“You were drunk. I wanted you to remember our first kiss.” I melt into him. Of course. Wyatt is a good man. “It looks as if someone is finally starting to put all the pieces together.” He smiles, looking as handsome as ever.
“I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”
“As long as you’re here, that’s all that matters.” He lifts me off his lap sitting me on the sofa. I watch as he slips down going to one knee. He pulls a box out of his pocket. I put my hands over my face trying not to burst into tears. “Lucy Loo.”
I slowly lower my hands to see the ring he’s holding in his fingers. The giant shiny pink diamond couldn’t be more me. The size of it is completely Wyatt.
“Will you…”
“Yes!” I launch myself at him. I kiss him everywhere I can get my mouth. He rolls us, pinning me to the floor.
“Give me your hand,” he orders in the dominant tone he always gets in the bedroom. I lift my hand for him to slip the ring onto my finger. It’s a perfect fit. “You and our family will always come first. There will never be another for me.”
I know he says that last part because my Wyatt knows I still have scars that my father left behind. He might not have set out to be my friend, but the reality is that bond we formed early on makes us know each other in the deepest of ways.
“I love you, Wyatt. More than I’ve ever loved anything in my whole life.”
“I love you too, my beautiful wife.”
“Not yet.” I smirk, making him growl. “But soon.”
“Very soon,” he vows, sealing it with a kiss.
Wyatt never needed a wife. He always needed me.
Epilogue Wyatt
“Crystal, can you hand me the flour?”
“I don’t think this looks right.” My daughter eyes the dough on the counter. “It’s too hard.”
“I followed Eden’s instructions precisely.”
“I know, but I think it’s supposed to be smooth and soft, not a rock like this.” She knocks her fist against the lump.
“Once this bakes, it’ll soften up in the middle.”
“Dad, you’re great at law stuff, but you should leave the cooking stuff to the professionals. Why not just buy scones from Eden?”
“Mom’s scones are the best,” chimes in the brown-haired boy seated next to my eldest, Dre. Dre’s head is buried in his AP math. When he is focused on something, not even an earthquake would shake him.
“See?” Crystal says.
“What else would Liam say? That his mom’s food sucks? This is a biased opinion, and therefore I’m not giving it much weight.”
“Oh my God, Dad, we are not in a courtroom, and no one has ever said that Eden’s food sucks,” Crystal says.
“At least no one has said that and lived to tell about it,” jokes Liam. Crystal, my fifteen-year-old angel, meets Liam’s eyes for a half second before grabbing the flour and pushing it across the counter. I’d have to be sight impaired not to recognize a blooming crush. I wonder how much Eden would hate me if I murdered her son.
“Don’t,” warns Crystal in a soft, low tone that only I can hear.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t do whatever it is that you’re thinking about. Liam is a family friend and that’s all.”
“Better stay that way,” I caution.
“Just finish making the scones.” She wipes her hands down the full apron she slung over her neck and announces, “I’m taking a break. I’ll be back in fifteen.”
“Hey.” I catch her apron strings and haul her back before she can escape. “Don’t go and buy new scones. These will turn out.”
She eyes my efforts with skepticism and says, “Sure, Dad.”
I know a lie when I hear it, but at this point, I opt to just let my kid go. After all, her leaving the kitchen removes her from the zone of danger, which I now realize is within twenty feet of Liam. I wonder if Lucy knows about this.
“Dad...Dad...Dad.”
I look up from the counter to see my son standing next to me. He moves my fist away from the dough that I’ve been hammering at. “Just take these.” He shoves a bag into my hand. “Come on, Liam, let’s go to my room.”
I open the bag, and the scent of freshly baked scones wafts up to my nose. There’s a commotion at the entrance, and I hear my wife’s voice.
“Shit.” Swiftly, I sweep the remnants of the battered dough into the garbage, dump Eden’s scones onto a plate, and throw a towel over the dishes in the sink. All evidence of my baking attempts are gone or disguised when Lucy walks in.
“Mmmm, what smells good?” she says.
“Me, of course.” I pull my wife into my arms. “Happy anniversary.” I present the plate of scones to her.
“Isn’t our anniversary next week?” She sniffs the scones appreciatively.
“It’s in six days, and we’re celebrating for a week. It’s our twentieth, and I thought we should do something special.”
“A week-long celebration. I like it. I wonder where you got the idea.” Her eyes twinkle in mischief.
I grin. “A very smart businesswoman I know offers it as part of her event planning services.”
“So you stole it.”
“I stole it,” I confirm.
“And these scones.”
“Not stolen. Paid for.”
She takes a bite of one. “Blueberry. My favorite.” Lucy reaches for her phone. “I’ll have to let Eden know how much I like these with the sugar on top.”
“Did you think for a moment that I made these?”
“No, darling. You’re good at a lot of things, but you’re terrible in the kitchen. I do appreciate the annual attempt to make me something.” She peers around my shoulder. “What was the sacrifice this time?”
“It was scones, Mommy.” Crystal comes bounding in. My daughter, the spitting image of her mother, gives Lucy a peck on the cheek. “We made him throw them away. You can thank me later in the form of in-game crystals for my latest game.”
“It wasn’t that bad.”
“Hey, Mom. You’re home.” Dre pushes
