He gathers me into his arms and pulls me onto his lap. “Either you’re staying, or I’m going back to Hidden Kill Bay with you. Those are the choices because I’m not letting you out of my sight. Assuming that’s all right with you.”
“That’s perfect with me,” I whisper, running my fingertip across his bottom lip. “We don’t even have to get out of bed if you don’t want. I’m sure we could bribe Nancy to leave our meals by the door. We won’t have to worry about sperm count anymore, you know… Now that the most fertile time of the month is over.”
“Beautiful and brilliant,” he says, cupping my breast in his hand. “How did I get so lucky?”
I suck in a breath as he rolls my nipple between his fingers and thumb. “Don’t start something you’re not prepared to finish, mister. If you make me want you again, pancakes and bacon are going to have to wait.”
“Who needs food, anyway?” he says, rolling us both across the covers, making me laugh before he makes me gasp.
And moan.
And cry his name.
And silently thank the universe for this morning, this man, and this unexpected twist in my love story.
Our love story, the one I can’t wait to write with him for a long, long time.
Epilogue
Zack
I thought life couldn’t get any better than having Colette all to myself in the mountains with nothing to do but make love and music, eat too much french toast, lie by the pool, and go for long walks in the woods.
But the six days we’ve been home in Hidden Kill Bay have been just as sweet.
Sweeter, actually.
I’ve never seen my gram take to anyone the way she’s taken to Colette. Gram’s always been friendly and welcoming with my friends and past girlfriends, but she tends to hold people at a distance until she gets to know them.
But by the end of our first dinner together, she’s stealing my girl away to the backyard to show off her rose garden and offering to sponsor Colette as a junior member of the Botanical Society.
The Botanical Society—aka, the town garden club—is serious shit. No one gets in without a sponsor, and sponsorship isn’t something my grandmother takes lightly. The last time she vouched for a new member, I was still in high school.
I’m not sure Colette realizes what high praise it is for Gram to welcome her not only into our family but into her green thumb tribe as well. But it’s clear she adores both of my grandparents. She lights up every time I suggest going over to walk Thermos, Gram’s dog, or swinging by for coffee and one of the homemade cupcakes my gramps always tries to have on hand.
She even offered to move into my room there with me if I was worried about leaving my grandparents alone. But as kind and generous as that was, my grandparents do just fine on their own, and I was all too happy to move into Colette’s apartment.
At least until we find the perfect house and put down roots in our hometown for good.
I always knew I’d end up here. Hidden Kill Bay is in my blood. It’s where I had all my big firsts—first steps, first kiss, first gig playing music—and I’d like my lasts to be here, too. Sure, I’m becoming a true local again a little sooner than expected, but I don’t regret postponing my plans for a tour until the album drops in February.
I want to be with Colette and make sure this thing we’re building has strong, healthy roots before we decide whether going on tour together makes sense.
Of course, I hope she’ll decide to come with me—spending that much time apart sounds like hell—but wherever we land on that, I know we’ll find a way to make it work. In just a few short weeks, Colette has become my number one, and loving her is my absolute favorite thing to do.
Being the sweet, funny, smart, down-to-earth person she is makes it easy.
Or maybe it’s so easy and good because we were just…made for each other.
I used to think that kind of thinking was sappy and naïve, but that was before Colette.
“B.C.,” I murmur, hooking my hands behind my head and leaning back in my beach chair. The weather is perfect today—summer hot, but with a breeze off the water that eases the need to run into the ocean every five minutes to cool off.
“What’s that?” Colette asks, sounding sleepy.
I glance over to find her curled on her side on the beach blanket, her cheek pillowed on her arm and her eyes closed. “Sorry,” I murmur, “did I wake you?”
She hums, and her lashes flutter open. “No. I was just resting my eyes. I was on the computer too much yesterday with the job application stuff.”
“Heard anything yet?” I ask, crossing my fingers.
Colette is dying to work for Hearth Dreams, but we both agreed that a move to Portland isn’t what’s best for us right now, preferring to stay close to friends and family.
Rather than back out of the application process altogether, however, Colette pitched the owners a new idea—opening a second location here in Hidden Kill Bay. There are wealthy people all over this area and farther up the coast who can afford to pay big bucks for design, but they’re underserved by the current options. If you want old-fashioned beach chic, there are firms that do solid work, but no one catering to a more playful or modern aesthetic.
“Not yet.” Colette pushes into a seated position, brushing her windswept hair from her face as she gazes out at the sea. “But it’s almost the weekend. I’m not expecting anything until Monday at the earliest.”
“Makes sense,” I say, literally biting my tongue to keep from asking the other question swirling through my head.
We’ve agreed not to talk about that, for fear of jinxing things. A part of me wishes Colette would break down and take a test already—they have tests that can detect pregnancy before you even miss a period these days—but she insists on waiting until she’s at least two days late.
“I only want to be disappointed once,” she’d said, tucking the box away beneath the sink a few nights ago. “I want to be sure I can trust the result.”
Which means two more days.
If we make it until Sunday night with no Aunt Flow crashing the party, then Colette will take the test, and we’ll know for sure.
The suspense is fucking killing me.
I can’t remember the last time I wanted anything this much. Not even when I was a kid, waiting around for the band’s first manager to call, praying we’d get the gig that would change the rest of our lives.
If only all my managers were as good as Devon, our first, and still one of our biggest fans.
“I forgot to tell you. Chip emailed again,” I say with a sigh. “He’s still threatening to sue for breach of contract.”
Colette rolls her eyes. “I looked at your contract. You were completely within your rights to terminate the agreement. He’s being crazy.”
“Agreed, but that might not stop him from suing.” I stretch out my legs, digging my toes into the warm sand. “I guess I should see about lawyering up next week.”
Colette’s lips turn down. “Not next week. It’s recording week. You need to focus on being creative and nothing else. Certainly not Chip the drip.”