Epilogue
Ten years later
Every year, the orders got more ridiculous.
Yeah, Karl appreciated the couple’s business—both in terms of the money they paid for their annual wedding-anniversary celebration cakes and all the vibrating shit they stocked in their now jointly owned sex shop—but come the hellon.
Piping out this much text? A real bitch, especially given his irritable back and wrists. But he persevered, because he was a damnprofessional.
Letter by careful letter, he wrote the first cake’s message:
Go fuck yourself—and not in a fun way, woman.
PS. Okay, maybe in a fun way.
PPS. Can I watch???
Then, with a heartfelt groan, he moved on to the second cake and its way-too-long, overly informative message:You’re a dick, and while I generally really like those, said liking doesn’t apply to YOU. (JK, I♥you and your dick SM.)
Thank fuck for social media abbreviations. That cake was smaller, and he’d almost run out of room to fit everything.
Now, of course, he had to pipe out another year’s supply of decorative wangs and vulva, because those two weirdos were nothing if not predictable.
“Why don’t I finish that?” Charlotte appeared at his shoulder, pastry bag in hand. “Molly should be here any minute, and you need time to clean up.”
With heartfelt gratitude, he straightened and surrendered the cakes to his co-head baker. “Thanks. Text is done, but I haven’t started on the schlongs.”
These days, thanks to Charlotte—as well as Bez and Johnathan, who’d jointly taken charge of the ever-growing catering branch of his bakery a few years back—he could sleep way later in the morning, work shorter hours, and take weekends completely off. And since Molly had adjusted her in-studio time to suit his less flexible schedule, that meant they could take a walk around Historic Harlot’s Bay almost every afternoon.
Her blood pressure might be okay now, and her insomnia might’ve disappeared almost a decade ago, but he wouldn’t give up his walks with her for anything in the entire goddamn world. Best time of his day, other than when they climbed into bed together.
Charlotte retrieved a stack of wax paper squares and began crafting very convincing cocks, every gesture deft and confident. “Got it. A cavalcade of penises, coming right up.”
Seriously?Penises, coming right up? “You do that on purpose?”
Her dimple peeked out. “I have no idea what you mean.”
“Bullshit,” he told her, grinning as he peeled off his gloves.
Charlotte giggled, then added a squiggly vein to the side of a cock. “We’re still on for tonight? My parents said they’d watch the kids, so Hector and I can definitely make it.”
He threw out his beard net and gloves, then tossed his apron onto the laundry pile. “Yep.”
Later that evening, everyone in their friend group had committed to hanging out together. After he and Molly had their daily walk and grabbed dinner at Doxy Diner with Lise and her husband, they’d all meet Charlotte, Hector, Matthew, Athena, Bez, Johnathan, and various Nasty Wenches at the Historic Harlot’s Bay ticket office. Sylvia would no doubt be there as well, camera tucked safely in the pocket of her motorized wheelchair, for the paper’s coverage of the historic area’s brand-new, Lise-scripted, after-hours tour.
Janel would probably stroll over during one of her breaks too and hassle them about attending the upcoming thirty-year reunion, but whatever. Woman was a good friend to Molly and paid through the nose for the bakery’s catering services, so he could deal.
Plus, he had some damn fond memories of the twenty-year reunion. Couldn’t begrudge Janel’s desire to stage a repeat banger of an event. And at least Molly’s asshole ex wouldn’t show up this go-round. Once she’d sold her old home to one of her LA friends, the prick had stopped yapping and started leaving her the hell alone, at long fucking last.
Truth be told? Janel didn’t even need to convince Karl. He already knew he’d stuff himself into a rental tux, help Molly shop for another shit-hot suit of her own, and drag them both to that stupid gym again. Kind of a tradition at this point. Also: slow-dancing together to theTitanicsoundtrack?
Everything he’d dreamed it’d be as a teenager.
No,better. Because Molly wasn’t leaving town for college in a few weeks. Their fears and insecurities about each other were long gone. They had no curfews, no separate houses. They were goinghome together, just the two of them, that night and every damn night.
And shelovedhim. Told him so all the time.
He was the luckiest motherfucker on this goddamn planet.
