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She nodded, leaning in to kiss the side of his mouth. “You’re gaping, Lord Blowfish.”
“He told you?” His voice rose on the last word.
Cammie sighed. “Let’s just say he felt compelled to. But it’s his story.” She pecked him on the nose. “You’ll have to ask him about it.”
He would never ask Fernsby about it. He turned, gazing at his butler, who was taking all the backslapping and hugs and congratulations without breaking his composure.
“We can’t just wait here,” Cammie said. Then she rushed down to the front and threw her arms around Fernsby in a bear hug, or at least as bearish a hug as someone smaller and shorter could give.
Was that a slight bending of the man’s spine?
No. Dane must be imagining it.
The hugs and congratulations continued, Cammie edging farther out of the way to give Fernsby room.
Then it was Dane’s turn. He strode down the aisle to the front, as if he wasn’t flabbergasted. As if he hadn’t had the rug torn out from under him. And all the other clichés he could think of.
“Fernsby, congratulations.”
Just when Dane thought all he’d have to do was stick out his hand and shake Fernsby’s for all the man was worth, he suddenly found himself enveloping his butler in a manly hug.
It was probably the craziest thing he’d ever done. Besides taking twelve years to tell Cammie he loved her.
Oddly, maybe wondrously, Fernsby actually hugged him in return.
Dane stepped back, his hands still on Fernsby’s shoulders. “I knew you could do it.”
Fernsby, with the sternest, straightest face the man had ever exhibited, said, “I had faith you could do it too, sir.”
Then, with yet another miracle of miracles—could there be more than one miracle of miracles?—Fernsby looked at Cammie. And smiled.
* * *
Good Lord. Cammie glanced at the ceiling to make sure it hadn’t fallen in. Fernsby had smiled. An undeniable, endless smile. The hug her two favorite men shared hadn’t shocked her as much, even though she’d never seen Fernsby hug anyone, ever. But this was Fernsby’s day.
And that hug had the flavor of father-son bonding. Whatever the two had said to each other, it had made Fernsby look at her.
And smile.
Cammie wouldn’t dream of smothering her answering smile. She had everything she’d ever wanted. Dane professing his love for her and trusting her in every decision she made for the new resort. Dane taking her hand as they hiked the trails of Pebble Beach or walked along the beach with the waves pounding the shoreline. Dane beneath her on his soft mattress, whispering all the naughty things he wanted to do to her, then actually doing all those naughty things.
Even now, her cheeks flushed with the glorious memories.
Her cheeks grew even warmer when she looked at Evan and Paige with their beautiful babies, now three months old, a reminder of that barbecue when she’d realized she wanted Dane and love and family. All the pregnant ladies, Lyssa, Ari, and Rosie, were also a sweet reminder. And they were very pregnant now—huge, in fact, all far into the third trimester. As if the women were triplets, they each held their hands on their bellies, their faces glowing.
Someday, she thought, automatically searching for Dane. She found his gaze on her, and he smiled. Then he glanced from her to the pregnant ladies and back. She understood his meaning. He wanted what these wonderful Mavericks had as badly as she did.
As if there weren’t several heads and bodies between them, he mouthed, I love you.
She mouthed the words back at him.
Back in January, watching the Harringtons take on the Mavericks on that soccer field, she could never have dreamed of this. She couldn’t even hope for it.
But Dane would always be hers. Just as she’d always been his, right from the beginning, before she even knew his name. They belonged to each other. From this moment on. Forevermore.
Then she simply couldn’t stop her feet from carrying her to him or her arms from winding around his neck, pulling him down for a kiss. Not a showy, blatant kiss, just the soft, gentle touch of lips on lips that sealed their love.
When she surfaced, Fernsby was once again smiling.
* * *
Now that was a lot of very pregnant ladies. Lyssa Spencer looked as if she could have her baby right here. So did Rosie. And Ari couldn’t be far behind.
Ava resisted the urge to shudder. The gooey looks their respective partners gave each of them were a tad frightening.
The entire group assembled out on the patio. The July sun beamed down on them from a cloudless sky. Flowers bloomed in the beds surrounding the pool deck, and from beyond came the distant sound of golf clubs whacking golf balls and the incessant shush of the waves hitting the beach. The little dachshund barked wildly at Charlie Ballard’s Zanti Misfits hiding in the rock garden.
