Epilogue
CHRISTMAS LIGHTS CLIMBED the Beacon’s candy-striped tower and reflected across the harbor in red-and-white streaks. Palms moved in the warm December breeze, boats glittered along the marina, and somebody had hung a wreath over the dive-locker door where wet suits usually dripped.
Sunbreak Security had cleaned up well.
Rafi wore a white linen shirt instead of his usual pressed jacket. Isabel had brought Cuban pastries from a bakery near the causeway. Sloane stood beside the operations table with a citrus drink in one hand while three SBS agents emptied the holiday-cookie bowl.
“We skipped dinner,” one of them said.
I stood near the rail with one of the citrus drinks while Shane leaned beside me in an open-collar cream shirt and tailored tan trousers.
His gold chain caught the lighthouse glow whenever he moved.
He’d spent enough evenings at the Beacon that nobody stared when he reached behind me for a napkin, and he knew which cabinet held the extra glasses.
He’d flown back when his first recording block ended. I’d visited during my three-day break and again between assignments. He knew not to call during a protection handoff unless someone was bleeding. I knew a studio at two in the morning could be quieter than the Atlantic before sunrise.
Tonight, his phone had already buzzed twice with messages about the new single. Mine stayed silent in my evening bag.
Shane brushed his knuckles against mine. “You’ve checked the exits four times.”
“Three.”
“You checked the stairwell twice.”
“That counts as one exit.”
His smile warmed. “Come outside with me.”
I glanced toward Sloane.
She lifted her glass without looking over. “Go. We know how to reach you.”
Shane held out his hand.
I took it.
He led me down the curved stairs and through the boathouse door. Warm air moved off the harbor, carrying salt and the faint sweetness of my drink. Strings of lights wrapped the dock railing. Beyond it, decorated boats rocked against their slips beneath a clear black sky.
My gold sandals clicked across the boards. Shane matched my pace.
Six months ago, he’d moved when I told him. Since then, he’d matched my walking pace and learned to give me ten quiet minutes after a difficult assignment. I knew how he sounded when a song wasn’t working and when the easy smile meant he needed one more question.
He stopped near the end of the dock.
“Your new single is good,” I said.
“You told me that before it was mixed.”
“It was good then too.”
“You said the bridge needed work.”
“The bridge needed work.”
He laughed. “This is why I send you music before anyone else.”
“Because I’m right?”
“Because you listen to the whole thing before telling me I’m right.”
I set my drink on the rail. “You didn’t bring me out here to discuss the bridge.”
“No.”
He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out a brass key on a plain silver ring.
I stared at it.
Shane placed it in my palm.
“This isn’t a hotel key,” I said.
“Excellent threat assessment.”
“What does it open?”
“I bought a place.”
Music and laughter still drifted through the open boathouse door.
“What kind of place?”
“A bungalow four streets from the water. Two bedrooms, a screened porch, and enough room in the living area for the piano without making everyone walk around it sideways.”
I held the key tighter.
“When did you do that?”
“I started looking after my third trip back.”
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I wanted to know I could make the decision without turning it into a promise I hadn’t earned yet.”
I searched his face. “Is this your Florida place?”
“It’s my home base.”
Shane stepped closer. “I’ll still record in Orlando, Los Angeles, or wherever the label sends me. I’ll still travel for shows. You’ll still take assignments that have nothing to do with me.”
“That part wasn’t negotiable.”
“I know.” His mouth curved briefly. “You made it memorable.”
He’d come back for every visit we’d scheduled.
When a storm delay canceled my flight to him, he’d driven to Sunbreak Harbor the next morning instead of treating the missed weekend like proof that distance couldn’t work.
He kept clothes in one drawer at my place without filling the closet.
I kept sunscreen, spare trainers, and a phone charger in his recording apartment.
He’d never asked me to follow the tour. He kept making the next plan.
“The bungalow has space for your gear,” he said. “There’s a hook inside the front door for your work bag, and the porch has enough room for whatever stretching equipment you keep claiming isn’t torture.”
“It’s a portable barre.”
“It’s a railing that judges me.”
“You have poor form.”
“I have dancer form.”
“You have a performer’s confidence and tight hamstrings.”
He laughed.
Then he drew me closer.
“I’m not buying you a house,” he said. “I bought myself a home in the town where I keep wanting to return.”
My throat tightened.
“I want you to make it ours, Cassi.”
“When I’m here, I want to live there with you,” he continued. “When I’m gone, I want you to treat it as yours instead of waiting for me to come back and unlock it. I want your clothes in the closet, your food in the kitchen, and your terrifying calendar on the wall.”
“My calendar isn’t terrifying.”
“It has color-coded contingencies.”
“It’s organized.”
“It frightened Tracy.”
“That’s because she tried to schedule over a confirmed visit.”
“And you won.”
“I usually do.”
Shane kissed my knuckles.
“I love that about you,” he said. “I’m not asking you to become part of my career. I’m asking you to build a home with me while we keep both of them.”
“Does the place have good locks?”
He laughed. “Rafi chose them.”
“Then you involved SBS.”
“I involved one member of SBS. He charged me in pastries and a promise not to install a recording booth without soundproofing.”
“Reasonable.”
“Is that a yes?”
I looked at the marina, then at Shane.
“Yes.”
Shane went quiet.
I smiled. “I want to live there with you.”
He pulled me against him.
His mouth found mine while a cheer rose from inside the boathouse.
I broke the kiss and looked toward the open door.
Rafi lifted a pastry in our direction.
“They were watching,” I said.
“They work in security.”
“That isn’t an excuse.”
“It’s the closest thing they have to a hobby.”
Shane kissed me again.
A sharp electronic tone cut through the night.
CODE 808.
