Epilogue
SYDNEY
The overlook hadn’t changed in four years.
Same wide pullout carved into the mountain road. Same view stretching for miles—layered ridges fading from green to blue to hazy purple, the valley nestled below like a secret waiting to be discovered. Same afternoon light painting everything gold.
I climbed out of the truck and breathed deep, letting the clean mountain air fill my lungs. Beside me, Kross did the same, his door shutting with a familiar thunk. He came around to my side and wrapped an arm around my shoulders, pulling me against him as we took in the view.
“You going to tell me what this is about?” he asked, his voice a low rumble against my hair. “Not that I’m complaining. But you don’t usually kidnap me from job sites in the middle of the day.”
I smiled, leaning into his warmth. “Maybe I just wanted some alone time with my husband.”
“Uh-huh.” He wasn’t buying it. “And the kids?”
“Keaton’s wife offered to watch them for a few hours. Maggie’s teaching Lara how to make cookies, and Trey is happy as long as his sister is in sight.” I tilted my head back to look at him. “They’re fine. We have time.”
He studied my face, dark eyes searching for clues. I kept my expression innocent, which only made him more suspicious.
The truth was, I had a surprise for him. A big one. But I wasn’t ready to share it yet. First, I wanted this—the quiet, the view, the man I’d built a life with standing solid and warm beside me.
Four years ago, I’d stood in this exact spot as a terrified twenty-three-year-old who’d never been kissed, never made a decision without her parents’ approval, never dared to dream this big.
Kross had pulled over on our drive from the bus station to show me the view, and I’d looked out at those mountains and felt something—hope, maybe. Or the first fragile seed of belonging.
Now I was twenty-seven, a mother of two with a third on the way, married to a man who loved me exactly as I was.
We’d expanded the cabin twice to make room for our growing family.
Our daughter had inherited her father’s stubbornness and my tendency to ask too many questions.
Our son toddled after her everywhere, determined to keep up despite his shorter legs.
And Biscuit—the scruffy mutt we’d fostered during that first rescue operation and never managed to give back—ruled the porch like a benevolent king.
It was everything I’d wanted. Everything I’d been afraid to ask for.
And now I got to tell Kross we were adding one more to the chaos.
But first…
I turned in his arms, sliding my hands up his chest, feeling the solid warmth of him through his work shirt. He’d come straight from the job site, sawdust still clinging to his jeans, and he smelled like pine and sweat and home.
“Remember the first time you brought me here?” I asked.
“Of course I do.” His hands settled on my hips, thumbs tracing lazy circles through my dress. “You looked at the view like you’d never seen mountains before.”
“I hadn’t. Not like this.” I rose on my toes and brushed my lips along his jaw. “I knew that day I’d made the right choice.”
His arms tightened around me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” I kissed the corner of his mouth, then pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. “And I thought maybe we could make some new memories here. If you’re interested.”
Heat flickered in his gaze. “What kind of memories?”
I glanced toward the truck bed, then back at him with a smile I knew he couldn’t resist.
“The kind we can’t make with two kids in the house.”
His mouth crashed down on mine, hungry and sure, like he’d been waiting for permission all afternoon. I kissed him back just as hard, fingers curling into his shirt, tugging him closer until there was no space left between us.
The wind rustled through the pines, carrying the sharp scent of resin and sun-warmed earth. Somewhere far below, a hawk cried once, sharp and wild. But all I really heard was the rough catch in Kross’s throat when I nipped his bottom lip and the low growl that vibrated through his chest.
My hands slid beneath his shirt, palms flat against the hard planes of his stomach, feeling muscle flex under my touch. He hissed when my nails scraped lightly down his sides.
“Bed,” I whispered against his mouth. “Truck bed. Now.”
He didn’t argue. One arm hooked under my thighs and lifted me like I weighed nothing, carrying me the few steps to the tailgate.
He set me down on the edge, then dropped the gate with a metallic clank.
The blanket I’d thrown in earlier was already spread out—soft green flannel, the one we used for picnics.
Kross climbed up after me and pulled me down with him until we were tangled together, the truck bed warm from the day’s sun beneath us. Above, the sky was turning molten gold, streaks of pink bleeding into the horizon.
I pressed at his shoulders until he rolled onto his back, then straddled him, my knees bracketing his hips. His hands slid up my thighs beneath my sundress, rough calluses dragging over my skin.
