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A grandmother already talking about baby names even though Belinda threatened to ban her from the delivery room if she doesn't stop.

A Sheriff who will never let me forget the fucking wish tree.

And a Headless Horseman, apparently violating every traffic law on Main Street.

But most of all?

Belinda.

Always Belinda.

I look down at my mate.

My promised.

My love.

The mother of my child.

She chose me.

And I chose her.

And now we're starting a family.

Together.

I put my hand over her stomach again.

Her hand covers mine.

Magic dances between our fingers.

Gold.

Red.

And maybe I'm imagining it, but I swear there's something else beneath it now.

Something tiny.

Warm.

New.

A promise of everything still to come.

For the first time in forty years, I don't fear the future.

I can't fucking wait for it. I have my mate.

Our home. Our baby. Our family. Our forever.

The future doesn't just look good.

It looks fucking glorious.

Even in Arrhythmia, Texas.