“That looks to be the case,” Noah says.
Agent Knight and Noah ask Jess more questions and fill her in on the investigation as much as possible. Once they’re finished, I walk them to the door.
I return to Jess on the couch. “How are you surviving? You wanna go upstairs to rest? Or I can make you lunch.” At some point, I’ll need to fetch Butterscotch and my stuff from my house, but they can wait a little longer.
“I was thinking more along the lines of making out.” The spark that was missing in her eyes while Noah and Agent Knight were here shines bright with lust…and love. “We have about six weeks’ worth of kissing to make up for.”
I drop down next to her on the couch, my smile taking up much of my face. “Sounds like a plan. I’ve missed kissing you here.” I lift her hair and kiss the back of her neck. Her breath quickens. “And here.” My lips graze the shell of her ear. “I love you, Jess.” My voice is a low rumble, heat and adoration seeping into the words. My mouth traces along her jaw. “And I’ve missed kissing you here.”
A tiny whimper escapes Jess, and I grin at the effect my kisses are having on her. “Enjoying that are you?”
“Absolutely.” She cups my face and strokes her thumb along my bottom lip. “I love you, Troy.” She leans in and brushes her mouth against mine, teasing me.
The doorbell rings, and we both groan.
“I’ll get that.” I push to my feet. “Don’t go anywhere.”
She laughs softly. “I’ll be waiting right here for you.”
I hurry to the front door, eager to get rid of whomever it is. Maybe I should put aDo Not Disturbsign on the door so Jess and I can have some alone time for a few hours.
I open the front door. A man and woman I don’t recognize are standing on the stoop. The woman’s shoulder-length hair is dark blond, and she’s wearing a navy sweater dress and heeled boots. The man’s hair is light brown, and he’s wearing brown slacks and a gray blazer.
But it’s the girl standing in front of them, with long golden-brown hair and familiar honey-brown eyes, who halts my breath. She’s eight years old and holding a small bouquet of flowers.
She smiles at me, her face lighting up. “Hi! Is this where my Auntie Jessica lives?”
EPILOGUE
JESSICA
Two Years Later
Maple Ridge
“Hi, Auntie Jess,”ten-year-old Lia says, racing into the living room and over to where I’m standing next to the light-gray couch. Troy decided to update the house’s interior when I permanently moved in a year ago. The place went from being completely masculine, to a soothing blend of neutral with splashes of country cottage. It’s our dream home—one we designed together.
Lia throws her arms around me, gifting me with one of my favorite hugs. The I’ve-missed-you hug, even though we just talked a few days ago on Zoom. “Congratulations!”
“Thank you, sweetheart.” I return the hug, squeezing her even tighter. Troy and I drove to Seattle last month and I saw her in person. Other than that, we talk on Zoom at least once a week. I can’t believe how quickly she’s growing.
She glances down at Bailey standing beside me in her PSD jacket. My need for Bailey as a PSD isn’t as great these days as it was when Troy arranged for me to be her puppy trainer, but I do appreciate the support she gives me every time the past traumas sneak into my subconscious. Fortunately, those times have grown to be few and far between, thanks to Robyn.
Troy walks in with Grace and Craig. They’re all smiles and laughter.
Grace, the woman who has become like a sister to me, hugs me. “Congratulations! How does it feel to be aNew York Timesbestselling author?”
“Surreal. And weird, given that I’m working on the next novel my editor and I discussed.” It’s also historical fiction, but it takes place in the 1960s. While writing Iris’s story, I discovered I love writing historical fiction and learning about other eras. And about everyday women who fought to make a difference.
“I can’t wait to read it. I loved your book. It was soooooo good. I couldn’t put it down.”
Craig chuckles. “She’s not kidding. I swear, she stayed up all night reading it.” He hugs me like the brother he’s become. “I can’t believe you lived in Angelique’s house. I wouldn’t be surprised if fans of the book drive to Maple Ridge to take photos of the place.”
“Hopefully they don’t.” The thought of fans of the story doing that pinches my stomach.
I still own the house, but after I moved in with Troy—my husband of three months—I offered the place to a young mother who recently left her abusive husband. Lydia and her two kids are living there rent free while she gets her life back on track. It was the least I could do after everything Anne did for me. I wouldn’t be where I am today if not for Anne. If not for Anne and my friends and Troy.
The doorbell rings again, and Troy goes to answer it.
