Epilogue
JACK
I can tell I’m home before I even cut the engine.
It’s not the porch light—though it’s on, warm and steady like a beacon. It’s not the wind chime Stella insisted was “whimsical” and I insisted was “a tactical noise hazard.”
It’s the smell.
Something sweet drifting out into the night air—vanilla, cinnamon, maybe that caramel stuff she swears is “for the kids” but somehow never makes it to school.
And the fact that my chest loosens the second my tires hit our gravel driveway.
Our.
That word still feels like a weapon and a miracle all at once.
I kill the truck, scan out of habit, and then immediately hate myself for scanning because nothing is wrong. Nothing is threatening. Nothing is waiting in the dark except the quiet country night and the dog next door that barks at literally everything like it’s his sworn duty.
I’m halfway up the porch steps when the front door swings open.
Stella stands there barefoot, hair down, wearing my Lone Star Security shirt like it belongs to her. It’s too big, hanging off one shoulder, the hem grazing mid-thigh.
Her eyes meet mine.
And my entire day disappears.
“Hi,” she says, voice sweet as sugar.
I stop on the top step, keys still in my hand, boots still on my feet. “Hi.”
She smiles like she knows exactly what she’s doing.
And she does.
She leans against the doorframe, arms folded loosely. “Long day?”
I take one more step—close enough to smell her, close enough to feel that pull in my gut that has never once calmed down since the night I walked into Hanover’s office and found her standing there brave and furious.
“Yeah,” I say, voice rough. “Long.”
Stella’s gaze drops to my mouth, then back up. “I made dinner.”
My eyes narrow. “You’re trying to distract me.”
She bats her lashes with fake innocence. “Me? Never.”
I drop my keys onto the little table by the door without taking my eyes off her. “Where’s the dinner.”
Stella’s smile turns wicked. “In the oven.”
“And what’s this,” I ask, nodding at my shirt, “because it sure looks like bait.”
She pushes off the frame and steps closer, slow. “It’s comfortable.”
“It’s dangerous,” I correct.
Her eyes shine. “Good.”
That single word flips something in me.
I don’t grab her. I don’t rush her. I’ve never rushed Stella—she’s sunshine and fire, and she deserves to choose every step.
So I move in slow, let my hands slide to her hips, feel the warmth of her through cotton.
Her breath catches.
“Hi,” she whispers again, softer now.
I lower my mouth to her ear. “Hi.”
Her hands go to my chest, fingers curling into my shirt like she needs to anchor herself. “You’re tense.”
“Work,” I say.
She hums, lips brushing my jaw. “You always say that.”
“It’s true.”
Stella’s mouth curves against my skin. “Mm-hmm. Take your boots off.”
I pause. “Is that an order?”
“It’s a request,” she says, sweetly firm. “Because you’re not tracking dirt into my kitchen.”
My mouth twitches. “Your kitchen.”
“Our kitchen,” she corrects, and kisses the corner of my mouth like she’s sealing it.
I toe my boots off, one at a time, never taking my hands off her. Stella watches me do it with that pleased little smile that makes my blood heat.
“Happy?” I ask.
“Very,” she says, then slides her hands up my neck. “Now come here.”
I kiss her.
Harder than I meant to.
She makes a soft sound—happy and needy—and then she’s kissing me back like she’s been waiting at the door counting the minutes.
My hands tighten on her hips, pulling her flush against me. She’s warm, soft in all the right places, and she fits like she belongs there.
She always has.
Stella rocks into me, and my restraint frays.
“Jack,” she breathes into my mouth.
I break the kiss just enough to look at her. Her lips are swollen already, eyes bright, cheeks flushed.
“What,” I rasp.
She smiles like she’s about to ruin me. “You can relax now.”
My chest tightens. “I’m relaxed.”
Stella’s brows lift. “You’re gripping me like you’re afraid I’ll run.”
I swallow. “Not afraid.”
“Mm-hmm,” she murmurs, and kisses me again—slower this time, deep and patient, like she’s pulling all the tension out of me one breath at a time.
