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She glances back at the girls. “Yeah, you do.”
“I don’t want to work as much as I would have to if I had it,” I say, driving along the winding hills toward the California coast. “But there is one thing I think I would like. Want to know what that is?”
“Me?” She bats her lashes.
“Yeah, I think I’ve made that clear,” I tease, then turn serious. “I’d really like to keep doing the Sunday hot chocolate and cookies. All of us.”
“I can picture that perfectly.”
“So can I. And maybe the occasional cocktails and chocolates with you?”
“Hmm. Let me see if I can fit you into my calendar, Mr. Archer.”
“You let me know, cupcake.”
“I will.”
But then I grip the wheel harder. Just because I want that doesn’t mean it’ll happen. “The question is whether Felix will ever want to work with us again when he finds out we tricked him,” I say, heavily. “I’d have to tell him.”
“You would.”
“The place might not even be available.”
“It might not,” she seconds, then pauses. “But what if it is?”
I picture Sundays with my favorite people. “I’d like that.”
Especially since nothing, not a damn thing, about this moment and this romance and this time with her has ever felt fake.
That night after we take the girls out to dinner at a cute little sandwich shop next to a handmade soap and lotions store, Elodie tugs on my hand, pulling me back toward her as the girls wander inside.
We’re standing under the sign for a shop named The Slippery Dipper. “Thanks for bringing us here,” she says.
“Anytime,” I say, and I relax, knowing we’ll have all our anytimes. Well, as long as I do one more thing. “You’re my wife, after all. And you’re staying my wife. Just in case that wasn’t clear.”
She laughs. “It’s very, very clear. And I like this order a lot.”
EPILOGUE
A SECOND TIME AROUND
Gage
Early next week, I trot up the steps that lead into the courtyard of The Escape, heading toward the lobby for Felix’s office. I scheduled an appointment to meet with him, telling him I had two things to discuss.
I’d be lying if I said my muscles weren’t tense. But a man’s got to do what a man’s got to do.
Own up.
In his office, with the door closed, seems as good a place as any to do it. But when I near the pop-up shop, I do a double take. Felix is there behind the counter, stocking more items. I peer. Are those our Special Edition T-shirts?
Yeah, they are.
He waves me over. So much for the privacy of the office, but at least the shop is closed.
“Gage,” he says, when I push open the door and he adds a new shirt to the stack. “We can’t keep these in stock, but that’s a good problem to have.”
“Definitely,” I say, and then I nod toward the shirts and other merch. I’m a goddamn bartender. I know how to talk to anyone. “Did you ever think you’d be selling merch for a hotel?”
