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He smiles and rests his palm on my belly. A kick from inside my abdomen sends my heart rate soaring. Our son is scheduled to arrive in less than six weeks, and there’s no way to measure our family’s anticipation and excitement.
There’s no way to measure our love.
I lift my face to my husband’s, and we indulge in a long, slow kiss that tastes like chocolate and vanilla.
He picks me up effortlessly and carries me toward the staircase.
“What about the cake?” I ask.
“Oh, I’ll give you cake.” He winks at me.
“I know you will.” I kiss his cheek as he carries me up to the bedroom. “I love you, Dane.”
“I love you, my Hannah. More than forever.”
He lowers me onto the bed and climbs on top of me, his weight a heavy, protective fortress. I wind my arms around his neck.
He presses his forehead to mine, and in his eyes, I see all the things I feel—wild, aching love, hope, happiness, and the ever-present vow that, together, we’ll hold on to what we have with both hands and never let go.
Epilogue Three
DANE
Thirteen years later
“This isthe best thing I’veevereaten.” Seven-year-old Nolan takes another bite of the chocolate crepe and licks the whipped cream off the fork. “Like, thebest.”
“Then how are you managing to get most of it on your face?” I pick up a napkin to wipe a streak of chocolate off his cheek but only succeed in smearing it more.
“He’s saving some of it to eat later,” Joel says with a smirk, though he’s busy devouring his own crepe. Almost thirteen, he alternates between giving his little brother a hard time and being intensely protective of him.
Unfazed, Nolan spreads the whipped cream more evenly over the crepe. I try to clean his face again to no avail. With a shrug, I toss the napkin in a nearby trash can and sit back in the metal chair.
Birds flock around the vast gardens of the Jardin des Tuileries, and the midafternoon sun throws a hot, golden light over the fountains, statues, and grass. In the distance, the wings of the Louvre spread outward like welcoming arms, and the walkways bustle with Parisians and tourists.
“Ha!” Joel holds up his phone. “Thunder. I just crushed your Word Jumble streak, Dad. Top score.”
“Yeah, well, come at me when you start doing them with pen and paper,” I tell him.
He rolls his eyes and returns to the app on his phone.
“This is sogood.” Nolan shovels in another mouthful of crepe. “Can I have another? Or one of the waffles with chocolate and strawberries?”
“Not now, because your mom made dinner reservations since it’s our last night in Paris.”
Nolan groans. “Is it a fancy restaurant? Do I have to wear a tie?”
“Nope. It’s a little bistro that she heard about from a friend. Super casual.”
“Will they have those cream puffs with the ice cream inside?”
“Probably, but if not, I’m sure they’ll have a dessert you’ll like.” I ruffle his dark hair just as I see Hannah and Sophie approaching from the Rue de Rivoli, each carrying a paper shopping bag. Though Sophie is a few inches taller than her mother, she leans in toward Hannah, talking animatedly and gesturing with her free hand.
As it always does, my heart lifts at the sight of them. They’re incredibly close, my wife and daughter, though also different in their own perfect ways. They’re both very good at letting me think I stand a chance when they actually conquer me on a daily basis. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
Hannah catches my eye and waves. I rise to my feet, feeling as if she’s been away from me for too long even though it’s only been a couple of hours.
I drink in her approach—her gorgeous body clad in a sleeveless pale-blue dress with a fitted bodice and a loose, flowing skirt, her shiny hair bouncing in a ponytail, and her skin tanned golden-brown from two weeks of the European sun. I will never have enough of her.
