Epilogue
Ten years later
Every year, the orders got more ridiculous.
Yeah, Karl appreciated the couple’s business—both in terms of the money they paid for their annual wedding-anniversary celebration
cakes and all the vibrating shit they stocked in their now jointly owned sex shop—but come the hell on.
Piping out this much text? A real bitch, especially given his irritable back and wrists. But he persevered, because he was
a damn professional.
Letter by careful letter, he wrote the first cake’s message:
Go fuck yourself—and not in a fun way, woman.
PS. Okay, maybe in a fun way.
PPS. Can I watch???
Then, with a heartfelt groan, he moved on to the second cake and its way-too-long, overly informative message: You’re a dick, and while I generally really like those, said liking doesn’t apply to YOU. (JK, I ? you and your dick SM.)
Thank fuck for social media abbreviations. That cake was smaller, and he’d almost run out of room to fit everything.
Now, of course, he had to pipe out another year’s supply of decorative wangs and vulva, because those two weirdos were nothing
if not predictable.
“Why don’t I finish that?” Charlotte appeared at his shoulder, pastry bag in hand. “Molly should be here any minute, and you need time to clean up.”
With heartfelt gratitude, he straightened and surrendered the cakes to his co-head baker. “Thanks. Text is done, but I haven’t
started on the schlongs.”
These days, thanks to Charlotte—as well as Bez and Johnathan, who’d jointly taken charge of the ever-growing catering branch
of his bakery a few years back—he could sleep way later in the morning, work shorter hours, and take weekends completely off.
And since Molly had adjusted her in-studio time to suit his less flexible schedule, that meant they could take a walk around
Historic Harlot’s Bay almost every afternoon.
Her blood pressure might be okay now, and her insomnia might’ve disappeared almost a decade ago, but he wouldn’t give up his
walks with her for anything in the entire goddamn world. Best time of his day, other than when they climbed into bed together.
Charlotte retrieved a stack of wax paper squares and began crafting very convincing cocks, every gesture deft and confident.
“Got it. A cavalcade of penises, coming right up.”
Seriously? Penises, coming right up? “You do that on purpose?”
Her dimple peeked out. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Bullshit,” he told her, grinning as he peeled off his gloves.
Charlotte giggled, then added a squiggly vein to the side of a cock. “We’re still on for tonight? My parents said they’d watch
the kids, so Hector and I can definitely make it.”
He threw out his beard net and gloves, then tossed his apron onto the laundry pile. “Yep.”
Later that evening, everyone in their friend group had committed to hanging out together.
After he and Molly had their daily walk and grabbed dinner at Doxy Diner with Lise and her husband, they’d all meet Charlotte, Hector, Matthew, Athena, Bez, Johnathan, and various Nasty Wenches at the Historic Harlot’s Bay ticket office.
Sylvia would no doubt be there as well, camera tucked safely in the pocket of her motorized wheelchair, for the paper’s coverage of the historic area’s brand-new, Lise-scripted, after-hours tour.
Janel would probably stroll over during one of her breaks too and hassle them about attending the upcoming thirty-year reunion,
but whatever. Woman was a good friend to Molly and paid through the nose for the bakery’s catering services, so he could deal.
Plus, he had some damn fond memories of the twenty-year reunion. Couldn’t begrudge Janel’s desire to stage a repeat banger
of an event. And at least Molly’s asshole ex wouldn’t show up this go-round. Once she’d sold her old home to one of her LA
friends, the prick had stopped yapping and started leaving her the hell alone, at long fucking last.
Truth be told? Janel didn’t even need to convince Karl. He already knew he’d stuff himself into a rental tux, help Molly shop
for another shit-hot suit of her own, and drag them both to that stupid gym again. Kind of a tradition at this point. Also:
slow-dancing together to the Titanic soundtrack?
Everything he’d dreamed it’d be as a teenager.
No, better. Because Molly wasn’t leaving town for college in a few weeks. Their fears and insecurities about each other were long gone. They had no curfews, no separate houses. They were going home together, just the two of them, that night and every damn night.
And she loved him. Told him so all the time.
He was the luckiest motherfucker on this goddamn planet.
“Won’t Matthew absolutely hate Lise’s ghost tour?” Charlotte glanced up from a particularly turgid dick. “I thought scary
stuff bothered him.”
Karl shook his head and arrowed toward the bathroom. “He’ll wear headphones and stay outside.”
Cling to his wife too, but Athena didn’t mind that. Karl had caught her copping a feel of his best friend more times than
he cared to remember.
“If it bothers him, why doesn’t he stay home?”
“Super-glued to Athena.” It’d be nauseating, if Karl weren’t the same way with Molly. “Be right back. If Molly gets here early,
tell her to sit her ass down and stop trying to help out front.”
Charlotte saluted him as he shut the bathroom door.
By the time he finished washing up and changing into cleaner clothes, Molly was waiting on a stool in the back, admiring buttercream
dicks and telling Charlotte all about the latest work project with Sadie-slash-Lise.
“In the book I’m narrating now, Honk of Desire, the guy’s a duck shifter.” When Charlotte’s eyebrows rose, Molly lifted a hand. “I know, I know. Technically, I’m not sure
a corkscrew-shaped penis would actually work that well in a human woman’s vagina, but Sadie’s fictional dick is prehensile, and it vibrates.
Also, you would not believe what that duck-man can do with his bill and a few stray feathers.
When he says he’s going down on her, he means that in at least two different ways. ”
Charlotte’s piping paused. “Wow. That’s . . . wow.”
“Exactly.” Molly nodded and leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “By the way, try saying the word beak-gasm without laughing. Go ahead. I’ll wait while you experience my professional travails for yourself.”