“You’re wearing too many clothes,” I told him, already unbuttoning his shirt. His chest was flushed, a faint sheen of sweat still clinging to him. I leaned down and traced my tongue along his collarbone.
“Fuck, Syd.” His fingers dug into my hips when I rocked against the thick line of him straining beneath his jeans.
I sat up, peeled my dress over my head, and tossed it toward the cab. The breeze skimmed my bare skin, tightening my nipples instantly. Kross’s eyes darkened as he took me in—slow and thorough, the way he always did.
I unhooked my bra and let it fall away. His hands were on me immediately, cupping my breasts, thumbs brushing the sensitive peaks until I arched into him with a moan.
“God, I love your tits,” he muttered, voice thick. Then his mouth was there—hot and wet—drawing one nipple deep while his fingers worked the other.
I ground down harder, feeling every inch of him through the denim. My hands shook as I worked open his belt, then his fly. When I freed him, he was heavy and hot in my palm, already slick at the tip. I stroked him slowly, watching his abs tighten, his head tip back as a low curse slipped free.
I didn’t give him time to recover. I shoved his jeans down just enough, then shifted forward, sliding my soaked panties aside. The first press of him against me made us both groan.
“Slow,” he rasped, hands gripping my hips.
I shook my head. “Not today.”
I sank down onto him in one smooth, steady glide.
The stretch was exquisite—thick and perfect and so full I had to pause, breathing hard, feeling him throb inside me. His hands flexed, knuckles whitening.
I started to move. Slow at first, rolling my hips in deep circles that made him curse under his breath. Then faster. Harder. The truck rocked faintly with each thrust. The sounds were messy and beautiful—skin on skin, my sharp gasps, his low groans, the soft creak of suspension.
I braced my hands on his chest and rode him like I needed him to feel everything—how much I wanted him, how much I still needed this after four years, two kids, and another on the way.
His gaze locked on where we joined, watching himself disappear into me again and again. “So fucking wet for me,” he ground out. “Taking every inch.”
I clenched around him on purpose. He bucked hard, driving deeper, and I cried out. His hand slid between us, thumb finding me with practiced ease, circling in tight, relentless strokes that matched my rhythm.
“Come for me first,” he growled. “I want to feel you.”
The pressure, the words, the way he looked up at me like I was everything—it tore through me. My thighs shook, my movement faltered, and then I came, clenching hard around him as wave after wave crashed through me. I threw my head back, moaning his name into the open air.
He didn’t let me come down. As soon as the worst of the spasms eased, he rolled us gently and settled between my thighs, one leg hooked over his hip as he drove back in deep.
Hard. Relentless.
The blanket bunched beneath me. His mouth found mine, swallowing every sound. I wrapped my legs around him, urging him faster.
“Come inside me,” I gasped. “I want to feel you.”
That was all it took.
He buried his face in my neck, hips snapping erratically now, and then he was coming—groaning my name like a prayer as he filled me. I felt every throb, and it pulled another soft wave of pleasure from me, my body fluttering around him.
We lay tangled together, catching our breath, the sky above us softening from gold to pink. His hand traced lazy patterns on my hip while my head rested on his chest.
“So,” he said after a while, voice still rough. “You going to tell me what this was really about?”
I smiled, lifting my head to look at him. “Remember that first morning at the cabin? When you said you’d always pictured yourself with one kid?”
He groaned, grinning. “You’re never going to let me forget that.”
“Never.” I propped my chin on his chest. “How do you feel about three?”
His hand stilled. Confusion crossed his face, then understanding. His eyes dropped to my stomach and snapped back to mine.
“You’re pregnant?”
“Six weeks.” I bit my lip. “Surprise.”
For a heartbeat, he just stared. Then his face split into a grin, wide and unguarded, and he pulled me up to kiss me—soft, reverent, full of wonder.
“Three kids,” he murmured. “Good thing I already started on that fourth bedroom.”
I laughed, tears pricking my eyes. “Do you ever regret it? The noise, the chaos? It’s nothing like the quiet life you thought you wanted.”
He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his expression gentle and sure. “The silence was never peace, Syd. It was emptiness.” His hand settled warm over my belly. “You filled it. You and the kids are my life.”
From somewhere in the valley below, a bird called. The breeze carried the scent of pine and wildflowers. And I thought of the scared girl who’d stepped off that bus four years ago, heart pounding, hoping she hadn’t made the biggest mistake of her life.
She never could have imagined this. I pressed a kiss to Kross’s jaw and silently thanked her anyway—
For being brave enough to try.