Epilogue
BONES
ONE YEAR LATER
A year ago, if someone told me I’d be parked outside a fancy restaurant with a reservation in my name, I’d have thought they’d lost their goddamn mind.
But here I am, holding the passenger door open, watching my wife try to wiggle her eight-month pregnant ass out the seat without flashing the entire valet stand.
Fuck that. If one of those fuckers even gets a peek at her lusciousness, I’ll have to kick their ass.
“Let me help you, sweetheart.” I place a soft kiss on her cheek as I lift her out and set her on her feet.
Eden glares at me, but it’s all for show. Underneath, I can see the way her lips fight to twitch up at the corners. “I can still get out of a vehicle, you know. Pregnancy isn’t a disability.”
“I know that,” I mutter quickly before the pregnancy hormones can kick in and bring the waterworks, “but it’s my job to help you with it.
” I reach out, palm her elbow, and guide her upright.
She’s rounder than ever, belly pressed tight against the stretched fabric of her sundress, but she moves with a stubborn grace that makes my fucking heart melt.
She slips her soft hand into mine, then flips her hair and squares her shoulders at the mirrored wall of the bistro. “I’ve been dying to try this place.”
I can’t help but smile. Jesus, she’s beautiful. The sunlight turns her hair to flame, and every new curve she’s carrying for the baby just makes me want to drag her back to the truck and explore every inch. Instead, I tuck her close to my side and steer us through the double doors.
Inside is the kind of place that makes my skin crawl.
Polished floors, too many forks, soft jazz humming under the white noise of people who think their opinions are the most important.
A host in a goofy vest gives me the once-over and tries to hide his sneer when he lands on my tattoos.
He glances at Eden, and I see his eyes catch on her belly and her left hand, where my ring glints like a warning.
He masks the judgment quick, flipping a menu and ushering us toward a corner booth.
Eden takes her time sliding into the leather seat, and I wedge myself in across from her. She’s radiant. I hate that word, but it fits. Her skin’s gone all golden from the pregnancy, and her eyes are sharp and sly as always.
She drops the menu after about half a second, so I know Eden already scoped out every option online yesterday.
She’s ready to cut through the bullshit, but the place is slow service and soft jazz, so our lunch should last long enough for the guys to finish decorating the garage.
That’s the whole reason for this mid-week fancy lunch with my wife.
I’m keeping her occupied away from the Boneyard while they get the garage ready for her surprise baby shower.
Our waitress appears with a fake-ass smile plastered on, voice all chirpy. “Welcome to Zephyr Table, can I start you off with flavored waters, or maybe a mocktail for the mom-to-be?” Her eyes dart to Eden’s belly, then to my inked knuckles, and I ignore the judgement flowing from her.
Eden’s got this. She flashes that polite customer service smile.
“I’ll try the ginger lime water.” Her voice is all velvet and steel, just the way I like it.
“And I want to try the Pastrami on rye, sweet potato fries. And extra, extra pickles on the side.” I love that my wife doesn’t bother with all the typical wait around bullshit.
I don’t bother with it either. “I’ll have regular old water. And a steak sandwich, rare, fries extra crispy.” I glare up at the waitress as she types it into a cell phone before scurrying off.
I pull my phone out and check the screen. No new messages so I shoot a quick text to Diesel.
Me
How’s it going?
The waitress places our drinks on the table, mumbling something about our food coming soon and slips away.
“Checking in on your boyfriend?” Eden teases as I slip my phone back in my pocket.
“He’s technically my work wife, but I figured he’d need a reminder to not set the place on fire while we’re gone.” I can’t keep the nervous edge out of my voice.
She narrows her eyes. “You’re fidgeting,” she says, which is the understatement of the year. My hands haven’t been still since I woke up this morning.
I shift in the seat, glancing around the dark restaurant, then back to my wife. “Not fidgeting. Just hungry.” I hold her gaze, willing her to buy it, but of course she doesn’t.
She raises one eyebrow, like a judge preparing to deliver a sentence. “You hate fancy restaurants.”
“But you love them,” I say, “so I put up with them for you.”
She softens a little, and I catch the glint of tears before she blinks them away. “God, you’re such a sap. But I love you.” God. I’ll never get tired of those words coming from her mouth.
I lift her hand to my lips and place a kiss across her knuckles.
