Chapter 35 - Epilogue- Catalina
Six years later…
***
“Look, it’s Mommy,” Jensen says softly, his voice pitched low as he holds our daughter out to me.
I scoop her from his arms without hesitation, kissing all over her chubby cheeks, her nose, her forehead, breathing her sweet baby smell like I’ve been gone for weeks instead of hours.
My hands slide through her dark brown curls, already thick just like mine, with a softer edge to them that only kids can have. I bury my face there and breathe before examining what he dressed her in. An adorable pair of burgundy-colored overalls and a matching red shirt with a bow.
He loves putting her in my favorite color. It's just one of the many ways that he tells me he's thinking about me without saying it.
“Hi, Pepper,” I murmur. “How are you?”
She babbles something completely incoherent, the kind of confident nonsense only a nine-month-old can deliver like they're telling you a compelling story. I laugh, kissing her again, just as Jensen pulls me into his side and kisses me.
His is a messy kiss in a different way, reminding me of what he did between my legs this morning before I left for the hospital.
“How was your surgery?” he asks.
“Good. Great,” I say honestly reflecting on what I just walked out of.
A simple heart defect, nothing like the one I performed on Olivia years ago, but no less important. The child had come down from Charlotte to Whitewood Creek to have the procedure performed by me.
He smiles. “Good.” He’s always had steady, unwavering confidence in me, and he’s never doubted me. He's the reason that I've been able to take on the world these past few years. To soar out of my comfort zone and find somewhere worth landing.
“I had interviews, too,” I add. “We’re looking to hire a couple new surgical techs since we're expanding the surgery center. Jordan was one of the candidates.”
His brow lifts. “Your old tech from San Jose?”
I nod. “She said she needs a change. She just turned thirty-eight and she’s lived her whole life working in California. I can’t think of anyone better to help run things here.”
He leans in and kisses me again. “The hospital would be lucky to have her,” he says quietly. “Just like they’re lucky to have you.”
They are. I know that now.
I shift Pepper to my other hip and lace my fingers together with Jensen’s free hand. “Want to grab lunch in the cafeteria? I have one more consult in about an hour and then I’ll head home to be with you two.”
“Sounds good.”
We walk down the hallway together as a family, waving at faces that would’ve been strangers two years ago when we first moved from Tennessee to Whitewood Creek permanently.
Now they smile at us like family because that's how everything here feels. That’s something I learned: Small towns don’t just give you community.
They give you choice. You get to choose your people.
And somehow, I ended up with more family than I could have ever imagined.
My sisters live just down the road with their families.
And two years ago, when Hayes Walker—chief of the community hospital where I worked years ago—offered me the chance to open the first surgery center here, one I could manage, staff myself, and still take the occasional heart case out of the hospital, I knew it was time to move to Whitewood Creek permanently.
When critical cases that used to fly out to California started rerouting to North Carolina instead, I couldn’t turn them away. And then, just a few months after opening the center, I got pregnant with Pepper and our lives shifted.
She wasn’t a surprise. She was planned. Wanted so desperately by both of us. Something we both knew we needed to wait for until we felt settled. Until this place felt like home.
Here, she’ll grow up surrounded by cousins, aunts, uncles—by people who choose her. People who will love her loudly, support her fiercely, and let her dream without limits or expectations.
And if someday she wants to follow in my footsteps… well. Doctor Pepper, a female doctor, has a nice ring to it.
We settle into a table in the cafeteria, trays of food in front of us.
Pepper plays with the mask that’s draped around my neck, tugging at it with delighted focus as she sits on my lap.
If there’s one thing I learned quickly, it’s that physical touch comes with the territory of being a mom.
And when it’s from the little human I carried for nine months who’s constantly reaching for me—grabbing my fingers, my hair, my face—it doesn’t scare me the way I once thought it might. It grounds me.
I’m so used to it now that when neither Jensen nor Pepper is touching me, I feel the absence of it. I miss it. I crave it in a way that feels instinctual, like breathing.
