27
Wishing On A Golden Star (Felicity)
Two and a half million flipping dollars.
That’s how much the reward money came out to.
After taxes.
The day it hit my bank account, a few weeks after Paisley’s official arrest and the delivery of my statement to the FBI, I hyperventilated. Clarissa had me breathing in a paper pastry bag, and thank God, because if she wasn’t there when I got the payment notification...
I’m not sure I would’ve remembered how to breathe in time to enjoy my money.
Well, maybe I would, if Alaska hadn’t swept me up in such a ginormous bear hug that I had to take a panicked breath before he crushed my lungs.
That’s the only downside to having a boyfriend bigger than Paul Bunyan.
Some mornings I wake up and have to thump his shoulder to get him to roll off me before I crack a rib.
Oh, but you’ll never get me to admit out loud that I secretly like it.
He’s only the best man-blanket ever.
Plus, the fiercest sheet-ripping lover in existence.
Really, the best everything.
It’s all thanks to him that I have a life back.
A life, a shop, a newfound safety, a sense of pride, joy, and purpose.
When I say he put me back together again, piece by piece, it’s no exaggeration.
You can’t be who you really are when you’re paralyzed by sinister threats.
And in the weeks since Paisley’s arrest, I feel like I’ve rediscovered who I always was all over again, with Alaska there for every sweet moment—from fixing the latest damage worthy of an elephant stampede to my shop to completely renovating my storage room into a state-of-the-art roasting room.
I’ve even added on a whole crew of new hires to work the machines and churn out my custom blend, which—with a nice push from my marketing budget—should be going live soon.
I’ve even redone the packaging to start selling my beans nationally.
The label features a gorgeous wraparound of one of Eli’s photos, a stunning black and white interior shot of the empty café. The golden morning light streaking through the windows gives it color, evoking all the best feels.
Peace, comfort, and home.
That kid’s going to be famous one day, I swear.
I’m just proud watching him take his first steps toward perfecting his passion.
He’s hanging photos right now, working side by side with his father to measure and level before putting up framed shots all around the café. It’s a tastefully chosen selection from his collection of nature photos around town.
Alaska’s completely absorbed in it, of course, big goof that he is. He’s ridiculously serious about hanging these photos just right, ensuring they’re the same height and not a single one hangs even a micron off kilter.
Propping my elbows up on the coffee bar, I watch them fondly, grinning fit to crack.
I can’t help myself.
That Herculean dork.
That amazing, handsome, Herculean, dorkalicious dork.
He’s so fire he’s almost too handsome for life in the early sunrise filtering in through the windows. It’s hard to drag my eyes off him, but I lift the tray I’ve put together with a cup of Alaska’s favorite dark roast with a generous splash of sugar and a hot cocoa for Eli.
Stepping around the bar, I raise my voice to get their attention.
“Break time!” I call. “Actually, time to stop. I’ve got to unlock the doors in fifteen minutes, or half the town will riot if they don’t get their morning caffeine hit.”
“Good timing. We’re just about finished,” Alaska says, stepping back and eyeing the last framed photo with a critical look.
“Thanks, Fel!” Eli bounces over to steal his cocoa with a grateful chirp.
Alaska lingers a while longer, then turns to me with an easy, relaxed smile, reaching for the mug and lifting it to his lips. “Damn, that’s good. Thanks. I might actually survive finishing the inspections on the museum’s foundation today with this.”
I tuck myself against his side, burying my face in his beard for a few wonderful seconds.
It’s so much easier to be casual with touching, with wanting affection, now.
Because I trust him.
I trust him to keep me and not to push me away.
I trust him to want me.
Possibly—hopefully—forever.
And I’m happy with the massive arm he hooks around my waist, holding me comfortably against his side as we look at the photos together.
“How far off is the grand opening?” I ask.
“It’ll be a while,” he says. “At least a couple years. Once the building’s certified to code, the town’s still got to officially move in, hire staff, move things over, the works.” He grins, turning his head to tease his thick beard into my hair. “My part’s almost done, though, if you’re getting used to having me playing houseboy.”
“Don’t you mean café boy?”
He wrinkles his nose. “Nah. That’s a little too close to rent boy, lady.”
“Weeeeell...” I sputter into laughter.
“Hey.” He barks out a laugh. “I mean, I’m happy earning my keep with you any day, Fliss.” His gaze softens as he lingers on the photos. “Hell, I just like doing things that feel like making a home with you. Whether it’s here or at the house.”
Eli rolls his eyes playfully. “Ugh, Dad, you’ve gone so soppy.”
“Damn right I have,” Alaska barks, grinning shamelessly and tightening his hold on me. “And don’t think you’re getting out of housework, either, young man. We’re redoing the baseboards in your room and then painting the whole thing.”
“Aww, my room’s fine!” Groaning, Eli slumps.
“Your room’s not fine, because your room used to be my room, and it wasn’t 'fine' when I was your age, either,” I point out, struggling not to laugh when he looks so dejected. “Don’t worry, dude. We’ll make it a party. We can order pizza and if we all pitch in with your dad’s muscle, we’ll be done in no time.”
“With that room, you mean.” He sighs. “You’re gonna make me help with the rest of the house too, aren’t you? Can’t I just walk Shrub all winter?”
Alaska shakes his head slowly, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
We share a look, loving how easily Eli’s bonded with my pet mop.
“You live in Felicity’s house now, same as me, which means you help. Especially if you want to turn that old storage room into a darkroom. You’ve gotta earn that, polecat.”
“Careful.” I poke Alaska’s side gently. “It’s our house. Not mine. Not anymore, if it ever truly was. We’re all working on the renovations and making it ours.”
I love that, honestly.
I love that we’re rebuilding the old house together. Rebranding it as ours, a symbol of three lives merging into happy unity.
Bit by bit, we’re turning it from this haunted shell of old memories into something fresh.
Something wholesome and happy.
Something we made.
A huge restart button you can crawl inside and live, and fall in love with.