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“Ouch!” Jesse cries, laughing.
“Keep telling jokes; you get bit.”
“Promise?”
I groan on the outside, but inside, my stubborn heart opens up and smiles.
Epilogue
Five years later
Jesse
My son is still a damn fool, but in a much more selfless way.
“Sorry you lost, Nathan. Better luck next time,” Mariam says, squeezing his shoulder. My wife, wearing her enormous “Vote for V” campaign button on her sweater, smiles sympathetically. Although she supported Nate’s opponent, Mariam Webb-Jones is still the kindest person I know.
Nathan shrugs. “It was a great campaign,” he says. “I had fun, anyway. But I don’t think there will be a next time. It’s better if I stick to making espresso.”
Indeed, Nathan’s coffee shop has found its niche in our town with people who like espresso drinks but don’t want to drive an hour to a Starbucks. And the population of Darling Creek is more than enthused to support both a bakery and a high-end coffee shop. Most importantly, my son seems happy for the first time in as long as I can remember.
Still, only a damn fool goes up against Violetta Reed in a mayoral race.
At tonight’s victory party at Willie’s Bar & Grill, it feels like the entire town is here, which makes me feel a twinge of pity for Nate, who came here to shake Violetta’s hand and concede. I’ve tried to remain impartial, what with Mariam helping Violetta with her campaign. It makes sense, based on everything that woman has done to help our downtown businesses.
Me, I voted for my son because in the end, how could I go against my own flesh and blood?
Our conversation is interrupted when our three year old, Julius, and his friend, Cash Wilkins, see Nathan from across the crowded room. The two little boys make a beeline for Nathan, attack-hugging his legs.
“Uncle Nathan! Let’s wrestle!” Julius shouts.
We’ve explained to Julius that Nathan is not technically his uncle, but I can only argue so much with a tiny face bearing Mariam’s big blue eyes and deep dimples.
Cash growls like a tiny bear cub, having gotten used to wrestling matches with Nathan on their frequent playdates.
Nathan tousles the hair of the two boys, then picks them up, one in each arm. “Isn’t it your bedtime?”
Julius shouts, “Mommy and Daddy let me stay up late for party!”
“Mine too!” Cash chimes in.
Apart from Zeke and Serena Wilkins’ brood, Maisy and Lincoln Hall’s little guy, Zach, is tearing it up the dance floor with the Whitlock kids.
“Mighty big of you to attend Violetta’s victory party, Nate,” I tell him.
The wiggling toddler in my arms squeals and reaches for Nathan, and he sets down the two boys. “Run along and play with your buddies, now. It’s baby sister time,” Nate tells them.
Ignoring the sense of reluctance anytime I let anyone hold the baby, I gently hand over Shiloh to Nate. He’s great with our kids. Great with everyone’s kids, actually.
“I’m proud of you, Nathan,” I say.
He smiles for half a second, then lets it morph into his usual smirk. “Don’t get mushy, alright? I’m headed home; want me to grab your other ankle-biter and put everyone to bed?”
Mariam nods then steps forward to kiss Shiloh goodnight with a soft peck to her head. “That would be wonderful,” she says. “Thank you, Nathan.”
“Fine, get out of here,” I say, waving him off with a laugh. I squeeze my wife tight to my side as we watch him go, both of us still in awe at how well Nathan has taken to being a big brother.
At least nowadays, I know when he means “home” he’s talking about his own place, complete with a bed and a pack & play for his siblings.