My hands slide from her hips to her waist, then up her back, feeling the line of her spine under the shirt. She shivers, pressing closer.
I move us backward without thinking until her back meets the wall beside the doorframe.
Stella gasps, but she’s smiling.
“Bossy,” she whispers.
“Always,” I murmur, and kiss the side of her throat.
Her head tips back, exposing more of her neck like an offering. I drag my mouth along skin that tastes like warm honey and vanilla.
Her hands slip into my hair, nails scraping my scalp just enough to make my breath go rough.
“Jack,” she whispers again, voice shaking.
I pause, mouth at her pulse. “Tell me to stop.”
Stella’s fingers tighten. “Don’t you dare.”
That hits me straight in the gut.
I kiss her again—hot and hungry—and she kisses me back with the kind of confidence she didn’t have months ago.
She’s still Stella—soft and silly and bright—but she’s stronger now too.
And she knows what she wants.
She slides one leg between mine, closing the distance, and I groan into her mouth because my body responds like it’s been starving all day.
Stella smiles against my lips. “There he is.”
“Where,” I grind out.
“The man who pretends he’s all discipline,” she whispers, and drags her mouth along my jaw. “But he’s actually just… obsessed.”
My hands flex at her waist. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, I’m starting,” she murmurs. “I missed you.”
The truth in it knocks the breath out of me.
I press my forehead to hers, fighting control like it’s a mission. “I’m right here.”
Stella’s eyes hold mine. “Show me.”
I kiss her like an answer.
Her back presses to the wall, my body braced over hers, heat building fast. The shirt slips off her shoulder more, and my gaze drops like I can’t help it.
Stella notices and grins. “You like your shirt on me.”
“I like you,” I correct, voice low. “In anything. In nothing.”
Her breath stutters.
She pulls me closer by the collar. “Then stop talking.”
Yes, ma’am.
I lift her—one smooth motion—because I can’t stand the distance anymore. Stella squeaks, startled, then wraps her legs around my waist like she was made for it.
Her laugh is breathless. “Jack!”
I carry her down the hall, her hands in my hair, her mouth finding mine over and over, little kisses that feel like she’s claiming me back.
The bedroom door is half open.
Stella’s lips brush my ear. “Dinner.”
I pause, smiling against her mouth. “It’ll survive.”
“It better,” she whispers, and bites my lower lip gently.
My control snaps another notch.
I kick the door shut behind us and set her down on the edge of the bed like she’s precious. Like she’s mine.
She looks up at me, eyes dark and warm and full of that same brave fire that made me fall in the first place.
Stella reaches for my hand and pulls me down to her. “You’re safe here too, you know.”
I still.
Because she sees it—how I hold everything tight, how I carry the weight even when the threat is gone.
She cups my face, thumb brushing my cheek. “You don’t have to be on guard every second.”
My throat tightens. “I don’t know how.”
“We’ll teach you,” she says softly. “Me and you. Together.”
That—more than anything—undoes me.
I kiss her slow, reverent, like a promise.
Her hands slide under my shirt, warm palms on my skin, and I shudder because even now, months later, her touch hits me like the first time.
I pull back just enough to look at her. “You sure?”
Stella’s smile is pure Stella—sweet and wicked at the same time. “Jack… I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
That’s all I need.
I kiss her again, deeper, and she melts into it—into me—like we’ve built a life out of this exact warmth.
The world outside can keep spinning.
Tonight, I’m home.
And Stella Hart is in my arms, kissing me like she’s always belonged here.
She always has.
The oven timer beeps somewhere down the hall—one sharp, accusing sound.
Stella laughs against my mouth. “Dinner.”
I groan. “I hate that timer.”
She kisses me once more, slow and heated. “Then turn it off… and come back.”
My mouth curves. “Yes, ma’am.”
And when I leave the room to silence the timer, I realize something that still surprises me:
For the first time in my life, coming home doesn’t feel like the end of a shift.
It feels like the start of everything.