“I love you, too, sweetheart. You’re my everything,” I tell her, and I mean it so hard I can feel it in my bones.
“And this?” I rest my hand over hers on the table, my thumb brushing the inside of her wrist, right where her pulse beats fast. “This is the only thing I want.”
Eden sips her fancy water, then glances at me sideways. “You sure you’re okay? You’ve been weird all day. And not your usual flavor of weird.”
“I’m fine,” I say, but it’s a lie. I’m on edge, hoping the guys pull off this surprise for my wife. She deserves a fancy shower.
The waitress chooses that exact moment to bring our food. My wife’s eyes light up as she stares down at her sandwich.
That’s one thing I’ve learned over the last eight months—never get between a pregnant woman and her food.
We eat in silence for a minute. Damn. This isn’t half bad. In fact, it’s pretty fucking good.
Halfway through, Eden starts in on the nursery plans. “I’m thinking we paint the wall behind the crib sage green. Not too babyish, but still soft. You can put up those shelves for the books and the little plant I got last week.”
“Done,” I say. “Easy.”
She lifts her fork and points it at me. “Don’t say it’s easy until you actually do it. Remember what happened last time you tried to put up shelves?”
“I put up three,” I remind her. “Only two fell down.”
She laughs, head thrown back, and my heart actually skips. It’s a sound I never thought I’d hear in my own house, in my own life. But here it is, and I’ll tear apart heaven and earth to make sure I never lose it.
We eat. I check my phone again, this time under the table. Still no word from Diesel. The bastard better be on top of things, or I’m going to kick his ass.
Eden wipes her mouth with a napkin, then sighs. “After this, I want to swing by the shop on our way home. I left a few invoices on the desk, and if I don’t handle them today, they’ll breed like rabbits over the weekend.”
Since pregnancy is slowing her down a little, she’s only been working three days a week at the garage. Although I miss her like crazy, I know it’s best for her and our little one.
Panic grips me. Those assholes haven’t texted to let me know everything is ready. If we get there too early, the whole thing will go to shit. I scramble for a reason to stall. “Let’s get dessert,” I say, grabbing the menu and waving it like a flag.
She looks at me like I’ve just confessed to murder. “Dessert? You don’t eat sweets.”
“It’s a special occasion,” I insist, inventing as I go. “We made it through another week. You deserve to be spoiled.”
She rolls her eyes but clearly likes the idea. “Fine. But you’re eating at least half.”
“Deal.”
I flag the waitress, order the Tiramisu, then check my phone again. Still nothing. I type out a quick “Are you almost fucking done?” text to Diesel and hit send.
Eden narrows her eyes. “You’re texting Diesel again.”
“You know they can’t survive the day without supervision,” I mutter.
She shakes her head, but I see the way her lips curve up. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re up to something.”
I lift my chin. “Pregnancy hormones are fucking with you again.” I blame the one thing she can’t deny.
The dessert arrives. I’ve never seen cake look this fancy.
The waitress sets down this rectangle of tiramisu, dusted top to bottom in cocoa powder.
Eden stares at it like she’s found the Holy Grail.
Her fork’s already in her hand. I don’t even get a second to crack a joke before she drags the tines through all those perfect layers and shoves a bite in her mouth.
Her eyes go wide. She groans, low and filthy, like I’ve just gone down on her under the table. Fuck me, it’s hot. My cock twitches at the sound. I’m fucking addicted to watching this woman eat.
“Holy shit,” she moans, mouth full. “This is so good. You have to try it.”
I grab my fork and take a bite. Damn. It’s creamy and rich, coffee and chocolate and some other shit I can’t identify. I don’t give a fuck about dessert, but this is actually decent. Good enough to order again, if only to watch Eden lose her mind over it.
“You like it?” she asks, lips already stained with chocolate.
“It isn’t bad,” I grunt, shoving another bite into my mouth because I don’t want to admit my pregnant wife is right.
When she glances over at me and grins, the whole world shrinks down to just us. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt this happy. Not in my whole goddamn life.
My phone buzzes. I check it under the table. Diesel’s sent a thumbs-up and a GIF of a dude tap dancing in place. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I signal over the waitress and hand her my credit card without even looking at the bill.
Eden finishes her cake, dabs her lips with the napkin. “Ready?” she asks, but her eyes say she already knows the answer.
“Always,” I say as I stand up and help her out of the booth.