Epilogue
MAY
Lovell leaned with his bike as he rounded a bend, passing the Warwicks’ lodge on his right. He hadn’t been to the east side of the lake since he and Daphne had packed up the cabin after returning from New York.
What a difference two months made. Wildflowers poked their heads up from between lush, uneven clusters of grass; the sun hanging in the bright blue sky warmed his shoulders through his leather jacket. All in all, it was a good day to be alive.
It didn’t hurt that he was on his way to meet Daphne for a picnic.
It was always a good day when he spent time with her.
Which, these days, was almost every day.
They didn’t live together, not technically, but it was a rare night they weren’t at either his place or the small house she’d been renting since their return.
He passed a popular trailhead and slowed.
Without much of a parking lot, cars lined the road.
He’d seen enough doors thrown open by clueless drivers who didn’t bother to look over their shoulder that he never took a chance.
A man’s shout had him slowing even more as an off-leash dog darted into the road two cars ahead of him.
He pulled to a stop as the owner rushed out, apologizing profusely. Lovell wasn’t bothered, mistakes happened, and he nodded to the man as he snapped a leash on the black-and-white mutt and led him safely to the shoulder.
The engine of his bike rumbled between his thighs as he accelerated away, making him think of Daphne once again.
And how different their time together was now that the threat to him, to them, no longer hung over their heads.
Not even the specter of Daisy haunted them.
When they’d returned from New York, an envelope from the PI she’d hired had been waiting for him in his mail.
Inside had been a letter from her. She assured him that while she’d hired the PI to find him, she hadn’t wanted, nor had she been given, his address.
Instead, she’d asked the PI to send her letter on her behalf.
A letter in which she both apologized for what had happened between them and thanked him for his advocacy in getting her mental health treatment.
She didn’t expect his forgiveness, nor did she excuse her behavior.
She simply apologized and thanked him. And wished him well with his life.
He didn’t think about her, or the letter, often, but occasionally, it slipped into his head.
And a little part of him breathed a tiny sigh of relief knowing he hadn’t completely fucked up when he’d married her.
She had wanted the things he’d wanted—family, a partner, connection.
She just hadn’t been able to provide or accept any of them.
Crossing over the border of the lodge’s property, he opened up the throttle, letting the wind carry thoughts of Daisy away with it.
Thoughts of all the dangers he and Daphne had faced those few days.
With Malcom, Ken, and Gareth in jail awaiting trial, the victims getting the help they needed, and the clients facing their own charges, it was easy to let it all go.
Shade from the towering pines shadowed the roads as he entered the forest. The scents changing from sharp and fresh to damp and earthy as he glanced down at the map on his phone fastened to his bike.
A half mile up and he’d make a left turn, then head up the hill another mile.
She’d told him to look for a dirt road with a half barrel of spring flowers in it and turn right there.
He had his suspicions about where they were meeting, but not wanting to ruin Daphne’s surprise, he hadn’t asked.
His suspicions were confirmed a few minutes later when he pulled up to a picturesque cabin, tucked into a mountain meadow with a stream bubbling into a pond that sparkled in the sun.
Dressed in a maroon linen sundress, Daphne rose from where she’d been sitting on the wraparound porch as he lowered the kickstand and killed the engine.
He took a moment to watch her move toward him, the familiar sway of her hips, the curve of her shoulder, before swinging his leg over his bike and standing.
“Did you find a house to look at?” he asked, meeting her halfway and sliding his hands around her slim waist. Before she answered, he lowered his head and kissed her.
When her fingers dipped beneath the collar of his shirt, he considered backing her against her Bentley—which she’d bought and repaired—and having his way with her.
But if they were there to look at a house, a real estate agent would come along at some time, and putting on a show wasn’t his thing.
“Come inside and see,” she said when he pulled back.
Taking her hand, he let her lead him inside.
They stepped into a wide, short entry that opened to a great room with tall ceilings, thick beams, reclaimed wood floors.
To his left was a long space broken into two sitting areas, the cozier of the two centered around a river stone fireplace.
To his right, a dining room sat toward the front of the house, flowing into a sizable kitchen with peekaboo views of the lake.
“It’s amazing,” he said, letting go of Daphne’s hand and walking in.
The floor-to-ceiling windows with sweeping views of the western mountain range drew him like a magnet, reminding him of their “rumination window” in New York.
Those few days hadn’t been easy, but those moments they’d spent in front of the window in their hotel room would remain some of his most cherished memories of her, of them.
“The staging is nice, too,” he said, turning and taking in the furnishings. The neutral tones of the furniture balanced with pops of color from the area rugs, art, and light fixtures. “Any chance you can buy it furnished?”
