Epilogue
Morning in Poulsbo is quiet.
Water brushes the rocks below the bluff in a slow, steady rhythm. A gull crosses the pale sky beyond the window, its call drifting over the trees. The air carries a faint mix of salt and cedar.
I wake before Sky.
No alarm. Habit. My eyes open and settle on the woman beside me.
Sky sleeps curled against my side, one arm stretched across my ribs as if she fell asleep mid-sentence. Dark hair spills across the pillow in loose waves. Ever-present purple streak exactly where it belongs. The blanket has slipped low around her waist, revealing the gentle curve of her stomach.
Six months. My son growing inside her.
I roll onto my side, propping my head on my hand to study her while she sleeps. Her breathing stays slow and even. One of her feet rests against my calf.
A year ago my life was hotel suites and airplane cabins.
Now it’s our cedar house on a hill overlooking an inlet on Puget Sound. A wide porch. Kitchen table permanently cluttered with notebooks, business plans, and whatever wild idea we’re discussing the week. The beginnings of a nursery.
Sky stirs. Her fingers stiffen along my ribs before her eyes open halfway.
She blinks at me, still wrapped in sleep. She edges closer, resting her cheek on my chest. “You’re awake.”
“Been watching you sleep.” I smooth the hair away from her face.
A small smile curves across her mouth.
“Romantic.” Her hand drifts down to her stomach automatically, palm resting there with easy familiarity. The sleep shirt she slept in rides up, leaving a small strip of skin exposed.
I slide my hand across the sheet and cover hers. Movement answers beneath my palm.
Sky inhales softly. “There.”
“He’s kicking.” My son moves against my hand.
She nods slowly, still smiling. “He’s saying good morning, Daddy.”
My thumb moves gently across the curve of her stomach. Another small kick follows, stronger this time.
“Feisty.” A laugh escapes me.
Sky replies, pushing herself upright, “Your genetics.”
The blanket shifts down as she moves, revealing the full curve of her belly.
Pride flickers across her face when she catches me looking. “You love this.”
I kiss her warm skin. “Every second.”
“You’re going to be such a good dad.” Sky runs her fingers through my hair in slow strokes.
“I’m practicing.”
She laughs softly and swings her legs off the bed. The top falls loosely over her hips as she stands and stretches carefully. She goes to the window and pushes it open wider. Fresh air drifts inside.
“Doctor today,” she glances over, “and the brewery meeting.”
I nod. “We should leave by ten thirty.”
Two women want to open a craft brewery down the road. Banks passed. We didn’t. Turns out helping people build something meaningful is way better than chasing the next acquisition.
“You’re really going to fund a brewery.”
“Possibly.”
Her smile grows. “Poulsbo suits you.”
“It suits us.” I reach over and lace my fingers through hers.
Her thumb moves slowly across my hand. Silence settles between us, easy and familiar.
Five months ago we stood in a neon chapel in Vegas laughing while an Elvis impersonator declared us husband and wife.
Three weeks later Sky walked out of her law firm with a cardboard box and the calm certainty of a woman choosing a different life.
Six weeks later, we heard our son’s heartbeat for the first time.
Everything changed.
We’re living our best life.
Sky rotates in her chair and pulls my hand back to her stomach. Another small kick answers.
Her eyes meet mine. “He’s awake again.”
I caress her belly. Fluttery movement causes a slow grin to spread across my face.
Sky giggles. “You’re completely gone.”
“I’ve been gone for years.”
Outside the window the water moves in quiet silver lines across the inlet.
Sky squeezes my hand once.
Together, the road ahead is simple.
Inevitable.
Thank you for reading Red Eye Rendezvous.