7. Epilogue
Epilogue
A few months later…
Istare at the scene in front of me like it’s something out of a SciFi.
“Your family,” I start when Connor sits next to me on the bench.
“Yes?”
“They’re…normal.”
He chokes on the soda, trying to hold back his laughter.
“I’m sorry?”
“They’re normal,” I repeat.
“Why wouldn’t they be?”
I give him a pointed look and gesture vaguely in his direction.
“I thought it was an entire family of little robots.”
I did get to see that cabin they have in Colorado after all.
“But your mom is nice.”
“You say it as if the word would burn you.”
“You’re not nice,” I muse to myself. “Why aren’t you nice?” I turn to fully face him as his parents and older brother argue over the barbecue.
He raises that eyebrow I’ve come to love so much in his classic unimpressed look.
“I’m nice to you.”
“No, you’re not,” I groan. “You’re like a drill sergeant who uses too much hair product and wants me to eat more fiber.”
His eyes flicker to his folks and when he sees nobody is paying attention to us he leans in closer.
“I can be very nice to you,” he says in that low, dark tone that ignites a fire in me. His eyes travel over my body, letting me know he saw me shiver. “And you love my hair.”
I did. I loved all of him.
His lips are still a bit swollen from not even an hour ago. I chalk it up to some good karma from previous lives to be blessed with a man who loves blowing me every chance he gets. Even if that chance is five minutes before we have to be downstairs and the car engine is already running.
“But yes, there’s a reason my brother offered you his condolences when I introduced you.”
We both crack up at the memory. I swear the guy almost asked me if I needed to be rescued.
“How am I going to live with you?” I sigh and rest my head against his shoulder.
“Happily.”
I puff out in exasperation, as if I didn’t look forward to graduating and getting our own place. I steal a glance at Connor.
“Do you like strawberries, by any chance?” I ask with a knowing grin, watching the way his expression freezes and he slowly turns to give me a threatening look.
“Do you like being tied up, by any chance? I was thinking of a king-sized poster bed in our new place.”
“Never mind, then.”
“Oh, baby, no,” he caresses the back of my head with that mock sympathy that lets me know I’m in deep trouble, “that question was purely rhetorical. I already picked the design.”
***