While Charlotte was still giggling helplessly, Karl glared at his inattentive wife. “Stop corrupting Charlotte and start corrupting
me, woman.”
She promptly hopped off her stool and headed in his direction. “Don’t mind if I do.”
“Fucking finally,” he muttered, and wrapped his arms around her.
Despite all her strength, her body was softer than ever—as was his—and he couldn’t get enough. Even after their brief kiss,
he didn’t let go. Just buried his face in her neck and breathed in her familiar scent. Lavender—because he did all the laundry,
and he enjoyed Provencal shit—and that woodsy body wash she preferred. The combination settled something inside him. Made
him feel warm and loved, every time he smelled it.
Her hands gently rubbed his lower back, where he was aching most. Probably needed to make an appointment with his doctor about
that, like she kept insisting. Not now, though.
It was time for his second-favorite part of the day.
He raised his head, content. “You good to go, Charlotte?”
“I’m good.” She was smiling sweetly at them both, pastry bag at the ready. “Hector and I will meet you at the ticket booth
later tonight. Have fun in the meantime, you two. But not so much fun that Sylvia catches you rounding second base again,
okay?”
“No promises.” After lifting a hand in farewell, he steered Molly toward the rear exit. “Ready for our walk?”
Her hip bumped his, a playful nudge. “Definitely.”
Once she’d waved goodbye to Charlotte too, they stepped outside into the dazzling late-September afternoon. As usual, Molly
paused to dig through her messenger bag, then handed over his set of shades and donned her own. When he checked her feet,
she was wearing her comfy sneakers with the decent traction. His Crocs were bright pink—Brooklyn had picked them out the last
time he and Molly babysat Charlotte’s kids—and supportive as hell.
They were set.
Bending down, he rested his lips against the sun-heated crown of her head. “Wanna visit the snapdragons in the Mayor’s Mansion
garden today?”
“The foxgloves should be in bloom too.” She tipped her face upward, a silent request they both understood. He promptly, gladly
gave her another kiss—this one slower and with more tongue, since they were alone. “Let’s do it.”
As they walked in comfortable silence down the town’s cobblestone streets, she swung their hands slightly. Peered through
her sunglasses at all the businesses and homes surrounding them on both sides. Greeted friends and acquaintances.
And once the street had mostly emptied, she quietly told Karl, “I got another email from my dad today.”
He kept his expression as blank as possible. “Okay.”
Whatever she did in response, he’d support her. Didn’t mean he liked her father. The asshole had recently started contacting
her again, yeah, but hadn’t ever apologized for lying or leaving his first wife and daughter in the dust.
Molly’s perspective? Hard to forgive someone who didn’t acknowledge he’d done wrong.
Karl’s perspective? Even harder to forgive anyone—literally any fucker on this planet—who’d hurt Molly.
“Gonna write back?” he asked neutrally.
She hesitated. “I’m not sure yet.”
“You do, great.” He lifted a shoulder. “You don’t, it’s his loss. Not yours.”
She nodded in acknowledgment. “I agree. Either way, it’ll be fine.”
When she didn’t say more, he let the topic drop. Hand in hand, they kept walking until they’d reached the outskirts of Historic
Harlot’s Bay. Near the living museum’s main ticket office, though, she slowed almost to a stop.
“Molly?” He studied her round, pretty face. “Everything okay?”
“I just realized . . .” She swept her left arm. “I know almost everyone on these streets. I know who lives in these houses.
I’ve bought things at all these local stores. I’ve never, ever been this familiar with any place I’ve ever lived. Even Los
Angeles.”
Since she didn’t sound upset about that, he relaxed. “Smaller town. Three years here as a kid, ten years as an adult. Makes
sense.”
“Yeah. It does. But . . .” When she halted entirely, he did too. “Here’s the thing, Karl. I know this place inside and out,
and I love it here. I truly do. And I love our circle of friends. But without you, even that wouldn’t be enough to make Harlot’s
Bay my home.”
Her lips trembled slightly. Which was alarming as hell, because Molly didn’t cry. Not if he could damn well help it.
“Hold up, baby.” He cupped her cheek with his free hand. “What—”
“Without you . . .” Her fingers tightened on his, even as she talked over him.
“Without you, I wouldn’t have a home, no matter where I went or how long I stayed.
Without you, I didn’t have a home. Even when I was living in my grandparents’ house.
Even after twenty years in Los Angeles. You gave that to me,
Karl. You’re giving it to me, every day we’re together.”
Shit, now he was getting blurry-eyed too. “Every day for the rest of our lives, Molly. Swear it on my fucking grave.”
“Not necessary.” She shook her head. “I believe you. What you tell me, I always believe.”
That simple statement somehow made him feel like an all-powerful god, even as it weakened his stupid aging knees. In fervent
gratitude for everything she was, he pressed a kiss to her temple, where she’d gotten a few silver hairs lately.
“Anyway, my point is that you’re my home, Karl. Just you. I should have thanked you for that before, but at least I’m doing
it now.” Her mouth quirked. “And I know it’s not what you meant, but—knowing you, yes, you will definitely swear on your grave. At least one fuck, and maybe a shit or two. Your headstone will need to be freaking redacted.”
He laughed. Knuckled away the wetness escaping under his sunglasses’ frames.
“I love you.” She got up on tiptoe to claim one more quick kiss. “So much.”
His wife calmly started walking again. As if she hadn’t just knocked his world out from under him in the most gorgeous way
possible, for the billionth time in the last decade.
Her hair gleamed copper and silver. Her lips were soft with her smile and his kisses.
Looking at her was like staring at a goddamn supernova. Even with his shades on.
Using their entwined hands to hitch her closer, he told her, “Love you more.”
Then, hip to hip, they walked to see the flowers waiting for them in the autumn sun.