Epilogue
Callie
The brush glides over the wall in a wide arc, sage green softening the old farmhouse drywall, still patchy with spackle in some corners. I tuck a coppery strand of hair behind my ear, squinting at the uneven edge near the window trim.
“Dammit,” I mutter under my breath, leaning closer to fix it.
Somewhere in the background, the screen door creaks open, followed by the sound of boots on hardwood.
“You missed a spot.” Colt’s voice is a teasing, low drawl from the hallway. I don’t turn. I don’t have to. I can feel his grin.
“Unless you’re volunteering,” I say, “maybe keep that brilliant commentary to yourself, cowboy.”
I hear him move closer. Feel him, even before I catch his reflection in the window, arms crossed, T-shirt damp with sweat. His hat’s off, hair a mess. “I’d volunteer,” he says, voice lower now, “but I’m enjoying the view.”
I finally turn. That’s when he sees it.
The thick swipe of green paint streaked along my bare shoulder.
I follow his gaze, groaning. “Don’t start.”
“You look like a forest sprite,” Colt says solemnly. “A very sexy, mildly unhinged forest sprite.”
“I swear to God,” I warn, raising the brush like a weapon, “if you make another joke?—”
Too late.
He crosses the room in two long strides and grabs my waist, hauling me in like he’s got every right. Like I’m his home base.
“You gonna threaten me with that brush?” he murmurs against my cheek.
I nod.
He kisses me anyway.
Colt’s mouth brushes mine, warm and easy, in no hurry until a sudden sharp whistle cuts through the air.
We both turn.
Maverick stands in the doorway, arms crossed, eyebrows raised, wearing that exasperated half smile.
“I leave you two alone for five minutes,” he says, “and you’re already making out?”
“She started it,” Colt says without missing a beat, arms still looped around my waist.
I jab my elbow into his ribs. “You’re the one ogling me like I’m some kind of mural.”
Maverick steps closer, eyeing the paint on my skin, grinning as he inspects me. “You’ve got paint on your neck, your arm, and somehow”—his fingers swipe down to my thigh—“your jeans.”
“Unreal,” I say, voice dry. “I’m being hazed by the tidy one.”
“Not hazing,” Maverick says, dipping the corner of a cloth into the water cup on the side table, “just trying to keep my girl from blending into the walls.”
He slides it over my shoulder, his fingers lingering, and my breath stutters under his touch.
Colt lets out a long, satisfied sigh from behind me. “This is the kind of teamwork I was promised when we moved in together.”
Maverick stands again, gaze flicking between us. “We should all stop flirting and finish this damn room before nightfall.”
Colt presses his face into my neck, pretending to groan in agony. “You got it, boss.”
“You’ll thank me when we’re not tripping over paint cans in the dark,” Mav mutters.
I lean back into Colt and smile over my shoulder at Maverick. “You love us messy.”
He doesn’t argue. Just picks up a roller, dips it, and starts on the opposite wall like he has more than one reason to rush to get done.
Colt nudges me toward the tray. “Come on, Sunshine. Before he paints this whole house without us.”
Maverick
Steam curls in the air, softening the edges of everything. Callie laughs as Colt yelps, water bouncing off her hands where she’s just flicked it at him. There’s paint smudged on her neck, a soft sage streak we didn’t quite manage to scrub off. I reach over and swipe it with my thumb, but all I do is smear it further.
“You are ridiculously bad at painting,” Colt mutters, but his eyes are lit with the kind of fondness I used to think was reserved for fairy tales.
She nudges him with her hip. “You love me.”
“Unfortunately,” he deadpans, then grins when she shoves him again. It’s light, easy, familiar in a way that hits me straight in the chest.
I watch them for a beat. His hand on her waist, her body melting into him without a second thought, and something in me exhales. I’ve loved them both for years, but this… this is more than I ever thought I’d get.
Their laughter fades when they turn to look at me. My breath catches.
Callie’s cheeks are flushed from the heat, hair slicked back, eyes bright with that wild spark I can never resist. Colt stands behind her, one arm still around her waist, water running down his chest, catching in the valleys of muscle and scar. They’re both so fucking beautiful it almost hurts to look.
They’re mine.
“Are you going to come over here or just stand there looking like you forgot how to breathe?” Colt teases.
I step forward, the tile warm beneath my feet, and slide my hands around them both, one at her back, the other curling around Colt’s neck. Their bodies press into mine like puzzle pieces. It’s easy. Right.
“I’m just…” My voice comes out rough, and I shake my head. “I’m really fucking happy.”
Callie’s face softens. She leans up and kisses my jaw. “We’re happy too.”
Colt tilts his head, brushing his lips against mine. “Even if we are stuck painting for the next week.”
“I’ll paint for a month if it means I get to come home to this.”
Water patters around us, a quiet rhythm as our mouths find each other in turns. Callie’s lips, then Colt’s, then both of them pressing kisses to my jaw, my shoulder, my chest.
The air is thick with heat and citrus-scented soap, but all I feel is the weight of them against me. Warm and safe. Real.
My hands slide over Callie’s hips, tugging her closer, and Colt’s fingers tangle with mine where they rest on her skin.
I don’t need to say it out loud. They already know.
This is everything.
And it’s ours.
The End
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