“So,” I say to Jensen, smiling over at him. He looks so handsome today. Light brown hair messy like he was out riding this morning. Soft eyes shining as he smiles at me and gives me his complete focus, “how were her riding lessons today?”
Jensen takes a bite of his sandwich. “Well, she’s nine months old, so it wasn’t exactly riding lessons,” he says, amused. “But she loved petting all the horses at Uncle Hayes and Aunt Regan's farm. Didn’t you, Pep?”
Pepper lets out a delighted squeal at the sound of her nickname, her hands patting my chest as she leans toward her dad.
My heart swells because another thing I learned fast is how deeply Pepper craves her dad’s love. His attention. His presence. She leans into it without hesitation, never shies away from it. And when she doesn’t have it, she wants it back.
I get that, baby girl. I get it more than you know.
“I bet by next spring she’ll be riding,” I say softly.
Jensen chuckles. “You’re pushing her to ride more than I am.”
“I just know how much it’ll mean to you to have a riding partner.”
He chuckles. “So, you’ve given up on it, then?”
“I can’t ride while I’m doing surgery. Too much risk.”
He nods. “I know. With Hayes’ property next door and the lessons that he’s been giving, I don’t think we’ll have to worry about her not loving riding.” He pauses, then grins. “She named one of the horses Fuzzy.”
“Ugh,” I laugh. “Adorable.” Words I can't believe I'm saying.
“I’ve got a surprise for you.”
“Oh?” I take a bite of my food. “What?”
“You remember what you told me years ago that you’ve always wanted to do?”
I roll my eyes. “I have no idea what you’re referring to.”
His grin deepens. “Two words. Manhattan. Mayhem.”
I set my sandwich down. “You bought us hockey tickets?”
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out two ticket stubs. “Lawson and Dani offered to watch Pepper for us next weekend. Front row seats.”
“Stop it.”
He grins. “Just don’t be lusting over their star forward Boone Tremblay.”
I laugh. “The only person I’m ever lusting over is you.”
He gives me a look—the one he always has when we’re together. The one that says his thoughts have wandered somewhere else entirely. Somewhere he clearly enjoys.
“I’m at work,” I warn.
He raises a brow. “I didn’t say anything, Pulse.”
I roll my eyes. “You didn’t have to. I can read your mind.”
“And I love that about you,” he says easily. “Means I’m doing something right if I’m that transparent. I don't want to keep any secrets from my wife anyway.” He glances at his watch. “When are you done?”
“An hour.”
He rubs his jaw. “I bet Regan and her daughter would love a playdate.”
I try to play it cool. Like that doesn’t sound incredible. But we both know now that I'm back at work, any free time we get together feels precious and sacred.
“Okay,” I say finally. “But just for an hour. Then we pick her up. I miss her.” I nuzzle Pepper’s cheek, breathing in her soft, sweet scent.
Jensen chuckles. “I don’t even need an hour to have my way with you. In one hour, I can have you coming at least five—”
“Jensen!” I cut him off, cutting my eyes around the empty cafeteria.
He shrugs. “What can I say? I know you, Kitty. You’re my Pulse.” He taps his chest with a smile and then leans across the table and kisses me slowly. It's unrushed, familiar and full of intent.
Our daughter sits between us, giggling and looking up before she grabs both our faces in her tiny hands and smushes her mouth against ours like she’s kissing us back. My heart’s never felt so full.
I never thought I'd have a family like this. One built on touch and laughter. On openness and honesty. On love that doesn't ask you to shrink yourself to fit.
But that's the thing with second chances—you don't always recognize them for what they are when they're standing in front of you, six-foot-five, chest covered in a bull tattoo, asking you for a chance.
Jensen gave me back the things I didn't know I'd lost. My warmth. My trust. My belief that I was worth being chosen just for who I am and not what I accomplish.
And I gave him a reason to stay on the ground.
Our daughter reaches up and grabs a fistful of my hair, laughing at nothing in particular the way babies do when the world is still perfect and new. I press my mouth to the top of her head. Jensen's hand finds mine across the table and squeezes.
I used to think I was the one who fixed hearts.
Turns out, I just needed someone to fix mine first.
The End.