Epilogue
S ix months later
Jericho
“I’m not wearing this.”
I stare down at the offensive outfit Nora laid out on the bed: a shimmery green shirt with some kind of sparkly collar and black pants that will surely cling to my ass more than I’d like.
“Yes, you are.” Nora doesn’t even look up from where she’s applying mascara at the vanity made from solid wood that we bought together at the flea market last month.
The thing couldn’t be disassembled, so I had to drag it through the whole street to my truck.
But she was swaying her delicious butt in front of me so happily that I followed her like a moth to the light with furniture in my arms. “It’s a costume party, Jericho. You can’t show up in flannel.”
“Watch me. I can be dressed as a lumberjack.” I pick up my favorite worn shirt from the chair.
She turns, waving her mascara wand at me like a weapon. “Even though you can pull it off, put it down. I want to dress up once in a blue moon. It will make me so happy,” she adds with a sweet smile, batting her lashes at me.
I groan, remembering I live to make her happy; when she figured that out, she started using it against me.
Especially when she tries to convince me to watch another Hallmark movie.
Before I met Nora, I’d never seen a Hallmark movie in my life, and now I know too much about shirtless farmers and women moving to small towns for Christmas.
But Nora loves them. Every time the TV screen illuminates with the same background and a new title, her face brightens as she buries herself deeper in the blankets on the couch with a sweet, contented sigh.
I can’t take that away from her, so I plant my ass on the couch and pretend to watch the movie while I’m actually watching her.
“This isn’t me,” I protest, holding the shirt away from my body like it might bite, and it actually might—the fabric is itchy.
Nora stands, crossing to me in nothing but her underwear and a silk robe that’s doing dangerous things to my concentration. “That’s the point of a costume party. Being someone else for a night.” She rises on her toes to kiss me. “Besides, you’ll look hot.”
“I’ll look ridiculous.”
“That too.” She grins, unapologetic. “But please.” Another round of fluttering her hypnotizing eyelashes does it for me. “At least try it on for me.”
I sigh, defeated. There’s no arguing with her when she gets that look in her eyes—half mischief, half determination.
“Fine,” I mutter, reaching for the ridiculous shirt. “But I’m driving, and we’re leaving the second anyone asks me to dance. ”
“What if it’s me who asks you to dance?” She beams, victorious.
I groan loudly. “Get dressed, Witch, before I come to my senses and change my mind.”
With her usual melodic laughter, she applies something to her lips and then disappears into the walk-in closet I built for her from one of the bedrooms. The woman has so many dresses, we might need another house for them soon.
Once I’ve wrestled the dreaded costume onto my body, I stare at myself in the mirror, barely recognizing the man who looks back. The shirt is tight across my chest, the collar scratchy against my neck. I look like I’m auditioning for some 1970s disco revival.
But then Nora emerges, and all thoughts of my discomfort vanish.
She’s wearing a silver dress that catches the light with every move; her hair is piled on top of her head with a few strategic red curls framing her face. She spins once, the dress flaring around her knees.
“What do you think?” she asks, suddenly shy.
“I think,” I say, crossing to her in two strides, “that we might be late to this party.”
She laughs, pushing against my chest when I try to pull her closer. “Don’t you dare wrinkle this dress. Do you know how long it took me to steam it?”
I groan but release her. “You’re killing me, Witch.”
“Good.” She pats my cheek, smirking. “Because I’m only returning the favor. Have you seen yourself in the mirror? You look like the hottest popstar from the nineties, and I might have even had your poster in my bedroom.”
“Try two decades earlier,” I mumble, feeling unsure in this ridiculous outfit but happy with how her eyes sparkle as they rake over my body.
When she walks up to me and rises on her toes to place a soft kiss on my cheek, I catch her and pull her into me .
“Are you sure we can’t skip it?” I whisper into her ear.
“We can’t. And are you that happy to see me or are the pants really that tight?”
“Both,” I groan, resting my nose against her head. “I don’t think I have any circulation in that area. You might need to kiss it better later.”
“I just might,” she laughs, pulling away. “Depends on how you behave at the party.”
An hour later, we’re pulling into the Dancing Pony’s crowded parking lot. The place is lit up like Christmas, with colored lights strung across the entrance and music thumping loudly enough to feel it in the truck.
“Remind me why we’re doing this?” I ask, killing the engine.
“Because it’s fun.” She squeezes my hand. “And because you love me.”
I can’t argue with that. Six months in, and I’m still falling harder every day.
“One hour,” I negotiate. “Then we leave.”
“Two hours,” she counters. “And you have to dance with me at least once.”
I groan, but the smile tugging at my lips gives me away. “Fine. Two hours. One dance. Then home.”
Her answering smile is worth every second of discomfort I’m about to endure.
Inside, the Dancing Pony has been transformed—both because I remodeled their lobby a few months ago and because it is now all decked out in disco balls and streamers with dim lighting that creates an ambient feeling the place doesn’t usually have.
Usually the bed and breakfast is nothing but empty hallways and no people around besides Emma, the owner, but tonight it’s filled with people.
The theme seems to be “dress in all the sparkles you can find” because I’m about to go blind.
My eyes land on Roman’s friend from city hall who’s offering a glass to Nora’s grandmother while looking a little fidgety.
If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was trying to flirt with her.
Theodora falls under my protection, and normally I’d go and introduce myself.
But I already know the man and know that he’s decent.
