Epilogue
BLAKE
ONE MONTH LATER
“Go, go, go!” I yell from the sidelines as the last of Cal’s team crosses the finish line.
Cal jumps up and down, stopwatch and clipboard in hand as he congratulates them, mumbling things I can’t hear.
They’re tired but their smiles are bright as I hustle toward them with the cooler I’ve stocked with cold water, electrolyte drinks, cut oranges, and an assortment of granola bars.
Somehow, I became the team dad and I don’t hate it. The kids are great and I love how passionate Cal is about encouraging and supporting each kid. They’re a family and I’m honored to be a part of it even if it’s just to deliver snacks.
“Yes!” Robbie yells, whooping and pumping his fist in the air. “New PR!” Cal high-fives him before he races over to rummage through the cooler. “Mr. Reynolds, did you see that? I beat my PR by three seconds!”
“That’s awesome. I feel like you have a new one every time you race.”
He beams. “I know. I’ve been working hard and the team is cool this year.” He shrugs his shoulder like it’s no big deal, but I can see the relief in the way his whole body relaxes. Cal has truly created something special for these kids and not just in running but in life.
“You’re doing great.”
“Thanks. Mr. Spence said he’s gonna make a running club when the season is over— keep us together, you know?”
“I think it’s a great idea.”
Robbie smiles again and holds up the drink. “Thanks again, Mr. Reynolds!” he yells as he runs over to his mom on the other side of the finish line.
“From corner office to concession stand…” Cal teases as he saunters over, a flirty smile on his lips as he holds his clipboard to his chest.
“I think I fill this role quite well.”
“You can fill something else later,” he whispers low enough so only I can hear, causing me to bark out a laugh and shake my head.
“Behave.”
“I am. And look,”—he motions toward the kids—“they all did so great today that it’s definitely cause for celebration.”
“I’ll keep it in mind.”
“Robbie’s mom said the moms are all handling the desserts for the team dinner next week.”
“But—”
“I know. We’ll host something and you can make your little cheesecake things so guests can actually appreciate your culinary prowess.” He thumbs over his shoulder toward the boys as I pout. “The teenage vacuums will not notice the subtle hint of vanilla and citrus you’re so keen on perfecting.”
“I can’t tell if you’re making fun of me or not.”
“I’m just saying that the moms want to help, so you’re going to let them make cookies and cupcakes and whatever else they want to do.”
“Fine.”
“Your enthusiasm is noted and appreciated.”
“Remind me of that later.”
“I plan on it.”
CAL
The room is dark as I roll over and stretch against Blake’s side, light from the moon casting shadows on the walls and I feel inspired.
In the month since Blake and I officially moved in together, I haven’t painted. At first it was because I couldn’t keep my hands off him and my thoughts were otherwise occupied, but then it was because I didn’t need the escape.
I showed him my studio and the painting I’d done of him, and told him the story about when I’d met Mr. Pace at the library and the way he showed me a whole new world I’d never known existed.
Blake listened with a smile playing on his lips, his affection for me fond and uninhibited. And it felt so good to relish in that for a while.
No pressure, just us.
But now I can’t ignore the way my creativity hums through me, forcing me to ease out of bed and grab my boxers from the floor.
Silently, I make my way out of the room and down the stairs, my studio open unless we’re expecting someone. VinCo is still a secret, just not from Blake.
Instead of turning on the light, I open the curtains wide to let in the moonlight, selecting a long rectangular canvas and placing it on the easel. I can already see it in my mind, heavy lines and featherlike shading in black and white and gray.
It’s sensual.
Erotic.
A passionate dance as our bodies intertwined while we made love in the hotel room after the gala.
It’s going to be perfect.
“I can practically hear you thinking,” Blake murmurs from the doorway, and I smile over my shoulder as I let my gaze drag down his body.
“This one will be for our private collection.”
His lips twitch as he pushes himself upright, his body distracting me with only a loose pair of pajama pants hanging low on his hips.
God, he’s delicious.
Dipping his head, he brushes his lips over mine in a teasing caress before gripping the back of my neck and plundering my mouth with his tongue. I love when he’s like this, the delicate balance of soft and possessive that leaves me breathless and hard and dizzy with want.
I’m obsessed.
And he knows it.
“Should I put the coffee pot on?” he murmurs, licking along my bottom lip as I try to slow my breathing.
“That might be nice,” I manage and he grins, releasing me and turning back to head toward the kitchen.
Instead of distracting me, his interruption has only fueled my inspiration, the gentle hum now a tsunami as I select a brush and add my paint to the palette.
The first stroke is reckless.
Bold.
And exactly the way it was meant to be.
The way we were always meant to be.
THE END
Thank you so much for reading Cal and Blake’s story!