Epilogue
Six months later
Haywood came awake to the sound of Rudolph the Red-nosed Reindeer. Ginger changed her alarm every month, and this was his least favorite by far. Six a.m. was just too damn early for glowing body parts.
“Morning, babe.” She snuggled close, sliding her leg between his, reaching down to fondle his cock.
Okay, he could deal with Rudolph if it meant morning sex with the woman he loved.
“Today’s the big day.” She whispered the reminder as she bit his earlobe, the rhythmic up and down of her warm palm distracting him from the painful love nip. “Are you ready?”
He rolled, the slick maneuver positioning her under him so he could slip between her spread legs, the sensation of coming home never failing to move him. They fit together effortlessly, every step of their relationship falling into place easily. In the beginning, that bothered him. As if falling in love without having to work for it meant it wasn’t real. Wasn’t worthwhile.
Ginger’s unfailing loyalty and passionate adoration proved him wrong. She said learning about each other was like unwrapping a Christmas gift. With each ribbon untied, each scrap of paper torn away, a glimpse of the treasure that awaited within the package was revealed. There was just as much pleasure in the anticipation as in the actual discovery.
Not only was Haywood uncovering bits and pieces of Ginger, the past six months had been a process of finding himself.
His astute recommendations to Dayton had reinvigorated Calhoun Designs, taking it from furniture showroom to one of the region’s premiere destinations for artists and architects. The carpenters brought their work into the showroom, demonstrating their skill and the centuries-old techniques used to create authentic pieces of low country furniture. Part art gallery, part living museum, part furniture store, the place was thriving under its new president, Walt Runyon. With the contract Haywood had negotiated with one of the company’s established clients, a well-known resort developer, the company earnings were expected to triple.
“I’m so proud of you, Haywood.” Ginger moved counter to his slow-paced thrusts, neither ready to sacrifice the comfort of familiarity for the quick release of ecstasy. At least, not for a few more minutes…
“You inspire me, woman.” He bent to kiss one pink tip, then the other, resisting the urge to paycheck her love bite. The
Haywood was proud of himself, too, but none his accomplishments would have happened without Ginger. While working with Walt and Dayton to restructure Calhoun Designs, he developed Helping Hands, a foundation dedicated to securing grants and raising money for the non-profits in Love Beach. Today was the grand opening of the agency’s very modest offices next door to Fremont Toussaint’s woodworking shop.
He’d sent invitations to his family, but Patrice and her husband were the only ones attending the ribbon-cutting ceremony. That hurt, but again, Ginger kept him grounded.
“Family is important, babe. We’ll give them another chance when you’re ready. It just makes me sad that they can’t see what I see.”
“I love you, Ging. More and more every day.” He closed his eyes and thrust deep, again and again until they climaxed together, his body rigid as she pulsed around him. They melted into a puddle of bliss, breathing in unison, as strength returned to their limbs.
“Start the shower while I let the dog out.” He kissed the tip of her nose, pausing to savor her beauty—hair like a liquid fire, eyes gleaming with raw emotion, lips curved in satisfaction.
He pulled on a pair of shorts and jogged down the stairs. Max sat patiently by the back door, tail thumping the polished wooden planks when he spotted his master. Opening the door so the mutt could relieve himself, Haywood turned on the coffee machine, the rich scent of cinnamon wafting upward. The sun was just starting to rise, the purple horizon dark enough behind the window over the sink to reflect the lights on the living room Christmas tree.
A timer meant the lights were on when they started their day together and then shut off until they returned home.
Upstairs, he heard the shower start. He filled Max’s dishes with kibble and fresh water, poured coffee into a mug imprinted with HO HO HO, and whistled for the dog.
“It’s a wonderful life, Max.” Haywood patted the dog’s rump and carried the coffee upstairs.
It was, indeed, a wonderful life in Love Beach.