He’s the one who helped me get my final permit and is helping Moons’ deal with Dick’s cousin Jacqueline.
Even though she’s still trying to shut down Nora’s diner, we have some support from him.
He has limited power since they are in equal positions in town, but we’ve managed to work around her so far.
One time she did close the diner for a few days before Roman’s friend showed up for the reinspection because the evil lady came down with a cold.
Needless to say, the diner was reopened the same evening because no codes were broken. Jaqueline’s attempts to close Moons’ to give Dick’s place a monopoly hasn’t been successful so far. I get the feeling she’ll keep trying, but the Moons are not alone anymore, so it won’t be easy to bully them.
“Nora! Jericho!” Karina appears like magic and waves frantically from near the bar, already looking tipsy despite the early hour. “You came!”
Nora hugs her, exclaiming over her gold lamé jumpsuit while I scan the room, cataloging exits and familiar faces. Old habits.
“Is that Jericho Landell in sequins?” Roman’s voice cuts through the noise as he approaches, drink in hand. “Never thought I’d see the day.”
“Don’t start,” I warn him, though there’s no heat in it.
Roman laughs, clapping me on the shoulder. “The things we do for them.”
I grunt in agreement, accepting the beer he hands me. The cold bottle is a comfort in this unfamiliar territory.
“Where’s Cheryl?” Nora asks, looking around the crowded room .
“Working,” Roman answers. “But she said she might stop by later if things stay quiet.”
Nora nods, then tugs on my arm. “Come on, let’s say hi to Grandma.”
Theodora Moon is now holding court at a corner table, surrounded by what appears to be every senior citizen at the party, probably making Roman’s friend worry about the competition.
She’s wearing a paisley pantsuit and more jewelry than a pawn shop, pointing her glass left and right as she tells something to her peers.
“Steve!” she exclaims when she spots me, arms outstretched. “You actually came!”
I’ve given up correcting her on my name. It’s become something of an inside joke between us now. I think.
“Wouldn’t miss it,” I lie, accepting her perfumed hug.
“And don’t you look dashing!” She holds me at arm’s length, examining my outfit with obvious approval. “I knew you’d clean up nice under all that flannel.”
“It was this or sleep on the couch,” I explain, which makes her cackle with delight.
“That does it,” she says with a wink.
“I need a drink,” Nora announces, glancing behind her shoulder at the line at the bar.
“Do you want me to get you anything”
“No, I don’t want to make you suffer more than you already are,” she chuckles, placing a soft kiss on my cheek. “Do you guys want anything?”
Moon waves her off. “I just ordered an espresso martini, dear. Take your time.”
“Grandma!” Nora exclaims—they are at it again about Moon’s caffeine consumption.
“Go, child. Go.” Moon dismisses her with a wave of her hand because she can never win this argument. I think the more Nora pushes, the more coffee Moon drinks. I’d be concerned, but she tolerates caffeine better than big men at my job do.
Once Nora’s out of earshot, Moon fixes me with a pointed stare. “You’ve got the ring, I assume?”
I nearly choke on my beer. “How did you?—”
“Please.” She waves a bejeweled hand dismissively, nearly giving me a black eye with all that metal on her wrist. “I’ve been around long enough to know when a man’s got something weighing down his pocket.” She leans closer, lowering her voice. “When are you asking?”
“Not tonight,” I assure her. The small velvet box has been burning a hole in my dresser drawer for two weeks, waiting for the right moment. “I had something more private in mind.”
She nods approvingly. “Smart man. Though if you wait too long, I might drop some hints myself.”
“Don’t you dare,” I warn, though we both know it’s an empty threat. No one tells Theodora Moon what to do.
“There’s something you should know first though,” she says, her expression turning serious.
I lean in, curious.
“You hurt my granddaughter in any way, and I’ll send Reginald to take off your pecker. Are we clear on that?”
Feeling my lips twitching, I try not to smile. Since we learned that the rooster actually somewhat belongs to Moon, he’s been harassing me even more. Especially when I do something wrong—and that seems to happen nearly every day.
“Crystal clear, ma’am.”
She narrows her eyes at me for a moment before relaxing. “Good. I would hate to put that big pecker to waste.”
I chose this time to take a sip of my drink, so naturally I choke on it again.
“Hey, dear.” She moves closer to me and starts patting me on my back. More like hitting so hard I fear her fragile bones might break. “You all right there?”
“Ye-yes.” Once I stop coughing, I start looking for an escape—the size of my pecker is not a conversation I’m willing to have with Nora’s grandmother.
“Good. Because let me tell you, even though your pecker is the right s?—”
“Hey, Grandma.” Nora materializes out of thin air and takes my arm. “Can I steal Jericho for a moment?”
“Sure, dear. Go ahead.” She grabs my hand before I leave. “Remember, Steve, neither you nor your pecker are safe.”
With a nod, I nearly push Nora to whatever place she needs me to be just so I don’t have to have this conversation anymore. My witch stops me in the middle of the dance floor where she positions us for a dance.
I groan but envelop her in a hug. “You planned this, didn’t you?” I hate dancing because I’ve got two left feet, plus I hate being the center of attention.
“Maybe.” She wraps her arms around my neck, swaying gently. “Is it working?”
I place my hands on her waist, feeling the smooth fabric of her dress and understanding that I’ve finally figured out my life-long goal—keeping Nora Moon by my side forever. Even if it means I have to dance every day and discuss my cock size with her grandmother.