Epilogue
ROMILLY
“I’ll never get tired of the way your mum cooks,” Bash whispers in my ear. “Don’t get me wrong, I love the way you cook, too, but there’s something about Thanksgiving that makes everything she serves taste unreal.”
I giggle. “Trust me. I know what you mean.”
We’re all standing in a circle next to my parents’ dining room table. A table that’s currently filled with steaming plates of turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, gravy, and the rest of my mother’s delicious creations.
My dad says grace with all of us holding hands, and then we find our seats. Bash pulls out the chair next to his for me to take, then helps our four-year-old daughter, Ginger, onto my lap.
“Daddy, I want stuffing,” she tells him.
“No fair,” he teases. “I want stuffing, too. What are we going to do?”
Ginger gasps. “I don’t know.”
“Bash, pass me the stuffing, first,” says Zara from across the table.
“No.” He picks up the platter and holds it to his chest. “This is all mine.”
My mom laughs. “Honey, I’ll whip up all the stuffing you want. Just never stop telling me how much you love it.”
“I could never,” he says. “In fact, I’m convinced the only person here who likes it more than I do is Ginger.” Bash winks at me, and from my lap, Ginger nods eagerly and makes a barking sound like a dog, then licks her lips.
It’s her new thing lately—acting like a puppy. Last week, Bash and I let her explore the entirety of The Paw Spa for the first time, so she’s been obsessed with acting like a dog, even chasing poor Jasper around until he hisses at her.
Mom laughs. “Well, in that case, pass the platter to my granddaughter this instant.”
“Save some for me,” says my dad.
Aiden smirks. “Sorry, but if Ginger wants it, you might as well kiss it goodbye.”
Even though he’s joking, my brother has a point. Ever since Bash and I adopted Ginger through the foster care system, my mom has made it clear she will not be refraining from spoiling her granddaughter any chance she gets. And that was two years ago.
I help Ginger spoon more casserole onto her plate and weave her honey-colored hair into two braids so she doesn’t get food on it.
I’ve become a pro at eating from my own plate with her on my lap.
Even though Bash constantly offers to take her from me so I can eat in peace, I won’t let him.
My sweet girl won’t be this little much longer, and I already know how much I’ll miss having her on my lap once she’s too big to be there.
I kiss the top of her head. “Love you.”
“Love you, too, Mommy,” she says around a mouthful of stuffing.
There’s gravy dripping down her chin, so I dab it with a napkin.
So far, she hasn’t stained the cream sweater I just bought her.
And I’m glad, because it looks so cute on her, bringing out the golden tones in her pale skin and brown eyes.
When we’re all finished with our second and third helpings of Thanksgiving dinner, we gather around my parents’ living room to talk about what we’re grateful for.
Zara is practically bouncing in her seat on the couch. “Can I go first? I’m grateful to finally be done with college. Now I get to see everyone more.”
My mom wraps Zara in a hug. “I’m grateful for that, too, honey. And also for every single one of you sitting here with me today.” She tears up a little and wipes her eye, just like she’s done every year since I was a kid.
For the first time, I understand why. Just thinking about the past few years I’ve spent with Bash and Ginger, even for a moment, makes me emotional.
It’s hard to believe I was so against opening my heart to him when we first met.
I would have missed out on so many beautiful memories if I hadn’t trusted God to bring us together.
And then trusted Him again to help us adopt Ginger and make her our permanent daughter.
We all go around expressing what we’re most grateful for this year, and when it’s my turn, I say, “I’m grateful that my wonderful husband, Sebastian Black, has become so high-ranking in his promotion that he only has to fight twice a year now. We get to keep more of him this way."
Bash squeezes my hand. His own have become even more calloused over the years, now showing signs of all his training and fighting, along with the labor he’s done around my shop, and finally learning to fix cars in his spare time.
And somehow, he’s only gotten more handsome with time.
His occasional stubble has blossomed into a full beard, and in his brown and cream shearling jacket and slacks, it’s hard not to stare at him.
“If anyone is wondering what I’m grateful for, it hasn’t changed,” he says. “I’m thankful for God, for all of you, and for the meal we just ate, which I’ll be dreaming about every night until next Thanksgiving.”
