EPILOGUE
SEVEN YEARS LATER
AVERY
“Mr. Jeffries! I bet you don’t remember me,” the tall, dark-haired teenager says, pushing his bangs out of his eyes.
My husband grins and pretends to think. I roll my eyes, long used to this by now. Years ago, I worried that people would recognize him from his band days.
HA! Was I ever wrong.
He’s constantly hailed by people remembering him, but from his time as their band teacher. And they love him.
It warms my heart seeing the admiration shining from the teenager’s green eyes as he smiles at Bryce.
“Shawn, absolutely I remember you,” Bryce says, holding out his hand.
Shawn blinks and, if possible, his smile grows even wider as he shakes hands.
“Still playing a mean alto sax?”
“Yes, sir. Got into U of Elm’s marching band.”
“Excellent, Shawn! Excellent,” Bryce says, patting the larger boy’s arm.
“Are these your kids?” Shawn asks, gazing at the two toddlers in our double stroller before his curious stare slides to my very pronounced belly.
Bryce gives Shawn’s arm another friendly pat, before dropping a hand on Evan and Daniel’s heads as he makes the introductions. Finally, he puts his arm around me and rubs at my belly. “And my wife, Avery, and our daughter Cameron, who has yet to make her appearance.”
“Wow. You have your hands full, Mr. Jeffries.” Shawn blushes when he realizes how his words came out, but Bryce just laughs.
“We certainly do, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Congrats again, Shawn.”
The tall teenager ambles off and we continue our way through the I Love Easton Day events.
Which means we’re stopped a lot as we go down the rows of venders.
Students, current and former, want to talk to Bryce and play with our boys.
Other teachers tease him about having me out in my condition.
I’m four days overdue and hanging around the house waiting to go into labor isn’t my idea of fun when I could be out trying to walk this stubborn girl out of me, so it was purely my decision to come today. Though I keep that part to myself.
Bryce smiles and laughs through it all, nothing bothering him.
I let him do most of the talking. I’ve come out of my shell a little in the years that we’ve been together, and I’ve learned to tolerate people more than in the past. I still don’t love it, but for him I willingly do it.
It’s been a give and take, and he’s far more understanding than I would have been if our positions were reversed.
Shortly after we were married, another senior leader opportunity came up at my work and Bryce urged me to interview for it.
I refused, and he tried so hard to build me up and help me face my fears.
I gleefully responded by whipping out the positive pregnancy test I took that morning and telling him I had other opportunities I was more interested in.
I loved adding that while the pay might not be great, the perks couldn’t be beat.
He was so surprised and thrilled he broke out into a fast little dance, swung me around our living room, and then carted me off to bed. Afterwards he called everyone and before I knew it, his Nonna was inviting us over to make meatballs that weekend because pregnant women needed to eat well.
She even bent her rules of no gifts until the baby comes and attended the baby shower for Evan. She missed the one for Daniel because of a broken hip and the one for Cameron due to ill health.
Despite those hiccups, at almost ninety-five she says she’s not going anywhere until, Carla, Bryce’s sister, gets married and has children.
Carla says she wants Nonna to live forever, so she’s not getting married.
I want Carla to be happy, but I also don’t want to lose dear Nonna, wielder of the wooden spoon and the sweetest woman you could ever meet.
After Evan’s birth, we decided I would become a stay-at-home mom, which gave me lots of time to appreciate Nonna, Carla, and the rest of Bryce’s family.
Which is good because we’re going to need them as forty minutes into I Love Easton Day I clutch Bryce’s arm, my short nails digging into his bare forearm, and let out a gasp.
“Angel?” he questions, his dark eyes moving over my no-doubt pale face.
“Call your mom and have her come get the boys, please,” I grit out before easing my fingernails from his skin.
Excitement wars with nerves as my husband fights back a grin.
His humor wins out as he swiftly gets us turned toward the parking lot and places his arm around my waist in case I need him for support.
“Are you sure you don’t want to walk around some more?
Really get those contractions coming?” he teases.
“I love you, but now is not the time for jokes,” I groan as another slow contraction tightens up my stomach.
“Afterwards, got it,” he says, pressing a kiss to my jaw and helping ease me into the front passenger seat.
He straps the boys into their car seats and loads the stroller into the trunk in record time, and then we’re off heading to the hospital.
My hospital bag has been packed and in the car for weeks now, which is a relief as I concentrate on breathing and not scaring the boys, who are beginning to doze in the backseat.
Bryce calls his mom, and she beats us to the hospital, meeting us at the entrance.
Nine long, and not very fun, hours later, we’re officially a family of five. Looking at my husband’s dark head bent over our newest child, Cameron Sarah Jeffries, my breath catches.
I almost let my insecurities get the best of me, never knowing all that I would lose out on.
Thanks to a quick-thinking friend and the patience of a wonderful man, I’m blessed with three beautiful children and a man that I truly believe is my soul mate.
We temper each other and, in the end, we just mesh.
As Bryce likes to say, our notes may be different, but together we make beautiful music.
Bryce carries Cameron over to me, placing her gently on my chest. Lifting my eyes from my daughter to my husband, I see his dark eyes shining as he smiles at me. “She’s beautiful, just like her mother.”
I never thought of myself as beautiful until Bryce. But every time he tells me, I see the truth of that in his gaze.
“I love you,” I say, reaching out a hand.
Taking it, his warm lips press a kiss to my knuckles. “I love you, my angel, the queen of my heart.”
“Forever, my king of rhythm.”
“Forever,” he echoes after me.
THE END