Epilogue
LINCOLN
For the first time in recent or even distant memory, all four of us Steele brothers were seated at a table in One Night Stan’s, off duty, during Trivia Night.
Tasha was running the hell out of this evening—she’d been running the hell out of this place, period.
And we… We were able to enjoy life outside this bar.
It was unsettling. Almost suspicious. Like peace and quiet were just lulling us into a false sense of security before something exploded.
Atlas had tugged Sutton’s chair so close to his, she might as well be in his lap.
Chloe actually was in Xander’s lap, stealing a fry from his plate.
My wife sat next to me with a soft smile on her face, her thigh warm and smooth under my hand, skin still smelling like honey from the…
product sampling…we’d done earlier today.
And Declan was smack-dab in the middle of three couples and trying hard to pretend like he wasn’t surrounded by nonstop PDA.
“Sounds like Steele and Bramble’s been busy,” Chloe said, a wide smile on her face.
Willa blew out a breath and leaned into my side. “It has been. More than I could’ve imagined. Thankfully, we’ve been able to hire enough staff to manage the growth well.”
“Lolo really loves working there,” Sutton said.
“You’d never know it with all the snark that pours out of Miss Sassy Pants,” I said with a grin.
“Oh, come on, Linc,” Sutton said. “You know snark is her love language.”
“She said she’s managing invoices now?” Atlas asked with a raised brow.
“Yeah. Told me she wanted to build her résumé for world domination.” Willa shrugged. “How could I say no to that?”
I took a sip of my beer. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen her smile as big as she did when I told her we could actually pay her now.”
Because, yeah—we’d gotten the grant. Obviously. With that interview we’d nailed, how could any other outcome have been possible?
But it turned out we hadn’t even needed it—a twist of fate I was incredibly grateful we hadn’t known at the beginning of all this. Otherwise, Willa wouldn’t be sitting here next to me with my ring on her finger, and I wouldn’t have tasted our latest honey flavors mixed with her skin mere hours ago.
My wife had finally taken my PowerPoint presentation to heart and asked how we got started.
That was when I’d tapped on my jam-addicted brother with former pro-football player millions who was all too ready and willing to write a fat-ass check that jump-started production for Steele & Bramble Artisanal Jams. And also gave him lifetime access to as many jars as he wanted—within reason, obviously. The man was an animal.
Declan had finalized the logo. Laurel had handled the branding and social media.
Chloe was working on local wholesale partnerships—starting, of course, with Wicked Little Things.
And Xander had agreed to pose with the jars while wearing his uniform for an ad campaign thought up by none other than my mom.
My family had shown up for Willa like she was already one of us. And she was. Woven so deep into my history, I could barely remember a time before her.
Even Beau had come around during his two week visit.
We didn’t talk about the exact details of Willa’s and my relationship—for everyone’s sanity.
But Willa had her twin back, I had my best friend back, and we’d done that all without any punches, passive-aggressive texts, or anyone threatening farm burial.
“Mabel was asking when we might get some new flavors of honey,” Chloe said, brow raised toward my wife.
Willa shifted in her seat, a blush staining her cheeks that made my dick twitch in my jeans. “Soon. We’re testing out new flavors now.”
And by testing, she meant I was spending hours drizzling them all over her body and licking them off.
Chloe grinned. “Good, keep me posted on production because the old woman’s ravenous for more stock.”
“I will,” Willa said with a nod, pressing her lips together to hide a smile that only I knew the reason for.
Goddamn, I loved this woman.
I leaned over and murmured against her ear, “If you keep looking like that, people are gonna figure out you let me eat those new flavors straight off your thighs this afternoon.”
She turned toward me, one brow raised. “Don’t play chicken with me, husband. You remember what happened last time you teased me in this place? I beat you at pool.”
My gaze dropped to her lips, recalling, in great detail, what had happened that night.
“Yeah, and then I fucked you in the alley,” I said, voice low and rough. “Seems like I was the real winner of that night, wife.”
“Wrong again,” she said, leaning in until we were nose to nose. “Two beats one, husband. And I definitely had two.”
