Epilogue
The backyard looked like a daycare had exploded.
Kids were everywhere—chasing each other across the grass, climbing on the swing set Eli and I built last summer, shrieking at volumes that should have been illegal.
Noah was leading the charge, as usual, with Josiah and Chelsea hot on his heels.
Little Mary toddled after them on unsteady legs, determined to keep up with the big kids.
Eloise had claimed the sandbox as her personal kingdom and was bossing around anyone who came near it.
And right in the middle of it all—my two boys.
Jake, our four-year-old, had inherited his mother’s quiet observation skills.
He sat on the edge of the crowd, watching everything with those serious eyes, probably cataloging every detail to report back later.
Beau, on the other hand, was a flurry of activity at two years old—currently face-first in a mud puddle, laughing like it was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
“Our son is going to need a bath,” Elsa said, appearing at my side with two beers.
“He’s your son when he’s covered in mud.”
She laughed, handing me a bottle. “Pretty sure that’s not how it works.”
I pulled her close, pressing a kiss to her temple. She smelled like sunshine and the vanilla-citrus lotion she’d used since the day I met her. Four years of marriage, two kids, and I still couldn’t believe she was mine.
Over by the grill, Hux was arguing with Mason about the proper way to flip a burger while their wives watched with barely concealed amusement.
Allegra had one hand on her growing belly, the other wrapped around a glass of lemonade.
Gabby was in the same condition, and she kept stealing bites of whatever Allegra had brought in that massive casserole dish.
Knox and Teddie were on baby duty, trading off little Naomi between them while trying to keep Josiah from eating dirt. Wolfe had Mary on his hip, bouncing her gently, while Meghan took approximately nine hundred photos of Noah on the swing set.
Conner and Kameron had claimed the porch swing—her head on his shoulder, his hand resting protectively over the small swell of her stomach. They had that dreamy, first-baby glow about them.
Give them a year.
And Eli stood off to the side, Liam in his arms, watching his crew with the same quiet pride I’d seen in him since the day he’d recruited us. Tessa appeared beside him, slipping her hand into his free one, and something passed between them that made my chest tighten.
This. This was what I’d wanted without knowing I wanted it.
“You’re doing that thing again,” Elsa said.
“What thing?”
“That grumpy, brooding thing where you’re actually feeling sentimental but don’t want anyone to know.”
I huffed out a laugh. “You know me too well.”
“That’s what happens when you marry someone.” She leaned into me, her head finding that spot on my shoulder that seemed made for her. “Also, when you’ve been watching them from across a bar for weeks before working up the nerve to talk to them.”
“You’re never going to let me live that down.”
“Never.”
Beau chose that moment to abandon his mud puddle and make a beeline for us, arms outstretched, face filthy, grin enormous. Elsa scooped him up without hesitation—mud and all—pressing kisses to his grubby cheeks.
“Mama’s messy boy,” she cooed.
“Your messy boy,” I corrected.
She shot me a look, but she was smiling. She was always smiling these days. The quiet, guarded woman I’d fallen for across a crowded bar had bloomed into something radiant.
She still bartended a couple of shifts a week—said she missed the chaos, the regulars, the feeling of being at the center of things—but mostly she was home with the boys.
Home with me.
Her parents had finally come around last Christmas. Showed up on our doorstep with expensive gifts and awkward apologies, and Elsa had welcomed them in with more grace than they deserved. Watching her mother hold Jake for the first time, I’d seen something heal in my wife’s eyes.
We didn’t need them. We had this—our crew, our kids, our little corner of Wildwood Valley. But it was nice to see her whole.
“Daddy.” Jake appeared at my side, tugging on my jeans. “Noah says firefighters aren’t scared of anything. Is that true?”
I crouched down to his level, meeting those serious eyes. “Nope. Firefighters get scared all the time. The trick is doing the brave thing anyway.”
He considered this. “What are you scared of?”
I glanced up at Elsa, who was watching us with soft eyes, Beau still squirming happily in her arms. I thought about the night she’d landed in my lap. The fear in her eyes. The way I’d called her mine before I had any right to.
“I was scared of never finding your mom,” I said. “But I did the brave thing anyway.”
Jake wrinkled his nose. “That’s mushy.”
“Yeah.” I ruffled his hair. “It is.”
He ran off to rejoin the chaos, and I straightened, pulling Elsa and Beau into my arms. The sun was setting over the mountains, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink.
Our friends’ laughter mixed with children’s shrieks, and somewhere behind us, Hux was definitely burning something on the grill.
It was loud.
It was messy.
It was absolutely perfect.
“I love you,” I murmured against Elsa’s hair.
She tilted her face up to mine, that warm sunshine smile spreading across her features. “I love you too, grumpy.”
I kissed her then—soft and slow—while our mud-covered son giggled between us and our found family celebrated another ordinary, extraordinary day in Wildwood Valley.