Epilogue
Over the next five years, Tate and Briar’s world expanded in both their work and private lives until a larger house became a necessity.
They found an old Creole-style mansion in the French Quarter that perfectly suited their needs and turned the little shotgun house from their beginning into his office.
Today, their house was full of noise and much hilarity.
Their son, Liam, was celebrating his fourth birthday with all fifteen littles from his pre-K class, and his Grampy Abel and Granny Lilith were also on hand for the celebration.
Games were played and a bouncy castle got bounced in, before moving to the cake and ice cream.
Liam blew out his candles, then, before either parent could stop him, grabbed all four little candles off the cake and dropped them in Tate’s Pepsi. “No starting fires!” he announced.
Tate was struggling not to laugh. “That’s very thoughtful of you, buddy.” And he got up to make himself a new drink.
At that point, the littles moved on to the actual consumption of cake and ice cream, leaving Lilith and Briar with the aftermath of thirty sticky little hands to wash, and all the smiley sticky faces, before settling down to the big moment—the opening of presents.
By this time, there was a chocolate stain on the front of Liam’s shirt and Briar was pretty sure there was still some in his ear to be dealt with later.
His thick black hair was in little spikes all over his head, and his brown eyes were sparkling—a mini-version of his daddy.
It was all he could do to sit still, because Mommy and Granny were bringing his presents down to the floor where he was sitting.
Briar was as scattered as her son, but with less exhilaration.
Tate blew her a kiss. “You can do this,” he said, and sat down on the floor beside Liam, while Briar plopped down on the other side.
She was exhausted, but that man and her child were her little bit of heaven, and she was determined to endure, so she patted Liam’s leg to get his attention.
“Hey, honey, which present do you want to open first?”
Liam immediately pointed at the smallest one, wrapped in shiny green paper with a big red bow.
“That one, Mommy. The one with the yellow truck.”
Tate stopped, completely taken aback. Was he? Could he? He gave Briar a wild look.
“Why is that even a surprise?” she whispered, then laughed as they watched Liam swiftly denuding the box of all décor.
Tate saw what Liam saw, even before the lid came off, and grinned when a little truck, the color of sunflowers, fell out. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered, and then looked across the room at his dad, who was beaming with delight.
“My yellow truck!” Liam exclaimed, then began pushing it back and forth along the floor.
“And so it begins,” Tate said.
Abel let out a whoop, slapping his knee in pure delight. “Wait until I get home to spread the news. The elders are going to lose their minds. I think lucky number seven has arrived!”