She smiled and held out her hand again. “Let me show you the rest,” she said.
The glint in her eyes made him smile as he crossed back to her.
Taking his hand, she led him down the hall on the south side of the room to the primary suite, which had views similar to the great room, and a second en suite room with a bed and a crib in it.
Again, he wondered if she could buy it furnished.
She intended to be a very hands-on auntie, and the house already seemed set up for that.
After viewing those two rooms, she pulled him back across the great room down the opposite hallway to see a room the owners had turned into an office, again with the mountain views, along with a powder room, butler’s pantry, and laundry. And a set of stairs leading down.
“A walk-out basement?” he asked. He’d noticed the dip of the land when he’d arrived and admired it from the windows, but not many houses in California had basements.
She nodded and led him down. When they reached the landing, he paused. The space was huge, running nearly the entire breadth and depth of the rooms above him.
“There’s another bedroom down there and bathroom,” she said, pointing down a hall. “But this space could be finished for anything. It’s ready with electric and all that, it just needs the cosmetic stuff.”
A series of French doors lined the wall opposite from where they entered, and he walked over, keeping Daphne at his side.
“I like how these open to the outside. It’s a good gathering space.
You could put a patio out there with a grill or outdoor kitchen…
” And he could see it. He could see them entertaining here.
He could see his future nieces and nephews swimming in the pond, he could see his brothers grilling burgers while a game played on a television in the basement area.
“Are you really thinking of buying this house?” he asked, sliding his hands around her waist and pulling her toward him. If she didn’t, maybe he’d rethink donating all his inheritance.
Her hands came to rest on his chest, and she grinned. “I’m not thinking of buying it, I already did.”
Okay, he hadn’t been expecting that. “You bought a house,” he said.
In her bare feet, she had to look up to see his face. “I did. Do you like it?”
His hands tightened. “I love it. I love you.”
She blinked. He’d never said those words before, to her or anyone else.
“You do?” she asked, a little stunned.
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you questioning my word, woman?”
Her hands slid up around his neck. “I am not,” she said. “You just caught me by surprise.” She hesitated. “Do you really like it here?”
An eyebrow went up. “You must not be clear on the definition of not questioning me, because it sounds like you’re questioning me,” he replied.
“First, you ask if I really love you when I said I do, then you ask if I really like it here when I said I love it. I think we need to work on your trust issues.” He slid a hand down and gave her a sharp, but playful, smack on her butt.
Her eyes narrowed. “I’ve decorated the entire place except for the basement. To my taste,” she said, as if in challenge.
“Good, then I don’t have to do it,” he replied.
“I didn’t consult you.”
“I’m aware. I don’t care.”
“The bathroom attached to the primary bedroom will have pink towels. With frills.”
He shrugged. “Towels are towels. Pink’s not my favorite color, but it will do the job.”
“The towels won’t really be pink.”
He grinned. “I didn’t think they would be. I’ve never seen you wear pink before. It’s not really a color you go for. If I had to guess, you picked either a soft green or deep burgundy, like your dress.”
She smiled, then tipped her lips up for a kiss. He flattened a hand across her back while the other gripped her hip as he lowered his lips. “They’re soft green,” she said when they pulled apart. “The burgundy ones are in the bathroom down here. They went better with the subway tile color scheme.”
The smile that curved his lips came from deep inside him, but it seemed she had one more surprise for him. “What do you think about renting out your place and shacking up with me?”
Fuck. Yes.
“Are you expecting any more guests?” he asked, sliding his hand down the outside of her thigh.
“Amber wanted to meet for breakfast tomorrow.” She hesitated, a look of concern flashing across her face. Then it cleared, and she smiled. “But until then, I’m all yours,” she said, slipping her hands under his shirt, her skin hot against his. “Whatever shall we do?”
He lifted his hand, his fingers trailing along her thigh, bringing her dress along with it. “Here’s the one question you get to answer for the next fifteen hours,” he said. “Where do you want to start?”
“With I love you, too.”
His fingers curled around her thigh. “I meant which room, but I like that answer better.”
“I thought you might. The upstairs windows have been calling to me.”
He clicked his tongue and shook his head. “You already answered the question; now the rest is up to me. And we’re starting right here, right now,” he said, sliding her underwear down. “If you’re good,”—he backed her toward the wall—“we’ll move to the windows next.”
Daphne closed her eyes, surrendering herself to him, to who they were and whatever their future would bring.
This was only the start, though. The start of years together, the start of laughter, of love, of good times and bad.
Regardless of whether she was good or not, this was only the beginning.
Even so, she chose to be good. Very, very good.