Epilogue
Hannah
Three years later
There are exactly four things I have learned about being married to Gavin Mercer.
One, he still thinks “we should discuss this” means he should make a decision and wait for me to catch up.
Two, he considers buying me art supplies an acceptable substitute for flowers.
Three, he was absolutely serious about every surface in this cabin.
And four, he can hear me open a jar of pickles from two rooms away.
“You’re supposed to be working.”
I look up from my laptop.
Gavin stands in the doorway to my studio, arms crossed over his chest.
“I am working.”
He looks pointedly at the pickle in my hand.
“This is creative fuel.”
“It’s your third one.”
“The baby wanted it.”
His eyes drop immediately to my stomach.
There it is.
That look.
I am only five months pregnant, but Gavin has somehow managed to become even more protective than he already was, which I previously would have considered physically impossible.
His gaze comes back to mine.
“The baby also wanted cinnamon rolls this morning.”
“She has diverse interests.”
“We don’t know she’s a girl.”
“I do.”
“You guessed.”
“Maternal intuition.”
I grin and turn back to my laptop.
The cover design on my screen needs another hour before I send it to the author, and there are two promotional graphics waiting behind it.
My studio sits off the main cabin now, added during our first year of marriage. Big windows. Built-in shelves. More desk space than I know what to do with.
Gavin built most of it himself.
Normal husbands buy their wives anniversary jewelry. Mine added square footage.
Not that I’m complaining.
Wildwood has become home in ways I never expected.
I still do freelance covers and advertising, but half my work now seems to come from businesses around town. Menus. Posters. Logos. Holiday campaigns.
Three years ago, I broke into this cabin carrying everything I thought mattered in one backpack.
Now my life takes up several closets, an entire studio, and approximately eighty percent of Gavin’s patience.
Maybe ninety.
He comes up behind me and puts both hands on my shoulders.
“Enough.”
I glance up at him.
“I have work to finish.”
“You’ve been at it for hours.”
“So?”
“So you’re done.”
I turn slowly in my chair.
“You know I’m self-employed, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That means you’re not my boss.”
His mouth twitches.
“Good thing you’re my wife, then.”
I laugh.
His hand slides to the curve of my stomach.
The baby kicks.
Gavin freezes.
Every single time.
His entire face changes.
“There.”
“I felt it.”
“You always say that like she personally sent you a telegram.”
His palm spreads wider.
Another kick.
His eyes lift to mine.
“Strong.”
“She’s a Mercer.”
“She’s a Vance too.”
Something warm settles in my chest.
He always says that.
Never lets me disappear inside his name.
I married him one month after I broke into his cabin.
Kaden called us insane.
Gavin told him to mind his own business.
Then Kaden stood beside me at the wedding anyway.
I rest my hand over Gavin’s.
“You happy?”
His brows pull together.
“With what?”
I gesture around us.
“This. Me. The tiny person currently using my bladder as furniture.”
He looks at me like I have asked the dumbest question imaginable.
Then he bends, kisses me once, and rests his forehead against mine.
“I love you.”
I smile.
“I love you too.”
His hand spreads over our baby.
“Every day.”
THE END