Epilogue 1 Holly #2
And just like that, my day gets even better.
“I come bearing carbs,” he says, dimple already deployed, hands behind his back.
He steps in, bringing them forward. In one hand he carries a massive bouquet of white dahlias wrapped in simple brown paper, and in the other a ribbon-tied box from world-famous Sucréval, that overpriced boutique patisserie in Mayfair (but they say oh-so-worth-it) we’d passed on our walks through London.
Of course he remembered when I said it looked like heaven behind glass, but the queue was ridiculous that day.
It’s so Dexter, thinking everyone’s already had the local stuff a hundred times, so he brings something different.
Trust him to make it feel special, for everybody. And it does.
“I’m keeping you,” I reply.
He sets the flowers and the small box on my desk, then hauls me into his arms like he can’t wait another second.
I kiss him hard. A low sound escapes before I can stop it when his mouth deepens against mine.
His tongue sweeps mine before sucking on my tongue.
A shiver runs through me when I feel his thick length pressing between my legs.
(Clearly my imagination. Or wishful thinking.
My belly is so huge, it’s been a while since anything lined up properly.)
“Dexter,” I breathe.
“Babygirl.” He kisses me again, his voice rough against my lips. “Today’s a big day.” Another kiss. “Opening day.”
I can’t stop smiling against his mouth, breathless and dizzy. “Yes.”
He smiles back, brushing his mouth over mine. “Congratulations. I’m proud of you.”
“Thank you… boss.”
He freezes and his mouth curves slow. “Careful with that. You won’t like where it gets you.”
A sudden desire to have him inside me sends a wave of heat between my thighs. I shift my leg, rubbing against him.
“Oh, I think I can take it,” I say, already breathless.” I’m very good at handling difficult bosses.”
“Not sure you can take this one.”
“You bet I can take you, boss.”
His voice drops. “Say it again.”
“Boss.”
“You like the sound of that, don’t you?”
“You like the sound of that. Admit it, boss.”
A low groan rumbles in his throat, and his grip tightens, sealing my victory. “Makes me harder every time you say it.”
“Then I’ll keep saying it.”
He leans in, until his mouth hovers at my ear. “I want nothing more than to fuck you right now.” He pulls back just enough, voice dropping even lower. “Not here.”
It nearly kills me.
But I let out a shaky a laugh, because of course he’s right.
He eases back and hands me the box. If anything can pull me back to reality, it’s the smell of food.
My brain’s still spinning, from the way he looks at me, from the boss thing, but the second I get a whiff of something baked and sugary, I remember who I am.
My priorities fall right back into line.
Step one, stop staring at him, step two, demolish whatever’s in this box.
“How was your day?” he asks as I untie the ribbon. “You feeling okay?”
“I am now. You know,” I say, inhaling the scent of rich vanilla seeping through the box, “you might just get lucky later for this.”
“That’s the plan.”
I open the lid. Inside is Sucréval’s version of a Victoria sponge, layered high with cream and raspberry jam, the top crowned with tiny fondant letters spelling ABC.
Around it are hand-painted macarons with little rainbows, matching the mural on our wall.
Dexter had it all custom-made. The kids and staff are going to lose their minds when they see it. My mouth actually waters.
He kisses my head as I’m mid-lick, cleaning a blob of sponge cream off my knuckle. How messy… and obscenely delicious. So is he, frankly.
I glance up at him. “What? Cake now, you later.”
He just grins, takes my hand, and kisses my knuckles. “I’ve got a little update.”
“I’m listening.”
“Macro’s out. Swan dropped them.”
I gape, swallowing. “No way!”
“Yeah. Macro couldn’t deliver. They’ve been missing deadlines, and the project is way over budget. I’m talking millions. The quality is shit, and Mitch Underwood was fired. Apparently, the contractors he hired weren’t exactly on the up-and-up and, well, it blew up on them.”
“That’s amazing! Well, not for them. Sucks for them. But good for you guys!”
“Yeah, very good.” He pulls me into a hug.
“Reed just closed the deal with them this morning. He walked in, told them they’d either sign with us or watch the whole project collapse.
Twice our original quote, because we’re stripping the whole thing back and delivering the build they should have had in the first place. They signed. The account is ours.”
Wow. I’m astounded. The old Dexter would have insisted on being there with his crew, to do it all himself, but the new one seems to be perfectly content with his newfound freedom, just delegating.
I hug him. “I’m so happy for you.”
“Come on, baby, let’s go for a walk.”
