Epilogue — Travis
One Year Later
“ I ’m so fucking proud of you, baby,” I whisper to my wife.
My. Wife.
I’ll never tire of calling her that, and I’m absolutely proud of her. Not only was our reopening a success, bringing in more business than the past two years has for the floral shop, but today we’re celebrating the grand opening of our second location. Cass loves Linton, so when we began looking at spaces, it was the logical choice.
We were married at City Hall two days after we proposed to each other. While we had plans for a real wedding with our families, neither of us wanted to wait. We almost got away with keeping it a secret from everyone but after running into Zack in the parking lot with our certificate in hand, there was no denying it. As it turns out, he was there for the same reason, marrying Room Six, as Cass called her. He apologized to Cassidy, and admitted he’s been in therapy with the woman he has a child with. In the end, Cass and I are happy they’re happy. At risk of being found out, as soon as we got home, we admitted to our families that we were married and began planning a small ceremony .
Since then, my wife hasn’t slowed down. Then again, being promoted to fire captain, neither have I, but I make sure she takes time to breathe. The last thing either of us needs is for her to slip into old habits. As her partner, I want my wife to be happy and healthy, which is why we are still in therapy a year later.
Cass turns in my arms and kisses me. “I’m proud of you . None of this would’ve been possible without you, Travis.”
I take a look around at our friends, family, and loyal customers celebrating with us, unable to fathom how I got so lucky. I slide my hand to her belly. “What do you say? Is it time to make it a party of three?”
“And you’re the one always telling me to slow down,” she laughs, swatting my chest. “It doesn’t hurt to practice though.”
I move my hand to her lower back and pull her body flush with mine. “We could begin practicing right now?”
“In the middle of our shop opening?”
Leaning in, I kiss her neck and whisper, “Just say the word, wildcat. I’m all yours.”
We don’t, in fact, fuck in our flower shop… at least not until everyone leaves. Laying in the quiet, sweaty, and with mussed hair, our bodies entwined on the floor of the backroom, she whispers, “Lots and lots of practice.”