Epilogue
LUKE
August
“Where are you taking me? I was supposed to be at a Hook-Up twenty minutes ago,” I said, hoping Webb didn’t accidentally walk me into a tree branch.
“Surely there must be a better term for your knitting club meetings,” he sighed. “And no, I already told Phillip you were missing it because you had plans. With your husband.”
I grinned under my blindfold.
If you had told me six months ago, when Webb and I first blew the unity bugle, that Webb Sunday would one day refer to me as his husband, I’d have assumed you, too, had partaken of one too many Rusty Spikes, because such a thing could never happen.
Even if you’d told me back in April, on the day Webb and I officially pledged ourselves as husbands to one another in front of the whole town, I wouldn’t have believed the man who hated relationships could be so damn comfortable with the word.
But four months had passed since that day. Four chaotic, heart-squeezingly wonderful months. And now I knew better.
Because over those four months, I’d sat many a night in a chilly hockey arena, cheering myself hoarse, screaming, “Two hands on the stick, Aiden!” and “Hey! Dirty hit, ref!” while Webb told the other parents, “What can you do? My husband is kind of a hockey fanatic, especially when our kid’s in the playoffs. ”
Over those four months, Webb had proudly bragged to every tourist who came through Sunday Orchard—and there was a metric ton of them after Hand-Fast Watch went viral on YouTube, much to Ernie York’s delight—that all the hand-woven textiles in the gift shop were his husband’s designs.
Over those four months, my mom and Sue had simply extended their visit longer and longer until they were officially living in the fixed-up farmhouse, helping me with plans for the Hollow Fiber Arts Center that I hoped to get off the ground the following year, and Webb introduced them to everyone he knew as “the women who helped make my husband so amazing.”
And over those four months, every time Aiden’s new collie puppy, Black Bear, sat on my lap while I read a chapter book to Aiden—even when she grew way, way too big to fit there—Webb would turn to Amanda, who was at our house more often than not these days, and say, “That’s my husband,” in this tone of quiet satisfaction that made it clear he wouldn’t have done a dang thing differently, even down to the bugles and the commemorative scrolls… and she’d smile and say, “I know.”
“Okay, now. You can take off your blindfold.”
I pulled off the bandana and blinked at the late-summer sun streaming through the full branches of the nearest apple trees.
“We’re in the orchard,” I said, stating the obvious.
“Yes,” Webb said excitedly. “But not just any orchard. The Pond Orchard. Our orchard.”
I got the feeling he was trying to make a big sentimental point about how it had been the contentious disagreement about this parcel of land that had brought us together, but… it hadn’t been. Not really. Not any more than the Rusty Spikes or the Unity Bugle had.
Webb Sunday and I had been meant for each other all along. It had just taken us a little while to figure it out.
“So it is,” I agreed. “Oooh! Did you bring me up here to see the Black Oxford?” I gestured toward the nearby dwarf tree.
Since Webb’s favorite activity—well, his favorite family-friendly activity—was walking the trees with me and Aiden, it was safe to say I was becoming as much of a tree expert as Aiden was.
“I know you were worried about the leaf spots, baby, but it looks like it’s really improv—ooof! ”
“I did not bring you up here to talk about leaf spots.” Webb hauled me over to stand against one of his prized Gravensteins. Then he stood back, pulled something from his back pocket, and cleared his throat.
“Oh my God. Tell me that isn’t a historical scroll,” I said with a laugh. “I thought you were allergic.”
“Hey. We’re about to have a very sentimental moment here, okay?” He pressed a firm kiss to my lips, which was enough to get me to stop laughing… at least temporarily.
Then he unrolled the scroll and began to read.
“At a private affembly… I mean, assembly, held at the parcel of land borderethed on one side by a natural waterway of some notability and on another by a stone wall commemorating the Great Spongy Moth Plague, on this the twenty-fourth day of August, be it here Enacted that Partners who are hereby enjoined together in Matrimony, be it through Historical Handfasting or—”
I couldn’t hold back my laugh. “I get it. We’re married. It seems to be something you enjoy reminding people of.” And something I’d never get tired of hearing.
Webb’s answering smile was so sexy, it made me want to jump his bones. I looked around. We were actually plenty far away from both farmhouses. The Sundays wouldn’t be able to see us from the Sunday side, and Aunt Susan and my mom wouldn’t be able to see us from the Williams side.
