Epilogue
Cora
Two Years Later
Founder’s Day is louder with a baby.
Everything is louder with a baby.
Our daughter squeals from across Main Street as Jordan lifts her onto his shoulders beside the fire engine. Her tiny flowered hat slips over one eye.
Lance fixes it immediately.
He has been watching that hat all morning as though it personally threatened her safety.
“She is fine,” I call from the flower booth.
My husband looks at me.
The word still fills me with warmth.
Husband.
Lance proposed three weeks after the fire with rosemary tied around the ring box. He told me he had already wasted two years and refused to waste another day.
We married surrounded by flowers, firefighters, and most of Whispering Pines.
Zain stood beside Lance.
Jordan cried harder than I did.
Tessa still claims she had allergies, though no one else reacted to the flowers by sobbing into the handkerchief.
The rebuilt Grandma’s Garden is brighter than before. Larger windows fill the shop with light, and updated wiring runs safely through fire-resistant walls. The workroom has enough space for three tables now.
The old apartment became a classroom where I teach flower arranging twice a week.
I never moved back into it.
Home is the house at the edge of town, where my dresses fill half of Lance’s closet, toys hide beneath every chair, and flowers appear in every mug he owns.
A loose page from Grandma’s journal, now framed, hangs behind the counter.
Love grows where it is tended.
“Cora.”
Lance’s voice draws me back.
Jordan lowers our daughter from his shoulders, and Lance takes her before crossing the street. She has his dark hair, my blue eyes, and a fierce commitment to pulling his beard whenever he forgets to guard it.
“Your child stole Jordan’s radio,” he says.
“Our child.”
“She gets her criminal tendencies from you.”
“What have I ever stolen?”
His gaze holds mine.
“My heart.”
The answer comes in the same serious tone he uses to discuss fire safety.
It still makes my stomach flutter.
“You gave that to me.”
“Didn’t have a choice.”
“You always have choices.”
Something warm passes between us.
He knows what I mean.
Lance shifts our daughter higher against his chest before she can grab a fistful of daisies.
“Your mother would be proud of you,” I say.
His gaze moves to our daughter.
She has managed to get two fingers tangled in his beard.
“I hope so.”
“I know she would.”
He bends and kisses the baby’s round cheek.
She squeals, kicks both legs, and says something that sounds suspiciously like “Da,” though she uses the same sound for dogs and dolls.
Lance smiles anyway.
The softness that enters his face still feels like something precious I am lucky enough to see.
My phone buzzes beneath the counter.
Mom.
I look at the screen and let the call go unanswered.
The guilt still visits sometimes.
It no longer lives with me.
Mom calls every few months. Sometimes she asks how I am before she asks for something. Sometimes she does not.
I have learned that loving her does not require handing her every part of me she reaches for.
Lance notices the name on the screen and takes my hand.
No questions.
No orders.
Only warmth.
Only choice.
Our daughter grabs a red rose from the nearest vase. I rescue it before she can eat a petal.
“She takes after you,” Lance says.
“Because she likes flowers?”
“Because she grabs what she wants.”
He shifts her into one arm and settles his free hand at my waist.
Heat enters his eyes.
I know that look.
It has produced several broken buttons, one damaged kitchen chair, and our daughter.
“Jordan and Lana offered to babysit after the festival,” he says.
“Did they offer, or did you ask?”
“Does it matter?”
“You arranged babysitting so you could get me alone.”
Lance leans close enough for his stubble to brush my cheek.
“I have plans for my wife.”
My body warms.
“Possessive plans?”
“Very.”
He kisses me in the middle of Main Street.
Our daughter makes an outraged sound between us and pushes one tiny hand against his chin.
I laugh into his mouth.
Around us, Founder’s Day continues.
Children run past with painted faces. Music pours from the stage. Tessa argues with Zain about whether the booth needs a second fire extinguisher. Jordan tries to trade a toy helmet for his missing radio while Lana laughs at him.
Grandma’s Garden overflows with flowers.
My husband’s arm is around me.
Our daughter is trying to eat his collar.
