Epilogue 2
Five Years Later
"Chief, we've got a situation."
I look up from the mountain of paperwork that seems to multiply every time I blink. Max stands in my doorway, his expression far too amused for a genuine emergency.
"What kind of situation?" I ask cautiously.
He grins. "Your wife just arrived. She's wearing that red dress."
*That* red dress. The one that made me forget my own name at his and Jennie's wedding three years ago. The one that resulted in us being twenty minutes late to the reception because I couldn't keep my hands off her in the coat check room.
"Tell me she's not in the common area," I groan, already standing and straightening my tie.
Max’s grin widens. "Full audience. Lewis is offering her coffee, and the new recruits look like they've seen a goddess descended from Mount Olympus."
"Which they have," I mutter, grabbing my jacket from the back of my chair. "Tell me you didn't let Brock see them gawking at his daughter."
"Former Chief Brock left ten minutes ago. Said he just wanted to check the recruits and to tell you he'll see you Sunday for the barbecue."
Small mercies. Brock may have happily given us his blessing five years ago and may have been the one who stood beside me when I promised to love his daughter for the rest of my life, but I still don't think he'd appreciate seeing the new recruits drooling over Ellie.
Even if it is entirely understandable.
"Thanks for the warning," I tell him, shrugging on my jacket.
"Consider it my anniversary gift to you," he replies with a wink. "Though I expect I'll still be invited to the party next month?"
"Wouldn't be the same without you," I assure him. Five years together, two years married, and Ellie still insists on celebrating our anniversaries with the entire crew. *They're family*, she always says. And she's right.
I make my way through the station toward the common area, nodding to firefighters who pass. After two years as Chief, I've settled into the role more comfortably than I expected. Brock's retirement left enormous shoes to fill, but with his constant mentorship and Ellie's unwavering support, I've managed to make the position my own.
The sound of Ellie's laughter reaches me before I turn the corner—warm, full-bodied, and achingly familiar. It still does something to my heart and cock, even after all this time.
And then I see her, and I gulp drily just like I did the first time.
She's perched on the edge of the common room table, red dress hugging every curve, dark hair falling in loose waves past her shoulders. She's laughing at something Lewis has said, her head tilted back slightly, exposing the elegant line of her neck. The sunlight streaming through the windows catches the diamond studs in her ears—my gift for our first anniversary.
She looks up, spots me, and her entire face transforms with a smile that's reserved just for me.
"There he is," she says, her voice carrying easily across the room. "The man who's making me late for our own anniversary dinner."
"I've got twenty minutes before I'm officially late," I counter, crossing to her side and pressing a quick kiss to her cheek. Professional boundaries and all that. Though the scent of her perfume—citrus and vanilla, unchanged after all these years—makes me want to drag her into my office and lock the door.
"Twenty minutes by whose watch?" she challenges, dark eyes sparkling with mischief. "Because I distinctly remember someone promising me the best table at Salvatore's at seven sharp."
"And we'll have it," I assure her, checking my watch. "If we leave now."
Ellie slides off the table, smoothing her dress. "Then what are we waiting for, Chief Walker?"
The way she says my title—half teasing, half genuine respect—never fails to send a thrill through me. Five years together, and she still manages to surprise me, challenge me, make me feel more alive than I ever thought possible.
"Nothing at all, Dr. Walker," I reply, matching her formal tone with a hint of the playfulness she brings out in me.
We make our goodbyes to the crew, enduring the usual good-natured ribbing about "behaving ourselves" and "not doing anything they wouldn't do" (a list so short as to be virtually meaningless, given some of their antics).
"Give Evelyn my love," Ellie tells Ollis as we head out. "Tell her I'll see her Monday to go over the insurance paperwork for the clinic expansion."
Ollis nods. "Will do. She's been neck-deep in client files all week preparing for her vacation days."
Ellie and Evelyn's psychology practice, which opened two years ago, has experienced significant growth over the past year, expanding from a modest two-room office to a full clinic with three additional therapists and a specialized program for first responders with PTSD. Their unique approach, combining Ellie's focus on trauma recovery with Evelyn's expertise in cognitive techniques, has made them the go-to mental health resource in Cedar Falls and beyond.
I guide Ellie toward my truck with a hand at my back, aware of every eye following our departure. Not that I can blame them. My wife is stunning on an ordinary day; in that red dress, she's absolutely breathtaking.
"You did this on purpose," I accuse as I help her into the passenger seat, keeping my voice low.
"Did what?" she asks innocently, though the gleam in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what I mean.
"Wore this dress. Came to the station instead of meeting me at home." I close her door, circle around to the driver's side, and slide in beside her. "You enjoy torturing me."