I roll my eyes, but giggle. Even after all this time, he never stops thinking about food.
When everyone’s done, Bash and I leave Ginger with my parents so we can stop by Harvest Valley. Every year, my mother donates a turkey to the soup kitchen, and we eat our own dinner early so there will be time to take the turkey there.
Bash gets in the driver’s seat, and I hold the turkey on my lap in the passenger side. The warmth from the glass platter feels good against my tights peeking out from my mustard yellow sweater dress.
My husband sniffs the air. Juicy, seasoned steam is wafting up from the tender bird. “Do you think they’d notice if there was a bite missing?” he asks.
“Just drive, Bash.”
He chuckles. “By the way, my parents told me to wish you and Ginger a happy holiday.
A deep sense of longing fills my chest. “I miss them. We really need to go visit soon. Ginger keeps asking about when we’re going back to Australia.”
“I’m sure they’ll love that. But they might try to keep us from leaving, like last time.”
“True,” I say. “But at least there have been no major fights between you and them lately.”
Bash laughs humorlessly. “Well, it’s only been a month. Give it a few more days.”
Despite his words, I know Bash and his parents are in a much better place than before.
Though they still don’t approve of him fighting—something they’re happy to voice before each of his matches—at least they’ve stopped bugging him about running the auction houses.
That privilege, and burden, now belongs to Ingrid. But, thankfully, she’s okay with that.
The turkey is still hot when we arrive.
Bash shuts off the engine, and we both sit in silence for a moment, looking at the dinner line already trailing out of the building.
“It’s hard to believe I used to not want to come here,” Bash says softly. “There’s so much good that happens here. And I feel so close to everyone now, like they’re extended family.”
I brush back the front pieces of his blond hair. “Yeah, well, sometimes we find family where we least expect it. Like me with you.”
He smirks, turning to me. “Oh, come on. You knew you were going to marry me the moment we locked eyes.”
“No, I didn’t.” I shake my head, trying not to smile.
“Yes, you did. I remember. You were practically undressing me with your eyes.”
I cover my laugh with my hand. “We’re at church, Sebastian.”
“Right. Let’s hurry up. All this talk about undressing makes me want to take you back home.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re relentless.”
“And you’re absolutely gorgeous.”
When we both get out of the car, I can’t help but admire the way the setting sun is now filtering through the golden leaves of autumn, casting a warm glow over Harvest Valley. Since getting married, we’ve been here plenty of times together, but now that it’s autumn, I’m feeling extra nostalgic.
I gaze at the exact spot he crashed into me, spilling that soup all over me and making me squirm with that attractive voice of his.
I glance to the side to find Bash watching me study the spot, leaning against his car with that familiar, slightly crooked grin. The same one that made my heart skip a beat that first day. The weird part, though, is seeing him carry the food now.
“Don’t worry, pumpkin.” He lifts the pot like a trophy. “I’ve got a better grip on it than some people I know.”
“Very funny. How did you know that’s what I was thinking about?”
“Because I know you .” Bash steps closer, his expression softening.
He sets my mom’s turkey atop his car’s closed trunk so he can wrap his arms around my waist. Kissing the side of my head, he murmurs, “I’ve learned every beautiful, adorable expression of yours.
” The sincerity in his voice sends a thrill through me.
“Can you believe it’s been this long since I spilled soup all over you, and you very politely told me it was no problem? ”
I laugh. “That’s because I was more worried about how attracted I was to you than the being covered in soup part.”
He grins. “I’m just grateful God put us both in this car park together that day so I’d bump into you, because at that time I couldn’t imagine ever loving someone the way I love you.”
Tears well up in my eyes. “Bash…stop. You’re going to make me cry.”
He grins. “Why? Because you’re stuck with me, wife?”
To shut him up, I grab his face and press my lips against his.
It never gets old—feeling his lips and stubble against my own face.
Or the way his strong hands turn me to putty with every touch.
The way he loves me every day, and makes my heart grow ten sizes whenever he makes Ginger laugh or plays dolls with her.
He pulls away to rub his nose across mine, but it only lasts a second, because I need another kiss, and as usual, he doesn’t disappoint me.
To this day, he still never has.