Epilogue
GLENNA
W e’re a quarter mile past Harrow Ridge when Cash stops on the trail to tie a blindfold on me. Even though it’s early November and I’m wearing short sleeves, I’ve worked up a sweat. It’s nice to take a breather and let the mountain air cool my damp neck.
“Is this a kink thing?” I ask. That would explain why he insisted that we leave Granger and my pup Petunia back at the cabin.
Cash makes a strangled sound. I can practically hear his eyes pop. We’ve been experimenting lately. Nothing heavy. Spanking. Toys. It’s been a year, and we’re not bored, but we are getting more comfortable.
Well, I’m getting more comfortable. Cash would’ve let me peg him on our second real date if I’d wanted to. He has no limits, and as far as I can tell, if I like it, he likes it.
I don’t want to peg him, but I talk about it sometimes because it cracks me up to watch his face. There’s the wince, then the deep, brave breath, and finally, the enthusiastic “I’ll try anything once except that fuckin’ soy burger.”
I made veggie burgers once when I first moved in. He had it in his mouth before I could tell him what it was. It was the closest he’s ever been to mad at me.
Cash tightens the folded bandana around my head. “I told you. I have a surprise for you.”
“You’re not gonna propose again, are you?” We’ve talked about it. It’s too soon. I want my new photography business to be profitable for at least two full years so I can build some savings.
Right now, Cash is cool with me traveling to do weddings and b’nei mitzvah and other events around the state while he’s doing his hunting guide thing, but if—when—if— when we have kids, we’ll have to reorganize things. I want us to have a big cushion so we have choices.
Cash and I have talked it all out, and we’re agreed. It doesn’t stop him from popping the question, but at least he does it less frequently. He used to do it basically every time we had sex or there was a nice sunset or something. Now he’s got to really be feeling it.
I don’t really mind. He’s a pushy dude. The flip side of that coin, I’ve discovered, is that he can take a lot of push back, and he never gets butthurt.
It’s awesome being with someone you can be arguing with one minute, and the next, he asks, “Do you want Carolina-style or Memphis Heat on this, babe?” And then he slides you a delicious pit beef sandwich with all the burnt pieces like you like.
Cash kisses me, bringing me back to the present. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” I don’t have to think about it.
“I’m gonna put soundproof earmuffs on you, and we’re gonna walk about a quarter mile further up.”
What the hell does he have planned?
“Is there gonna be a band or a party of people or something?” My jaw drops in horror. “Did you make all your friends learn a dance? Are you gonna do a flash mob proposal?”
He kisses me again, chuckling. “I ain’t never proposing to you in public again, babe. Lesson learned.”
Apparently, he never lived down the time I ran away from him crying after he asked me to homecoming. It’s a running joke with his crew. Since high school, whenever they see a jogger or a bicyclist speeding in the opposite direction, one of them says, “Shit, Cash, did you just ask him to a dance?”
The first time I heard Logan do it, I nearly peed myself laughing. Cash did not find it funny.
“Ear muffs, babe?” he prompts.
“Okay.”
He eases them on and the sounds of the mountain disappear. All I can feel is the sunshine on my face and Cash’s rough palm as he leads me up the trail.
If I peeked, I could see under the edge of the bandana, but I don’t.
We walk for a few minutes, and it’s slow going, but he doesn’t let me trip or stumble. Finally, he leads me off the path into tall grass, and we come to a stop.
I inhale all the smells I love—the fresh air, the mountain, and Cash. My heart bops. I’ve grown accustomed to the sensation. It’s happiness. Pure gold. No silver living needed.
Cash’s lips brush mine, and he lifts off the earmuffs and unties the blindfold.
The first thing I hear is a pissed-off gobble.
“No. Way.”
There’s a bizarre coop-like contraption a few yards away across a meadow. It’s kind of like a cage, kind of like a log cabin. Through the slats, I see feathers.
And a freakin’ enormous, agitated bird.
“Phat Thom.” It can only be him. He’s as big as a goddamn bear.
Cash grins. “I caught him for you, baby.”
I glance over and up. He has his hands on his hips, chest puffed, as proud and happy as I’ve ever seen him.
And I know—I just know to my soul—he’ll look even happier when he catches first sight of me walking down the aisle. And when he holds our child for the first time.
I make this man happy, and somehow, because the Lord works in mysterious ways, he does the same for me.
“Got your camera?” he asks. “I’ll let him out, but you’re not gonna have long. That motherfucker is quicker than you’d think.” He ruefully rubs his side. I guess that’s where that scratch came from. I thought I’d done it.
“You trapped Phat Thom for me.” My buzzy brain is puzzling something out.
“You’re with a mighty hunter, babe. I keep tellin’ you.”
He does.
I turn to face him. He blinks, surprised, and angles himself to face me, too. He frowns. This isn’t the reaction he expected.
To be honest, I never expected this either.
I take his hands. He tilts his head. The sun glints off the fishhook on the brim of his hat.
I smile. “Will you marry me?” I ask.
“All it took was a freakin’ giant turkey?” he says.
He scoops me into his arms, and twirls me and kisses me, whooping and hollering. Phat Thom is going nuts, flapping and squawking. I laugh and shriek, and Cash’s voice rings through the meadow as he says, “Yes, baby. Yes. No take backs.”
And I know then I never will.
Cash is mine, and I am his, and this life we’re going to make together?
It will be beautiful.
* * *