“Hush, baby,” he warned, leaning over to drop another quick kiss on my lips. “This is important. And if you were married to someone as sexy and kind as my husband, you’d want everyone to know, too. Now, where was I? Ahem… Be it through Historical handfasting or one of those Quickie Vegas Deals—”
“It does not say that.”
“It does! Let’s see… blabity-blah about commingled family members and such…
okay, this is the important part. Let it be Known that Thomas Webb Sunday, by this Extremely Legal Decree which He Did Not Order off the Internet, hereby Disclaims, Proclaims, and Exclaims that the Land Parcel so nameth-ed doth belong In Perpetuity to one Lukey Guilford Williams Sunday in a gesture of Unity, Commitment, Appreciation, and Uncomplicated Love—see what I did there? ”
“I see,” I agreed, though I was pretty sure our love was the only uncomplicated part of this.
“—And also as a Marriage Portion symbolic of his Everlasting Gratitude to the Williams Family. According to the agreement here signed, Let It Be Known that the Land Parcel, henceforth to be known as Hand-Fast Hill—”
“No!” I sputtered in amusement. “Hand-Fast Hill?”
“—will remain a Celebratory Prominence upon which the Sunday and Williams family may congregate, and from which Lukey should probably pay Apple Tithes, at a Rate to be Determined Later, but since it’s Legally His Land, He May or May Not So Chooseth—”
“Wait,” I said as the oldie-worldie words translated in my head. “Is this… are you… You’re joking, right? You’re not actually giving me your orchard.”
Webb frowned and squinted at the scroll. “I could have sworn this says it’s your orchard. Hmm.”
I grabbed the scroll, rolled it back up, and placed it safely on the 4x4 seat before returning to stand in front of him. “You’re giving me this land?” I asked again, bewildered.
Webb’s face relaxed into a smile. “Yep. I mean, we’re married, so things are a little murky.
This protects the land for your descendants and keeps it separate from the Sunday Orchard properties in case you ever decide you want to do something else with it.
It is legally part of the Williams Farm now.
Or, well, I guess you could separate it out and—”
I took his hands in mine. “I don’t want to separate anything out. That’s the point. I want the Williams Farm and the Sunday Orchard to be one big happy family… estate.” My face heated. “That sounded fancier than I intended. I mean, I want my descendants to be your descendants, Webb.”
Webb stepped closer and wrapped his arms around me.
“I want that, too. And now that your mom and Aunt Sue are moving into your farmhouse and you’re at our place, and Knox and Gage are up the hill in the Pumpkin House, it feels like a family estate already.
But… I need you to always know you’re worth more to me than any parcel of land, Luke.
You and our family… there’s nothing more important. ”
I laughed and nestled closer to him, kissing the side of his neck. “You’ve been watching Hallmark movies with Marco again, haven’t you?”
The breeze blew apple scent around us. Webb had once described it as the scent of his childhood, and I wondered if there would be any future Williams-Sunday children to join Aiden in experiencing the same magical memories one day. I hoped so.
“You might be right,” he admitted. “But so am I.”
I pulled back and gazed up at him. “Thank you. For the land… Hand-Fast Hill… and the love. And the family. And for being part of my happy ever after. You’re my dream come true in real life.”
“Fucking Christ. Now who’s been watching Hallmark?” he teased.
“Have you seen Betty White in The Lost Valentine? I can’t help it if every time Marco plays it, I happen to be folding laundry in the same room.”
Webb leaned in and kissed me. Even though we’d been living together full-time as a married couple all summer now, his kisses still took my breath away. It only took seconds before I was hard and desperate, having dirty fantasies about getting naked on Hand-Fast Hill.
“You drive me fuckin’ crazy,” Webb said against my ear. His hands were down the back of my pants, and his hard dick was jabbing me in the gut.
“Lonnie Duncan warned me the bloom would fall off the rose pretty fast now that we’re truly married,” I said, gasping when Webb’s teeth clamped lightly around my earlobe. “Seems like he didn’t know what the freak he was talking about.”
The rumble of Webb’s laughter made my dick even harder. “Mr. Duncan’s bloom has been solidly planted in Mrs. Graber’s rose garden for years.”
“Ew!” I laughed until Webb’s fingers wandered under my shirt, found my nipple ring, and tugged. “Oh God. More of that, please.”
Webb pulled back just long enough to yank my T-shirt over my head before lowering his mouth to suck on my other nipple while he continued to toy with the piercing. He knew exactly how to drive me wild.