She laughs, reaching over to straighten my tie. "Maybe I just wanted to give you a preview of what you're going home to later tonight."
Even after five years, her directness can still make my blood run hot.
"You're playing with fire, Dr. Walker."
"Good thing I married a firefighter, then," she retorts with a grin.
The drive to Salvatore's takes exactly twelve minutes—just enough time for Ellie to fill me in on her day at the clinic (a breakthrough with a veteran patient, a scheduling conflict with the new office manager) and for me to tell her about the training exercise that almost went sideways when one of the recruits forgot to secure the main water line.
This is what I love most about us—the easy conversation, the genuine interest in each other's days, the comfortable silences in between. We've built a partnership on mutual respect and understanding, one where neither of us tries to change the other but where we both become better versions of ourselves together.
Salvatore's is the nicest restaurant in Cedar Falls, an upscale Italian place with white tablecloths and actual candles on the tables. It's where I took Ellie on our first official date, after we'd finally come clean to Brock about our relationship. It's where I proposed two years later, so nervous I almost dropped the ring into her tiramisu. And it's where we return every year on our anniversary, marking the passage of time between shared meals and memories.
"Ah, the Walkers!" Salvatore himself greets us at the door, his Italian accent still thick after thirty years in Cedar Falls. "My favorite couple! Your table is ready, of course."
He leads us to "our" table in the back corner, private but with a view of the entire restaurant. A bottle of champagne already waits in an ice bucket—Salvatore's gift to us every year.
"Five years, eh?" he says, pulling out Ellie's chair for her. "It seems like yesterday I was helping this nervous man plan the perfect proposal."
Ellie's eyes soften as she looks at me. "He did a pretty good job."
"You said yes," I remind her. "That's all that matters."
Salvatore beams at us. "I'll send Marco with your appetizers. The usual, yes?"
We nod, and he bustles away, leaving us alone in our little corner of the restaurant.
I reach across the table for Ellie's hand, running my thumb across her knuckles, pausing at the platinum band on her ring finger. Sometimes it still feels surreal—that she chose me, that we built this life together.
"What are you thinking about?" she asks, her head tilted in that way that always makes me want to kiss her.
"How lucky I am," I admit. "Five years ago, I was terrified to tell your father about us. Now I can't imagine my life any other way."
Her smile softens. "Remember how nervous you were? You practiced your speech for hours."
"And then he already knew," I chuckle at the memory. "I should have given him more credit."
"Dad always sees more than people think," Ellie agrees. "Like how he knew you'd make an excellent Chief long before you believed it yourself."
I squeeze her hand gently. "I had good teachers. Your father. You."
She raises an eyebrow. "Me?"
"You taught me that letting people in doesn't make you weak," I say simply. "That vulnerability takes more courage than running into burning buildings."
Her eyes shine in the candlelight, and I know I've touched her with my honesty. Five years together, and she still looks at me like I'm the best thing that's ever happened to her—when I know with absolute certainty that she's the best thing that's ever happened to me.
"I have something for you," I say, reaching into my jacket pocket. "I know we said no gifts this year, but..."
I pull out a small velvet pouch and place it in her palm. She looks at me with an eyebrow arched before loosening the drawstring and tipping the contents into her hand.
It's a key. Simple, brass, ordinary in every way except for what it represents.
"Grant?" she questions, turning it over in her fingers.
"It's for the cabin," I explain. "At Cedar Lake. The sale went through this morning."
Her eyes widen. "You bought it? The one with the dock and the big windows?"
I nod, warmth spreading through my chest at her reaction. We've been talking about a getaway place for months—somewhere to escape on weekends, somewhere private, just for us.
"It needs work," I caution. "The deck is unstable, the kitchen's straight out of 1975, and there's a suspicious stain on the living room ceiling."
"It's perfect," she breathes, closing her fingers around the key. "When can we see it?"
"Tomorrow, if you want. It's now ours."
Ours. The word still sends a thrill through me, even after five years of sharing my life with her. My wife. My partner. My home.
Ellie leans across the table, closing the distance between us.
"I love you, Grant Walker," she whispers just before her lips meet mine in a kiss that tastes like promises kept and adventures still to come.
"I love you too," I murmur against her mouth, not caring who might be watching. "Always have. Always will."
As we settle back to the menus we've practically memorized, I take in the sight of her—this remarkable woman who saw past my defenses, who chose me despite every complication, who continues to choose me every day.
Five years ago, I thought I was risking everything by loving her. Now I know the truth: the only real risk would have been letting her go.
Thank you for reading it!