Page 176
This is better than anything I could’ve known to wish for.
EPILOGUE
SUMNER
One Year Later…
I think Frankie might be part mermaid.
I figured that out about thirty seconds after Goldie set her down at the edge of the water and our one-year-old daughter tried to crawl straight into the surf. Now I’ve got both hands locked firmly around her while she kicks at the little waves rolling over her legs. Every time the water pulls back, she squeals and leans forward like she thinks she can catch it.
“You see this?” Goldie asks, stopping right beside me in the shallow water.
I already know exactly where this is going. “No.”
“You are literally looking at her, Maverick.”
“I’m choosing to ignore whatever point you think you’re proving right now.”
Goldie plants a hand on her hip. She’s wearing an oversized pair of sunglasses, a smug expression, and a black string bikini that puts every single stretch mark across her stomach, hips, and thighs on full display. The extra softness around her middle is still there, along with the fuller hips and thighs she kept after having our baby, and she flaunts every fucking inch of it. It’s the sexiest fucking thing in the world to me, and my mouth practically waters just looking at her.
I let my eyes linger on her, and she smirks, knowing exactly what I’m doing even though I’m wearing sunglasses.
She's spent the last year waiting for this exact opportunity to gloat. “I told you our daughter belonged to the sea.”
“She likes splashing in the bathtub, too. I don't see you claiming the plumbing god gave her to us.”
“She’s practically got gills, Maverick. Admit it.”
Frankie shrieks with delight when another wave rushes over her chubby feet, splashing saltwater up to my shins. She kicks her legs, trying to dive forward into the foam.
Goldie points a manicured finger at her. “Exhibit A. The sea calls to her own.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and groan.
Secretly? Ever since that night in the hospital, a tiny piece of my brain has wondered if she might actually be right about the whole sea god thing. I got exactly what I wished for when I threw that ring into the Gulf. But there’s not a chance in hell I'm ever admitting that out loud.
Goldie just laughs. Almost two years of knowing this woman, and she still refuses to let the fucking Poseidon thing die. I swear she maintains it just to fuck with me.
She wades a little deeper, the water lapping at her thighs. “You know, at some point you're going to have to acknowledge that I was right.”
“About some supposedly magical sea turtles finding my ring in a literal ocean and swimming it down to a made-up god?” I raise an eyebrow behind my aviators. “Not gonna happen.”
“Then explain how we got Frankie on the very first try.” She gestures to our daughter, who is currently trying her hardest to beat the Gulf into submission by slapping her palm against the surface of the water.
“I know exactly how Frankie got here,” I tell her, my voice dropping an octave as my gaze sweeps over her body again. “And the only magic involved happened between you and me.”
Her grin turns wicked and knowing. It’s a dangerous look, considering we have all of our friends within hearing distance and I’ve already spent way too much of today thinking about getting my wife alone in our hotel room.
Goldie catches the shift in my attention. She slides her sunglasses down her nose just enough to peer over the dark rims at me. “Keep it in your pants, Maverick. We're in public.”
“I didn’t say a word.”
“You didn’t have to. I can see what you’re thinking right on your face. You’re not very good at hiding your feelings from me.”
Before I can defend myself, a slightly larger wave rolls in, hitting me at the knees. I kiss the top of Frankie’s damp, dark hair—the exact same color as mine—and scoop her up against my chest so she doesn't get dunked.
She immediately objects. Her little body arches backward, one chubby hand reaching frantically toward the surf as she kicks her legs against my stomach.
