Epilogue
ALLY
T ypically, the Thirsty Lizard was no place for a baby. But Sierra and Travis’s four-month-old infant was part of the family. So here we sat, in Rosewood Ridge’s only bar, enjoying our non-alcoholic drinks while our friends partied it up with beers and cocktails.
There was a reason I wasn’t drinking tonight. A baby was brewing in my belly. And beside me, my new best friend Gwendolyn sat with her own gigantic belly. My pregnancy was brand new. Nobody even knew about it but me and Luke. But Gwendolyn would be giving birth any minute.
We’d tried to time our pregnancies, but Luke and I had been so busy with our careers, Gwendolyn and Julian had pulled ahead of us.
“This is so exciting,” my friend Montana said. She was on the other side of me, sipping a glass of water. “I can’t believe we’re getting our own private concert.”
I smiled. “And we get to hear his new song before anyone.”
Well, I’d heard it. I was around while he was writing it. But this was his first public performance of it.
“We should have a big fan event at the retreat center,” Zack said. He was seated across from me, next to his wife, Ashlynn, who owned the retreat center. “It would be like one of those fan cruises.”
“But not on a boat,” Travis said.
“It would make great copy for the newsletter,” I said.
Montana laughed. “Always thinking of that newsletter.”
That was my job now. I helped with the marketing and publicity for the retreat center. That included the quarterly newsletter that highlighted all the stuff we were doing.
“He’s here,” Rowe announced.
I flipped around to see my husband entering, guitar case in hand. I immediately burst into a smile. Then I shoved my chair back and stood.
Our friend group cheered as Luke strode toward me and wrapped his free arm around me, tipping me over for a passionate kiss.
Three days. That was how long Luke had been in Nashville, recording an album for his new record label. All the insanity from before melted away once the news broke that he’d gotten married. Or maybe it was just that the media moved on to the next scandal while Luke and I stayed quiet and hidden.
“Music! Music! Music!”
Our friends cheered behind us, abruptly interrupting the kiss. My husband gently returned me to a standing position, glancing around the packed back room at the Thirsty Lizard. Among our friends were a few members from the Rosewood Ridge Riders, the motorcycle club that played against our guys in football every summer. Julian finally talked Luke into joining the team, but this upcoming summer might be his last season for a while since touring was sure to occupy his summers once his album was out.
He approached the stage, which was essentially a cleared-out area at the front of the room with a microphone. He didn’t require any speakers for the smaller crowd gathered here.
I settled in between Gwendolyn and Montana, sliding my chair as close as possible to the table. I looked forward to the day when my baby bump would be so prominent that reaching for my glass of decaffeinated sweet tea would become a challenge.
“As you all know, a very special woman came into my life a year and a half ago,” Luke began as he took a seat on the stool, propping his guitar on his leg. “I’m going to kick off with a song I wrote for her.”
“Just one song?” Rowe remarked.
Those of us who overheard Rowe’s comment laughed. Yeah, Luke had written quite a few songs about our romance, each more touching than the last.
As Luke started singing, others lifted their phones and shot video to share on their socials. Not me, though. I didn’t maintain a social media presence anymore. When I posted, it was solely on behalf of the Rosewood Ridge Retreat Center, and I didn’t want credit for that.
That was nothing new. As a journalist, being credited had never appealed to me. I didn’t want the spotlight on myself. I simply enjoyed sharing information with the world.
Luke felt the same. He was a private person. His social media manager handled his posts. Occasionally, I’d be asked to snap some behind-the-scenes pictures if he was working, but I’d always send those directly to the woman in Nashville who managed his social media presence.
I agreed with Luke. His music and the meet-and-greets after shows were public domain. Our personal life was ours, and we intended to be even more protective of it once our little one arrived.
“Oh my gosh, I can’t imagine having someone write a song about me,” Montana said after Luke finished a love ballad he’d penned about our first meeting.
That particular song portrayed our bumpy start, and how he’d known from the beginning that I was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The song even addressed the rumors and bad press, focusing solely on not knowing what a good relationship was until experiencing it firsthand. Most everyone I knew could relate to that.
As my eyes met my husband’s, my heart fluttered. Some things truly never got old. Having songs written about me was just one of those things. The way my heart raced every time I looked at him, the warmth that spread through my body as his arms enveloped me, and how he made me feel desired in the bedroom—all of those things added extra meaning to my life.
And it was only getting better with each passing day.
A runaway bride hides out with a mountain man in Escaping with the Mountain Man . Turn the page to read the next book.