Epilogue
Paisley
Summer mornings at Johnson River Adventures still smell like sunscreen, river water, and fresh pine. I stand on the dock with a clipboard in one hand and a stack of tiny life jackets in the other, watching the chaos I’ve come to love more than I ever thought possible.
“Mom! Patrick keeps splashing me!” Danielle yells, already in her bright orange life jacket, paddle in hand.
“Because you’re hogging the good kayak!” our five-year-old son fires back.
Dean’s low laugh rolls across the dock behind me.
“Easy, you two. The river’s big enough for both of you.”
He steps up beside me, one big hand settling possessively on my lower back.
Even after ten years, that touch still makes my stomach flutter.
He’s somehow gotten even more handsome, with deeper laugh lines, a few silver threads in his dark hair, and the same ridiculous green eyes that still look at me like I’m the only woman on the mountain.
“Ready for the next generation of clumsy kayakers, Paddles?” he murmurs against my ear.
I elbow him lightly.
“Don’t jinx it. You’re the one who insisted on teaching them yourself.”
“Family tradition,” he says with a grin.
The beginner group this morning is small and very special. Just our two kids and a couple of their cousins. Dean crouches down to adjust Danielle’s life jacket while I help Patrick into his kayak. Our daughter is seven going on seventeen, determined, and extremely competitive.
“Remember what your dad said,” I tell her. “Slow, steady strokes. Don’t swing that paddle like a baseball bat.”
“Yes, Mom.”
Famous last words.
Dean is demonstrating proper paddle grip to Patrick when Danielle turns to show off her perfect form. The paddle swings wide, fast, and—
Crack.
It connects solidly with Dean’s face.
“Ow—fuck!” he hisses, staggering back a step.
Blood immediately starts pouring from his nose.
“Dad!” Patrick yells.
“Oh my gosh, Daddy!” Danielle drops the paddle like it’s on fire, her green eyes huge.
I’m already moving, grabbing the clean towel I keep stashed in the equipment bin for exactly this kind of Johnson family nonsense. I press it gently to Dean’s face while trying not to laugh.
“Hold still, you big baby.”
He winces but tilts his head forward obediently, one eye cracking open to look at me. Even with blood dripping down his chin, he’s grinning.
“Told you it was tradition.”
“You’re impossible,” I mutter, but I’m smiling too. I carefully pinch the bridge of his nose and guide him toward the small staff building at the end of the dock. “Kids, stay with Uncle Dylan. We’ll be right back.”
Dylan’s already doubled over laughing.
“Paddles strikes again! Welcome to the club, Danielle!”
Inside the bathroom, I lock the door and turn to my husband. The bleeding has mostly slowed. I wet a fresh cloth and start cleaning him up, dabbing gently at the blood on his lips and chin.
“You know,” I say softly, “the first time I did this, I thought I’d broken your nose and ruined your entire day.”
Dean’s hands settle on my hips, pulling me closer.
“Best day of my life.”
His green eyes are dark now, heated in that way that still makes my knees weak after a decade together. I finish wiping the last of the blood away and toss the cloth into the sink.
“You’re all cleaned up, mountain man.”
“Not quite.” He backs me against the door, voice dropping into that gravelly register that always spells trouble. “Still need my wife to kiss it better.”
I laugh, but it melts into a moan as his mouth claims mine. The kiss is hungry and familiar. Ten years of marriage, two kids, and this man still kisses me like he’s afraid I might disappear.
His hands slide under my Johnson River Adventures staff shirt, palms rough and warm against my skin.
“Been thinking about this since you put on those little shorts this morning,” he growls against my neck.
“Dean, we have kids waiting—”
“Dylan’s got them. They’ll be fine for ten minutes.” He nips my earlobe. “Maybe fifteen.”
I should argue. Instead, I’m already tugging at his swim trunks.
Minutes later, he’s got me lifted onto the small bathroom counter, my legs wrapped around his waist as he thrusts deep and steady. One hand covers my mouth to muffle my moans while the other grips my thigh hard enough to leave marks I’ll feel tomorrow.
“Still so fucking perfect,” he groans, forehead pressed to mine. “Love you, Paddles.”
I come with his name on my lips, clenching around him. He follows right after, burying himself deep and kissing me through it.
We stay locked together for a moment, breathing hard, with our foreheads touching.
“I love you,” I whisper. “Even when our daughter breaks your nose.”
He chuckles, the sound warm and content.
“Like mother like daughter.”
After a quick cleanup, we step back out into the sunshine. Danielle looks guilty until she sees us holding hands and smiling.
“Am I in trouble?” she asks.
Dean ruffles her hair, the dried blood on his shirt already forgotten.
“Nah. Just means you’re officially a Johnson. Now let’s get you two on the water before your brother claims the good kayak.”
As I watch my husband guide our children onto the river, the same river that brought us together ten years ago, I feel a deep, bone-settling contentment.
This is our life.
Messy. Loud. Full of accidental paddle injuries and stolen bathroom moments.
And I wouldn’t trade a single second of it.
The End