The fire took the last place where I believed I had ever been wanted.
Love built something stronger in its place.
Something living.
Something chosen.
Something that stays.
Jordan and Lana come by after the festival to take our daughter for the evening.
Lance checks the car seat twice.
Then he checks the straps after Jordan buckles her in.
“She is secure,” Jordan says.
“Check the chest clip.”
“I did.”
“Again.”
Jordan looks at me over the roof of the car.
“Is he always like this?”
“Yes.”
“Good to know fatherhood has made him calmer.”
Lance checks the clip himself, shuts the door, and watches until the car reaches the end of the street.
The moment it disappears, he turns toward me.
The look in his eyes steals my next breath.
“Inside.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“That sounds like an order.”
“It is.”
“You know how I feel about those.”
His hand closes around mine.
“Inside, sweetheart.”
Better.
I let him lead me through the front door.
The house is quiet.
No toys playing music from beneath the couch. No little hands reaching for anything bright, sharp, breakable, or covered in flower petals.
I turn toward Lance.
“What are these plans you arranged babysitting for?”
He locks the door.
The sound sends a slow shiver down my spine.
“You wore that dress on purpose.”
I look down at the purple floral dress I chose this morning.
“I wore clothes on purpose.”
“It is too short.”
“It reaches my knees.”
“Not when I lift it.”
Heat curls through me.
He crosses the room.
Two years of marriage have not made Lance less intense. They have only taught me how much tenderness lives beneath all that control.
His hands settle on my hips.
“I watched you in it all day.”
“You were supposed to be supervising our daughter.”
“I can do both.”
His mouth finds the side of my neck.
My teasing turns into a breathless sound.
“Lance.”
“Kitchen.”
I glance over his shoulder. “Why?”
His teeth graze the sensitive place beneath my ear.
“Because I say so.”
“That sounds romantic.”
His hand slides down and grips my bottom through the dress.
“It isn’t.”
Heat rushes through me.
He walks me backward until my hips meet the edge of the counter.
A mug of daisies sits beside us.
Lance moves it out of the way before lifting me onto the counter.
My dress rises around my thighs as he steps between them. His hands spread over my legs.
“And you still look at me like that,” I whisper.
“Like what?”
“Like you cannot wait to have me.”
His eyes darken.
“Because I can’t.”
He kisses me before I can answer.
His mouth is hard and hungry, and his hands move over me with the certainty of a man who knows every curve.
I wind my arms around his neck.
His hand slides beneath my dress and between my thighs.
My breath catches when his fingers move under the lace.
Lance watches my face as he strokes me, slow at first, then firmer when my hips move against his hand.
“Already wet for me.”
“Lance.”
He circles my clit until my thighs tighten around him, then slides two fingers inside me.
Pleasure rolls through me.
I grip his shoulders as he curls his fingers deeper, his thumb keeping a steady rhythm above them.
“That’s it,” he murmurs. “Come for me.”
The command sends me over.
My body tightens around his hand as pleasure breaks through me. He holds me against him until the shaking eases, then pulls my panties down my legs.
His belt opens next.
He frees himself and steps between my thighs.
“Still mine?”
I wrap my arms around his neck.
“Always.”
He pushes his cock inside me.
The stretch steals my breath. He pauses long enough to read my face before gripping my hips and driving deeper.
I lock my legs around his waist.
His mouth covers mine as his pace turns harder, swallowing every sound he pulls from me.
“This is what I planned,” he says against my lips. “My wife in our kitchen, wrapped around me.”
Heat floods through me.
His hand slips between us and finds my clit again.
The pressure builds quickly.
“Come with me.”
My body clenches around him.
Lance groans and thrusts deep, holding me against him as we break together.
For a long moment, neither of us moves.
His forehead rests against mine while our breathing slows.
Then he lifts me from the counter and carries me down the hall.
I rest my cheek against his chest and listen to his heart beneath my ear.
The house is quiet, but it is not empty. It holds the life we chose.
The life that stayed.
Lance looks down at me.
“Home,” I whisper.
His arms tighten around me.
“Always.”
***
THE END