Epilogue
The farmers market is bustling with shoppers seeking organic fruits, vegetables, and flowers.
I stroll through the stands in my sundress, a cashmere cardigan tied at my waist, because despite the perpetually mild weather in Malibu, I still can’t get used to leaving the house without one.
I stop at a bushel of bananas, smelling the stems before putting a bunch into my already overflowing basket.
When I round the corner, I come to the winding line in front of Danny’s pop-up bake sale for Fight Bread. It only took a few well-timed social media posts to get the word out, and now MMA fans and bread enthusiasts alike are lining up to buy a loaf of his signature lavender honey French bread.
I slip past the crowd and find Danny talking good-naturedly to a customer. When he sees me, his whole face lights up.
“Excuse me,” he says to the customer, handing over a canvas bag with two loaves poking out the top. “I need to kiss my gorgeous fiancé.”
“By all means,” the customer says, and Danny pulls me to him by my waist, wrapping both arms around me now that he’s in a soft cast, and kisses me firmly on my lips.
Not quite chaste enough for the farmers market, but I’m not complaining.
His tongue gently swipes my lower lip, his kiss sending tingles straight down to my toes.
When he releases me, I look around the bread stand. He’s all but sold out.
“That was fast.”
“I know. Baking in our cottage isn’t going to cut it much longer,” he says. “I spoke to a guy who runs one of the pastry stands, and he told me about a professional kitchen where I can block off some time.”
“Oh, but I’ll miss waking up to the smell of lavender and honey.”
“I’ll always bake for you at home.”
Ah, the way he says home. I still can’t get over the thrill.
Although home changes based on where we are at the time.
When we’re in Seattle visiting Dad and the girls, home is the Met.
When fight camp starts for his title fight next spring, we’ll stay for the whole month.
Despite an invitation to come train at DeLuca’s fancy gym, Danny made it clear that Gracie and Topher are the only corner people he needs, which works out well, considering they’re now a couple.
But mostly, home means our cottage, where we wake before dawn to practice tai chi on the beach, then stroll with to-go coffees while Danny points out his favorite bakeries, his almost-healed arm resting on my shoulder.
“I’ll just pop over to my office while you finish up here.”
“Working on a Sunday?” he says, raising his eyebrow.
“Never. I just want to water my plants. That peace lily is such a drama queen. She wilts the second you don’t give her enough attention.”
“She’s just communicating her needs. I love a woman who knows what she wants.”
“Oh, I’m well aware.”
“And what is it my woman wants tonight?” he says, dropping his voice. His eyes are getting that look again. Feral and enflamed. The second we get home, he’ll be peeling off my sundress, pushing me against the wall, and worshipping my body with his hands, his mouth. “Be extremely specific.”
“I want,” I say, bringing my lips to his ear, dropping my voice to a seductive whisper, “to go water my plants.”
He growls and grabs me by my waist, lifting me as I toss my head back in laughter.
“OK, OK.” I bat at him, breathless. “Don’t hurt your arm. I’ll tell you.”
Danny sets me down gently and dips his head to mine, where he listens intently as I explain in exquisite detail exactly what I need.
The End