“Sounds good to me. Let’s take a walk before I eat all of this alone. Or you.” I cover my mouth as if I could shove the words back in. “Ignore me. Hormones. Completely out of control.”
“I’ll collect once we’re home.”
Outside it’s gorgeous. The sun is out, the sky is blue, and the trees are making that soft shhh-shhh sound in the breeze. You can feel summer coming.
Behind the building, Shelby’s touch is everywhere.
On the far side, the play areas are all bright colors and climbing things, ready for the mayhem.
But back here, it’s something else. Just like in the photos Shelby first sent me, only better now.
The cherry and birch trees still frame the garden, but now, after all the digging and sweating (and Shelby insisting she was right about everything, and I’m glad she didn’t back down), it doesn’t feel like a schoolyard anymore.
It feels like ours.
Some people treat the “garden” in kindergarten as optional. We were lucky with our patch of garden behind the building, and we went full-on.
Winding paths loop between bushes and old stone borders, and yes, little wooden benches tucked here and there.
I told Shelby the kids would need benches.
Not just so they could catch their breath, but for the ones who’d rather sit and talk than swing from the climbing frame.
She actually listened. I designed them myself, stained them, sealed them, everything.
Now we can’t imagine the place without them.
There’s color popping everywhere. I spot roses already climbing the trellis, and wild geraniums are blossoming near the hedges where you’d think nothing could grow.
And of course, Shelby must have tucked in little patches of herbs when no one was looking.
Even a couple of yellow tulips still linger.
No idea how. I love them for it, and I love Shelby even more. She swears it’s the compost.
It’s all blooming. Like it knew this day was coming.
Dexter threads his fingers through mine as I point out where Shelby had Nico and Louise plant daffodil bulbs last weekend.
“You pulled it off,” Dexter says, watching me instead of the beautiful greenery.
“We pulled it off.”
A few more steps, and he stops by the little apple tree we planted in early spring, for those much-needed apple slices. And maybe one day our own apple juice! It’s still staked and isn’t even taller than Louise, but it looks like it was always meant to be here.
Dexter turns me to face him, his eyes glowing, so bright they pick up golden-green at the edges, almost unreal in the open air’s light. If I didn’t love him already, I would now. For the eyes alone. “There’s still one thing we haven’t worked out.”
“If you say it’s the babies’ names again, I swear—”
“It’s not.”
Dexter reaches out to cup my cheeks and kiss my nose. The next thing I know, he lowers himself to one knee.
And my heart nearly gives out.
My legs almost do too.
“De…”
He pulls out a ring, not a box. Just the ring, resting between his fingers. It catches the sun in a quick, blinding flash. It’s the biggest diamond I’ve ever seen.
“Holly Bishop,” he says, “will you marry me?”
Something in my stomach clenches, and I freeze. My jaw unhinges. “Oh. My. God.”
“I know we haven’t discussed marriage, but let’s not kid ourselves. You’re the woman for me. Always have been. You’re my diamond in the ocean, and I’m not letting you drift off on some door without me.”
I’m laughing and crying at the same time, trying to focus, but he keeps going.
“I want you in that gown, Holly. White. Yours. So jaw-dropping that half the room forgets to breathe. And I’ll be at the end of that aisle, waiting. And I promise you this, Holly, I will never let go.”
“Dexter—”
“Say yes, baby. I know your feet are swollen and your back hurts and your bladder is—”
“Dexter!”
“Yes?”
“My water broke.”
For a second or two, he just stares at me. That was not the response he was expecting. But it’s the one he got, because the second I saw that ring, all hell broke loose. The first contraction hits before he even has a chance to stand up. I clutch his shoulder.
“Car. Now.”
I try to say something supportive like “Great plan,” but end up squeaking like a deflating balloon. Without warning the ground tips a little, and his arm is suddenly the only thing keeping me vertical.
I squeeze his arm for dear life.
Between the haze of pain and the anxiety of knowing I’m about to give birth, I can barely focus, so I gladly let him take the lead.
He’s a control freak. Yes. But right now, I’m grateful to literally everything for it.
By the time Shelby pokes her head out of the office (no doubt fresh from watching the whole thing through one of those tall round windows), I’m half in his arms.
“Well, I take it that was a yes.”
“Water broke,” I grit out, shaking my head and gripping Dexter, right as another contraction hits. “Holy! Shit!”
“Holy shit,” Shelby echoes, eyes wide, frozen in shock.
“Car keys,” Dexter says, already holding out his hand.