“Yeah. You sure did,” Kaleb smiles, a knowing look in his eyes. “You’re a good friend, Trask. The damned best if truth be told.”
Robbie claps. “Nawwwww!”
The server brings milkshakes—chocolate, strawberry, vanilla. Extra whipped cream. We toast—glasses clinking, laughter spilling over.
Kaleb’s hand finds mine under the table and he squeezes.
I look around—at Robbie and Trask bickering over whose milkshake is better, at the diner full of familiar faces, at the man beside me who just promised meForever.
Everything feels perfect.
And that’s because it just is.
Epilogue
Taron
Six months later
The cabin is just perfect. I mean it’salwaysbeen perfect, but now it’s perfect for the both of us in our new life together…
Sunlight pours through the big windows Kaleb installed last month—floor-to-ceiling, so we can watch the forest wake up every morning. Racer and our new puppy Turbo are sprawled in twin patches of warmth on the rug: big brother snoring like a freight train, little brother twitching in some dream chase, paws paddling the air.
I’m at the kitchen table, laptop open, fingers flying.
The cursor blinks steady on the last paragraph of chapter eighteen. This book feels different—lighter, hotter, truer. The steamy scenes aren’t forced, they’re woven in like they belong there, because they do.
Because I wrote them for me, not for some imaginary market.
Jonathan’s voice echoes in my head every time I hesitate:Stay true. The right people will find you.
And they did.
Jonathan McAllen—my unexpected mentor, my accidental agent—worked his quiet magic. No flashy publisher auctions, no six-figure pressure. Just a small but respected press that loved the voice, loved the heart, loved that I refused to sand down the edges.
The contract came through last week: fair advance, full creative control, audiobook rights, even a modest marketing budget. Enough to breathe. Enough to keep writing exactly what I want.
And another thing I have my Daddy to be thankful for.
I hit save. Lean back. I smile so wide my cheeks ache.
The bathroom door opens down the hall. Steam billows out first, then Kaleb—bare-chested, towel slung low on his hips, hair ruffled. He catches my eye and grins.
“Finished?” Kaleb asks.
“Draft done.” I close the laptop with a satisfied snap. “Jonathan’s getting first read tomorrow.”
He crosses the room in three strides, leans down, kisses me slow and thorough. He tastes like mint toothpaste and him.
“Proud of you, baby boy.”
My heart does that familiar flip. And I know it always will where my Daddy is concerned.
He straightens, nods toward the bathroom. “Water’s still hot. Tub’s big enough for two.”
I laugh—soft, happy. “Daddy needs company?”
“Always.”