Epilogue – Morgan
Two Years Later
The engine rumbles beneath me, cutting through the quiet of the mountain road as I lean into the curve. Behind me, Megan's arms tighten around my waist, her body pressing closer against my back, and I feel the shift in her weight as she anticipates the turn before I make it.
She's gotten good at this—reading the bike, reading me, moving with the motion instead of fighting it.
Her helmet bumps my shoulder when she leans in to speak over the engine noise. "You're showing off."
I grin even though she can't see it. "You're the one who asked me to take the long way."
"I didn't ask you to take every curve like you're auditioning for something."
"You complaining?"
She laughs, the sound muffled but warm, and her arms squeeze tighter for just a second, affection wrapped in mockery. "No. But if you dump us, I'm telling Hansen it was your fault."
"Noted."
The road opens up ahead, trees thinning to reveal the cabin perched against the hillside, smoke curling from the chimney where I left the fire banked before we headed out this morning.
The last of the daylight is fading fast, turning the snow-covered clearing soft and golden, and I feel Megan relax against me as the cabin comes into view like coming home always does this to her.
I pull into the clearing and cut the engine, the sudden silence loud after hours of rumbling beneath us. Megan's already pulling off her helmet before I can swing my leg over, shaking out her hair and grinning at me like she just survived something thrilling instead of a ride up a mountain.
"Your driving's going to give me a heart attack one of these days," she says, but she's smiling, and when I reach out to steady her as she climbs off the bike, my hands settle automatically at her waist.
"You love it," I tell her, and she doesn't argue.
We move toward the cabin together, shedding cold and gear as we go—helmets hung on hooks by the door, jackets tossed over the back of the couch, gloves shoved into pockets.
The fire is still going strong inside, warmth hitting us the second we step through the door, and I hear the familiar thud of Bullet jumping down from wherever he's been napping.
He appears a second later, weaving between our legs. Megan bends to scoop him up, and he purrs loud enough to vibrate through the room.
"You'd think he was starving," I mutter, moving past them to check the fire.
"He thinks he runs this place," Megan says, scratching behind Bullet's ears. The cat's gotten bigger over the last couple years, spoiled beyond reason.
"He's not wrong," I admit, and Megan laughs.
She sets Bullet down and he immediately starts circling the kitchen, meowing pointedly at the cabinet where we keep his food. Megan follows him, already pulling out the can and the bowl, and I watch her move through the space.
"So," she says, glancing at me over her shoulder as she sets Bullet's food down. "I want to make that mac and cheese tonight. The one I showed you last week."
I raise an eyebrow. "The one with four kinds of cheese?"
"Five, actually. And a roux. And breadcrumbs on top." She grins. "It's fancy."
"It's mac and cheese."
"It's gourmet mac and cheese," she corrects, moving to the fridge and pulling out ingredients with the kind of confidence that says she's been planning this. "And you're helping."
"I don't remember agreeing to that."
"You're helping," she repeats, handing me a block of cheddar and a grater. "Grate that. Medium shred."
I take the cheese without argument, settling at the counter while she pulls out a pot and starts measuring milk and butter.
We fall into the rhythm easily, her narrating the recipe like she's hosting a cooking show, me following instructions and occasionally offering commentary that makes her roll her eyes.
"This is your internet gourmet phase talking," I tell her, watching her whisk flour into melted butter with the kind of focus she usually reserves for things that matter.
"My internet gourmet phase has given us some excellent meals," she counters. "Remember the pot roast?"
"I remember you almost setting the kitchen on fire."
"That was one time, and it was the oven's fault, not mine."
I grin, finishing with the cheddar and moving on to the gruyere she hands me next. "Whatever you say, chef."
She leans into me briefly as she passes, her hip bumping mine, and I feel the warmth of her even through layers of clothing.
"How's the club been?" she asks, stirring the sauce slowly as it thickens. "You said Hansen had a meeting this morning."
"Yeah. Nothing major. Just coordination stuff with the other chapters. Making sure everyone's on the same page for the spring runs." I dump the grated cheese into the bowl she's set out. "Miller's already starting to complain about logistics, which means it's going to be a smooth season."
She laughs. "Miller complains when things are going well?"
"Miller complains as a form of quality control."
"That's the most Miller thing I've ever heard."
The pasta finishes boiling, and she drains it while I finish grating the last of the cheese.
We work in tandem, her folding the pasta into the sauce, me adding cheese in stages like she directs, both of us taste-testing with the same spoon until she's satisfied.
She pours the whole thing into a baking dish, tops it with breadcrumbs mixed with melted butter, and slides it into the oven with a satisfied nod.
"Thirty minutes," she announces, setting a timer. "And then you're going to admit this was worth it."
"I already think it's worth it," I tell her, catching her around the waist and pulling her back against my chest. "Watching you boss me around in my own kitchen is entertaining."
"Our kitchen," she corrects, leaning into me. "And I'm not bossy. I'm organized."
"Right."
She turns in my arms, grinning up at me, and I kiss her because she's right there and I can.
When the timer goes off, we pull the mac and cheese, golden and bubbling and smelling so good my stomach growls audibly.
Megan plates it with the kind of care that makes me think she's secretly proud of herself, and we settle at the table, knees knocking together, Bullet lurking hopefully at our feet.
"This is dangerous," I tell her after the first bite, and she looks smug.
"Told you."
We eat until we're full and the dishes are piled in the sink, and then we migrate toward the fireplace without discussing it, carrying our wine and the comfortable weight of a evening that doesn't need to be anything other than this.
Megan settles on the rug in front of the fire, and I drop down behind her, letting her lean back against my chest while I stretch my legs out on either side of her.
Bullet claims the armchair, curling into a tight ball and watching us with half-closed eyes.
"You know," Megan says after a while, her fingers tracing idle patterns on my forearm, "I never thought I'd end up here."
"In the mountains?"
"With you. Cooking mac and cheese. Living in a cabin with a cat who thinks he's a person." She tilts her head back to look at me, smiling. "It's kind of perfect."
I brush a strand of hair away from her face, letting my hand linger. "Yeah. It is."
She shifts, turning more fully toward me, and her expression softens into something playful. "You remember the first time I saw you?"
"Vaguely."
"Liar. You remember everything." She grins. "I thought you were terrifying. And hot. Mostly terrifying."
"And now?"
"Now I know you're a marshmallow who lets a cat steal your side of the bed and makes me coffee every morning without asking."
"Still hot, though," I say, and she laughs.
"Still hot," she agrees, and then she's kissing me.
Her hands slide up to frame my face, and I pull her closer, deepening the kiss until we're both breathless and smiling against each other's mouths. She shifts in my arms, straddling my lap without breaking contact, and I let my hands settle on her hips, holding her steady.
"You taste like cheese," she murmurs against my lips.
"So do you."
She laughs again, and I swallow the sound, kissing her harder, and her fingers tangle in my hair. There's no urgency, no rush, just the two of us.
When we finally pull apart, her forehead rests against mine, and we're both breathing hard.
"I love you," she says quietly, and it's not the first time, but it still hits the same way it always does.
"I love you too," I tell her, and I mean it with everything I have.
This is it. This is the life I didn't know I was building until she walked into it and made it make sense.
And I'm not letting it go.
Thank you for reading!