Epilogue
GABBY
“Mama, look. I drawed a fire truck.”
I leaned over to examine the crayon masterpiece our three-year-old was waving in my face. It was mostly red scribbles with some orange thrown in for good measure, but I could sort of make out a boxy shape with wheels.
“That’s beautiful, Eloise,” I said, smoothing down her dark curls—Mason’s hair, my eyes. “Is that Daddy’s truck?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded solemnly, then grabbed the blue crayon and started adding what I assumed was water. Or the sky. Or just blue because blue was her favorite this week.
Mason caught my eye across the booth and grinned. God, that grin still did things to me. Four years of marriage, one toddler, and another baby currently using my bladder as a trampoline, and the man could still make my stomach flip with a single smile.
“Hi there, folks. Welcome to the Wildwood Ridge Roadhouse.”
I looked up at our server—a young girl I didn’t recognize, probably nineteen or twenty with a high ponytail and a nervous smile. She must be new. There’d been a lot of turnover at the roadhouse since I’d stopped working here, but I still knew most of the staff.
“I’m Bethany, and I’ll be taking care of you tonight. Can I start you off with something to drink?”
“I’ll have water,” I said. The baby was pressing on everything these days, and sweet drinks made my heartburn flare up something fierce.
“Apple juice,” Eloise announced without looking up from her artwork.
“Apple juice, please,” I corrected gently.
“Apple juice please,” Eloise repeated, still coloring.
Bethany smiled and turned to Mason. “And for you, sir?”
Mason didn’t hesitate. “Sweet tea, please.”
I pressed my lips together, trying not to laugh.
Bethany nodded, scribbled on her notepad, and bounced off toward the kitchen. The second she was out of earshot, I kicked Mason lightly under the table.
“Sweet tea?” I raised an eyebrow. “Really?”
He shrugged, the picture of innocence. “It’s tradition.”
“You hate sweet tea.”
“Hate’s a strong word.”
“You told me—and I quote—that it tastes like someone melted a bag of sugar into dirty pond water.”
“That was one time.” His eyes sparkled. “And I was being dramatic. I would have drunk a thousand more glasses of that sugary garbage if it meant you’d keep coming back to my table.”
My throat tightened. Stupid pregnancy hormones.
“Mason…”
“Four years ago tonight,” he said, reaching across the table to take my hand. His thumb traced over my wedding ring. “Right here in this roadhouse. You kept filling my glass and I kept pretending I wanted more, just so you’d come back.”
“And then you drove me into a ditch.”
He laughed. “Best mistake I ever made.”
Eloise looked up from her coloring, curious. “What ditch, Daddy?”
“The ditch where I fell in love with your mama,” Mason said, completely serious.
Eloise scrunched up her nose. “That’s silly. You can’t fall in love in a ditch.”
“You can if you’re lucky,” I told her. “And your daddy got very, very lucky.”
“We both did,” Mason said.
Bethany returned with our drinks, setting them down with a cheerful smile. Mason took a long sip of his sweet tea without flinching. I watched him, trying not to laugh at the way his eye twitched almost imperceptibly.
“Good?” I asked sweetly.
“Delicious,” he said through what I was pretty sure was a clenched jaw.
I burst out laughing. I couldn’t help it. Mason’s face cracked into a grin, and then he was laughing too, and Eloise was giggling even though she didn’t know what was funny, and the baby was kicking up a storm like she wanted in on the joke.
This. This right here. My husband, my daughter, my baby on the way. Anniversary dinner at the place where it all started.
Four years ago, I’d been terrified of being convenient. Of being the small-town girl nobody really saw. Of ending up as someone’s forgettable snowstorm fling.
And then Mason had looked at his friends, jaw set, and said, This is Gabby. My girlfriend. You’re going to be respectful.
He’d never stopped. Not once in four years. He saw me—really saw me—every single day.
“Hey.” Mason’s voice pulled me back. He was watching me with that knowing look—the one that said he could read every thought crossing my face. “Where’d you go?”
“Nowhere.” I squeezed his hand. “Just thinking about how lucky I got. Stuck in a truck with a guy who couldn’t string two words together.”
“I’ve gotten better.”
“You have.” I smiled at him. “You told me you loved me and everything.”
“Only took me three tries to get the words out.”
“Progress.”
He lifted my hand and pressed a kiss to my knuckles, right over my wedding ring. “I love you, Gabby. More than sweet tea.”
I grinned. “That’s not saying much.”
“More than anything,” he corrected, eyes warm. “More than I ever thought I could love anyone. You and Eloise and this little one—” He nodded toward my belly. “You’re my whole world.”
The baby kicked again, hard enough that I gasped. Mason’s eyes widened.
“She agrees,” I said, pressing his hand to my baby bump.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” he murmured.
Eloise tugged on his sleeve, holding up another drawing. “Daddy, look. I drawed our family.”
Mason took the paper, examining it with the same seriousness he’d give an official report. There were four figures—a big one, a medium one, a small one, and a tiny blob that I assumed was the baby.
“This is perfect,” he said. “Best picture I’ve ever seen.”
I watched them—my husband and my daughter, heads bent together over a crayon drawing—and felt my heart swell so big it almost hurt.
Four years ago, I’d been a server at this roadhouse, invisible to most, dreaming of a life bigger than Wildwood Valley. But as it turned out, the biggest life I could imagine was right here all along. I just needed a snowstorm, a ditch, and a tongue-tied firefighter to help me find it.
Mason looked up and caught me staring. “What?”
“Nothing.” I smiled. “Just thinking about how glad I am that you’re terrible at driving in snow.”
He laughed, loud and warm, and the sound wrapped around me like a blanket.
Yeah. This was exactly where I was meant to be.