“Mike Junior and Lyssa Junior?” he suggested.
“That’s more like it.”
Ignoring his ribs and my murmured protests, Mike pulled me into his arms.
“I love you, Mike.”
“I love you more, girl.”
I settled into his warm embrace, knowing this was exactly where I was meant to be. I’d had to cross the globe to find him, but it was worth it. Mike was worth it.
He was my other shoe.
EPILOGUE
MIKE
My truck bounced down the driveway of Blossom & Bramble Farms, turning up clouds of dust. We still hadn’t had the driveway resealed, but it was on the list. Truthfully, there were a lot of things on that list. But number one was getting my wife—my wife!—the giant tub of chocolate chips strapped into my passenger seat.
Her cravings were disgusting to anyone whose tastebuds weren’t at the mercy of pregnancy hormones. At the moment she was eating yeasty Marmite on toast dusted with chocolate chips at least twice a day. The first time I saw her polish off this combo, I nearly hurled, but I was used to it now. Plus she had an appointment for her ADHD assessment tomorrow so she’d want to stress eat fistfuls of chocolate chips tonight.
I pulled into the parking lot and the front door to the large homestead we shared with Cilla burst open. Lyssa ran, barefoot, down the steps to my truck, her dress dancing in the air behind her.
Blossom & Bramble was home now. I couldn’t imagine being anywhere else. Our renovated Victorian villa was gleaming with its robust, leakproof walls and dainty white paint job. Cilla had her own wing, while Lyssa and I had the main house. We’d poured a lot of time and money into this place, and Lyssa had filmed a lot of the process, which meant there were hundreds of thousands of people who had an opinion on my wallpaper but their opinions grew traffic (I knew the lingo now) which also paid for said wallpaper.
Last year, we got married in the garden. Cilla officiated. She’d gotten her license specifically to marry people in our garden, which was now a thriving side business for her. Sometimes Lyss or I accidentally walked into a wedding on our way down to hang laundry on the line.
A few months ago we’d had to replace the roof, which could’ve bankrupted us. Lyssa’s income could be random, and while Mike’s Place was doing well, it was still early days. But we hustled, because we were hustlers, and got enough together to get the roof done in time for Emily and Charles to come for their first visit.
Lyssa’s mom and Cilla were chalk and cheese, but Charles and Cilla got on like a house on fire, which didn’t surprise Lyssa.
My wife threw open the passenger-side door and, without a word for me, the man who had gone into town just to meet her confectionery needs, ripped into her chocolate chips.
I didn’t really mind. Lyssa was enthusiastic about what she wanted. I loved that about her.
I tossed the core of the apple I’d been eating on the drive home into the paddock for Mini M—my poor horse child didn’t know it yet, but the farrier was coming here tomorrow to do his feet. I’d timed it with one of the school field trips, so they’d have the education and Mini M would have an audience. Little showboat that he was, having an audience would offset his dislike of the farrier.
I was just turning when I felt Lyssa’s arms around me, then her lips were on my cheek, my neck, and then my mouth. Carefully, I bent my knees and lifted her in my arms, resting her ass on the hood of my truck. She squealed, which was the whole reason I’d done it. I loved that sound.
“Mike!” She pushed my chest. Honestly, just the way she did that got me hard. I couldn’t get enough of her. Especially when she was happy and playful and round with our baby, like this.
“What, girl?”
“Be careful of your back.”
“I’ll worry about my back. You worry about yours.”
“Why?”
In answer, I began pulling her dress up in fistfuls. No one was due at the farm today, Cilla was staying the night at her son’s, and my wife was hot and horny and in my arms. She’d have to be on top, but that was no hardship.
I was distracted briefly by a rubbing against my ankles and looked down to see Root Beer. He’d taken to me exceptionally fast. To Lyssa’s great offense, he seemed to prefer my company to hers. He definitely preferred sitting in my lap on movie nights. I tried to tell her not to take it personally, animals always loved me, but she was already grumbling about adopting another cat. I was all for this idea, so I wasn’t going to tell her that I’d probably be the new cat’s favorite too.
I was lost in my wife’s kiss and getting ready to lift her up onto the back of my truck, when I heard a motor accelerating rapidly, and saw flashes of a car between the trees of our driveway.
Reluctantly, I stepped back from my wife, who quickly scooped Root up into her arms.
A black convertible skidded around the final bend of the driveway like it was being driven by Cruella de Vil.
