idea what was happening. Though if he had , I think it might’ve answered any questions he had about why I created a Tapper account last month and then deactivated it immediately.”
“I think he got the gist pretty quickly after that, since you announced to Perky that you were bisexual right in the middle of Watchfire.”
“Or when you followed up my statement with, ‘And we’re together, Perky. Robbie and me. Permanently .’” I do my best impersonation of Ames’s defiant tone.
Ames squares his shoulders. “Well, we are. So…”
“So,” I agree.
I’ve told Ames before that his possessiveness is a turn-on. I’m not sure he realizes how much or how badly I’d like to show him. Right now.
Or maybe he does get it because his eyes heat and his fingers clench on mine .
“You have to be at the Touch-a-Truck thing in thirty minutes,” he reminds me breathlessly.
“And your shift at Watchfire starts in an hour. But later, when we get home?—”
“Yeah?” Ames’s voice drops lower. “What about when we get home?”
“I have ideas.” I spot an alley between two rows of vendor booths and tug him toward it. “For example?—”
“Boys! Ames! Robbie! Hey, there!”
Our eyes meet, and I swear Ames sighs a little, but he turns so we can greet his parents with a smile. “Hey— Mom, what the heck did you buy?”
Vivian is hauling an enormous birdhouse that appears to be made of balsa wood.
Grant’s trailing behind her, carrying an enormous canvas bag on his shoulder that must be filled with the entire contents of the craft fair.
He’s also eating a funnel cake, dusting his entire shirt with powdered sugar in the process.
“Oh, just this and that. Decorations for the Abigail, mostly, since True pointed out a few local artists that did good work. And there maaay be one or two things for your house, since Robbie’s birthday’s coming up.”
She gives me a look that’s more than happy; it’s satisfied . Like me and Ames being together wasn’t just a dream come true for the two of us.
“You’re so sweet.” I bend to kiss her cheek. “I’m sure I’ll love whatever you got.”
Vivian beams.
Grant gives Ames a smiling nod. “How’s the arm, kiddo?”
“Good.” Ames rotates his right shoulder in demonstration. “Healing up. ”
Ames and I are both healing, in our own ways. Ames with PT, me by processing Mike’s arrest and upcoming trial with Dr. Colburn. It’s been hard and painful for both of us, but necessary.
And Ames has been there for me every step of the way, listening, holding me, and reminding me that Mike’s choices aren’t my responsibility.
We’ve been there for each other .
“You’re letting Robbie help you stretch out your morning stiffness, right?” Vivian asks worriedly.
Ames rolls his eyes. “Yes, Mom.”
“What? Don’t give me that look,” she says. “You’re the worst at asking for help, and you know it.”
I grin. “Don’t worry, Vivian. I know all his tricks,” I tell her.
Ames shoots me a look.
I cough to cover a laugh. Mind out of the gutter, Axford.
His face goes red, and suddenly, I’m dying to kiss him again.
“Of course you do.” Vivian pats my arm. She watches indulgently as a group of kids runs past, leaving a trail of popcorn and dripping maple creemees in their wake.
“What an absolutely lovely day. And I can’t believe how many new people have come to visit!
Griffin’s friend Milo even came up from the city for the weekend and brought a friend.
Griffin and the others on the tourism board have outdone themselves.
I can’t wait to congratulate him.” She frowns around, like she might miss her tall, imposing son in the crowd.
“I thought Beckett said he and Griffin would be in this area.”
Ames shakes his head. “We haven’t seen any of them yet. We just got here a few minutes ago. ”
And we’re hoping to disappear for a few minutes more .
But all four of us are looking around now, so we all notice when the oldest Axford brother walks down the row of booths right beside us.
He’s got his arm draped over Griffin’s shoulder like some kind of lumberjack bodyguard.
The two men are so deep in conversation, I doubt they even notice we’re there.
Beckett looks more relaxed than I’ve seen him in years. He’s wearing shorts and a soft blue button-down with the sleeves rolled up. His hair’s long enough to tuck behind his ears, and he’s smiling softly behind his beard.
Griffin, on the other hand, looks like he’s about to have a breakdown.
“—it’s a simple question, Beckett. Because the whole goal was to create an atmosphere. A vibe . But if the music’s too loud?—”
Beckett forces Griffin to stop and sets his big hands on either side of Griffin’s neck so Griffin has to look up at him. “Baby, take a breath.”
“I am! I’m breathing! I’m also simultaneously panicking. It’s called multitasking.”
“Look around you,” Beckett says, sounding amused. “See all these Winsomefolk talking and laughing and enjoying the sunshine? This is the best Spring Fling in years, with more tourists visiting than ever before. You did this. You .”
All of us watch as Griffin’s eyes dart side to side, over the crowds of families and couples strolling through the booth, before coming to rest on the four of us. He gives us a sheepish smile, and his cheeks turn pink.
“Uh, hey, guys,” he says with a little wave. “Sorry. Just… having a minor freak-out. It’s fine. ”
Beckett turns to nod at us but doesn’t take his hands off his boyfriend. “It is fine,” he says firmly. “Better than fine. It’s amazing. Because you’re brilliant and because you care so damn much.”
Griffin lets out a breath, and his shoulders drop from his ears. “Thanks, babe,” he says softly.
Beckett slaps his face gently and follows that up with a quick, hard kiss to his lips. “Always. Now… let’s go get you something deep-fried.” He turns toward us, his arm over Griffin’s shoulder again. “Dad. I’m guessing you know what’s good. Anyone else want anything?”
Somehow, in the span of ten seconds, Beckett manages to take the huge tote bag from Grant without a word, deliver Griffin to Vivian for a quick hug and congratulations, then steer both Griffin and Grant toward the food booths.
As they walk away, we hear Grant tease, “Well, the fried pickles are particularly delicious this year, Griffin,” followed by Griffin’s groan.
“Wow,” Ames says, blinking after them. “How’d Beckett manage to make all that happen?”
“It’s his special brand of magic,” Vivian laughs. “But I wonder where Milo and his friend?—?”
“Right here, Vivian.”
Two men materialize at Vivian’s side. One is a familiar platinum-blond twink in a hot pink shirt—Griffin’s friend Milo. The other is a guy I’ve never met before, with light hair and slightly hunched shoulders.
“We were keeping a safe distance because Griff has been in a mood ,” Milo offers.
Ames laughs. “That’s true friendship, Milo.”