Sutton leaned across the table toward us. “Are you two flirting or fighting?”
“Or on your way to fucking?” Chloe added.
“Yes,” Willa and I answered at the same time.
“Jesus Christ,” Declan muttered. “I’d kill for five fucking minutes that don’t involve front-row seats to any of your sex lives.”
“Ohhh,” Chloe said, elbowing him in the side. “Is that a cry for help, Dec?”
Declan slid his gaze to Chloe. “No, it’s a cry for maintaining my sanity. I don’t need to know what my brothers do in the bedroom.”
“Or maybe you just need to be preoccupied with your own bedroom activities,” Chloe shot back.
“We should set Dec up with someone for next week’s trivia night,” Sutton said, brow raised as she split a glance between Chloe and my wife.
Willa nodded. “Might be a good idea.”
“So you’re not so sad,” Xander said.
“And lonely,” Atlas continued.
“And desperate,” I finished.
“Fuck all of you,” Dec said. “I’m not—”
The front door slammed open hard enough to catch everyone’s attention, and in stalked Penelope.
The quiet, unassuming librarian was gone, and in her place was a cardigan-clad nightmare in glasses.
She stormed toward our table, her mouth pinched in a thin line, glare focused solely on my brother.
And not only was Declan not at all surprised by this ambush, but he looked like he’d been… expecting it?
“Holy shit…I’ve never seen Penelope mad,” Willa murmured. “She looks like she’s going to murder someone.”
“And I’m pretty sure that someone is Dec,” I said, eyes on the live drama unfolding in front of us.
“We are not doing this,” Penelope said, an accusing finger pointed at Declan.
Dec just leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. “Actually, we are. Gotta do things by the book. Didn’t think I’d have to remind you of that.”
I blinked at my brother before exchanging a glance with Xander and Atlas—all three of us silently broadcasting the same what the fuck expression. Because Declan hadn’t done anything by the book since he’d figured out how to escape his crib.
Atlas blew out a heavy sigh and pinned Dec with a look. “What the hell did you do now?”
“Nothing criminal,” Declan said evasively.
“Depends on who you ask,” Penelope snapped. “Because I’d say ruining my life is criminal.”
“If someone could fill us in, that’d be great,” Xander said, splitting a gaze between Declan—sitting in his chair, the picture of ease—and Penelope—looming over him, steam coming out of her ears.
She whirled to face us. “Oh, did your brother not tell you he got us hauled into the Court of Mabel like a pair of degenerates?”
We all exchanged looks of confusion. Good, so it wasn’t just me.
“The what now?” I asked.
“New civic initiative,” Declan said. “Mabel’s apparently deputized now.”
“Oh fuck,” I muttered. “Who the hell did that?”
“My bet’s on Luna,” Chloe said with a definitive nod. “That woman can talk her husband into anything.”
“Yeah, well, Mabel has a badge now. And thanks to Sheriff McKenzie deputizing the town troublemaker, I’m stuck with five hundred hours of community service,” Penelope said, her murderous eyes locked on Declan.
“Holy shit, five hundred?” Sutton asked.
Declan’s brow ticked up as he kept his gaze on Penelope, his expression unreadable. “Or…”
“Don’t you dare,” Penelope warned, voice low and lethal.
“Thirty days,” Declan said. “Living together. By order of Mabel.”
“Oh shit,” Chloe said. “She is such a fucking menace.”
Penelope glared at Declan. “This is not going to work.”
Declan shrugged. “It’s either that or five hundred hours and a blemish on your perfect record. You said it yourself—this was the lesser of two evils.”
Her mouth opened like she was going to argue. But instead, she just turned on her heel and stormed out the way she came. And the entire time, Declan watched her go, jaw tight, beer in hand.
The rest of us all sat in stunned silence. Then Declan took a slow sip of his beer like he hadn’t just turned Trivia Night into a live reenactment of the enemies-to-lovers I’d read last week.
I leaned back in my chair and whistled lowly. “Shit, man. Seems like you’re in trouble.”
“Not yet,” he said, his eyes still locked on the door. “But give it thirty days.”
Thank you for reading The Mr & Mrs Mistake!