My hand went to my evening bag before I finished recognizing the alert. I pulled out my phone and checked the duty screen.
Shane exhaled against my hair. “Your company’s timing remains hostile.”
The alert identified a disturbance near the holiday boat parade route.
I opened the response channel.
Rafi’s voice came through immediately. “Our response team has it. Stay where you are.”
I looked through the boathouse door. He stood beside the operations table with his phone raised.
“Do they need support?” I asked.
“Two agents and harbor patrol are already on scene. You’re off duty.”
I checked the location, responding unit, and status line.
Controlled. No injuries. Principal secure.
Shane waited beside me without pulling me away from the screen.
“You can go if they need you,” he said.
“I know.”
The status updated again.
No additional support required.
I closed the alert.
“They have it,” I said.
Shane’s smile returned slowly. “You’re staying?”
“I’m staying.”
I clipped the phone back inside my bag.
Then I caught his open collar and pulled him down for another kiss while applause broke out behind us.
“Your coworkers need boundaries,” he murmured.
“I’ll write a policy.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Definitely tomorrow.”
I pulled my apartment keys from my evening bag. Shane threaded the bungalow key onto the ring beside them and handed it back.
The two keys struck together with a small metallic click.
“Take me home,” I said.
His attention dropped to my mouth.
“That may be the best instruction you’ve ever given me.”
THE BUNGALOW SAT BENEATH two palms wrapped in white lights.
Shane parked beside a low sand-colored house with blue shutters and a screened porch. Warm light glowed through the front windows.
I stepped from the car and stared.
“This is modest?” I asked.
“For me.”
“That answer was almost unbearable.”
“I’ve been making progress.”
He came around the car and stopped beside me.
I used the new key to open the front door.
The porch held two chairs, a small table, and enough open space for my portable barre.
Inside, a guitar case leaned beside the sofa. A piano occupied one wall without blocking the hallway. A sturdy hook had already been installed beside the front door at the right height for my work bag. There were no framed magazine covers or display cases full of awards.
On the kitchen counter sat my preferred electrolyte packets, a bowl of citrus, and the brand of crackers Shane had served after our first night together.
I set my evening bag and keys beside them, then picked up the box.
“Aftercare crackers?”
“They’re sophisticated.”
“They came from a grocery store.”
“I selected them personally.”
I laughed and set them down.
Shane waited near the sofa while I walked through the living room.
I opened the hallway closet.
One side held his jackets. The other remained empty except for a set of wooden hangers and a folded note on the shelf.
CASSIDY’S SIDE. SHANE REQUIRES WRITTEN AUTHORIZATION.
I turned.
“You labeled the closet.”
“I respect clear boundaries.”
“You’re never getting written authorization.”
“Then I’ll remain frightened of this half forever.”
I crossed the room.
Shane met me halfway.
I slid my palms beneath his open collar and over his chest. “You bought crackers.”
“I bought an entire house, and the crackers impressed you.”
“They proved you understood the assignment.”
“I thought the assignment was making room.”
I pulled his face down to mine. “You did.”
His mouth covered mine.
I opened for him, and he backed me against the kitchen counter while his hands moved over the emerald wrap dress, tracing my waist before settling at my hips.
“Tell me this is ours,” he said.
“It’s ours.”
His mouth moved along my jaw. “Tell me you’re moving in.”
“I’m moving in.”
“Tell me the barre won’t live in the bedroom.”
“It depends on your behavior.”
He laughed against my neck.
I untied the dress at my waist.
Shane drew back enough to watch the green fabric loosen and fall open over my breasts and thighs. I wore nothing beneath it except a narrow pair of black panties.
His mouth parted.
“You wore that under the dress?”
“You bought a home without consulting my lingerie.”
“I made a terrible mistake.”
I pushed the dress from my shoulders. It pooled around my sandals.
Shane closed his hands around my bare waist. He lifted me onto the counter, then stopped between my thighs.
“Do you want to stay here?”
“Yes.”
He cupped my breasts, brushing both thumbs across my nipples until they tightened.
I opened his shirt and pushed it from his shoulders. The gold chain lay against his tan chest.
“This counter is going to see things,” he said.
“It can adjust.”
“I love living with you already.”
I hooked my fingers into his waistband and pulled him closer. His cock pressed hard against the front of his trousers.
Shane slid one hand between my thighs.
His fingertips moved over the damp fabric of my panties, and my breath caught.
“You’re wet.”
“You took too long showing me the closet.”
“I was trying to be romantic.”
“You succeeded.”
He moved the fabric aside and stroked my clit.
Pleasure tightened low inside me. I braced myself and wrapped an arm around his neck.
“Keep doing that.”
He circled my clit while his mouth closed over one nipple. I spread my thighs wider, giving him room as two fingers slid inside me.
I rocked against his hand.
“Shane.”
His fingers curled, and his thumb kept its rhythm over my clit.
“That’s it,” he said. “Come for me in our kitchen.”
The orgasm rose hard and fast. I gripped his shoulders as pleasure broke through me, my pussy clenching around his fingers while his mouth stayed on my breast.
When my breathing steadied, I opened his trousers.
His cock sprang into my hand.
Shane groaned as I stroked him from base to tip.
“We need a bed,” he said.
“We own one.”
“I meant now.”
I wrapped my legs around his waist. “Then carry me.”
He lifted me from the counter.
I kept stroking him while he walked, which made his first attempt at the bedroom doorway less graceful than his stage entrances.
“You’re distracting me,” he said.
“You have dancer-trained control.”
“You’re using it against me.”
“I live here now. You should expect that.”
Shane reached the bed and lowered me onto the mattress.
I pulled him into another kiss and opened my legs beneath him.
He settled between my thighs, still laughing, and kissed me in our bedroom.