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I shook my head again, my embrace tightening to hold him close. "Not one last time."
"You're right, love. Not one last time but again and again as long as you let me."
Smiling, fat tears wetting my cheeks, I let him roll me onto my back knowing that I had him forever.
EPILOGUE
DEAN
Hearing the chimes on the front door jingle, I looked up from the box I was unpacking to scope out the new arrivals. They looked every bit the summer tourists. A mom and dad, two grade schools kids and a toddler, all of them wearing t-shirts recently purchased from one of the whale watching tours that left twice a day from Fisherman's Wharf.
The presence of the kids alone should have had me lowering my guard, but I looked the parents over with a practiced eye. No ink or piercings. No overt signs of drug abuse. Well-groomed all the way down to the woman's pricy French manicure.
Relaxing, I resumed unpacking the box of picture books as Garnet greeted our potential customers.
Christine, not Garnet, I reminded myself for the thousandth time in the last two years. At least the "Phelps" part had changed after the first year. Not to Ramirez, but to Sosa. And I wasn't Adrian or Dean anymore. I was Thomas—Thomas Sosa. I didn't get to pick the name, the Feds did. But the perks of having it more than made up for the fact I found it a bit bland.
"Are you pregnant or just fat?" the boy asked as Christine directed him toward a book on Navy ships.
The parents gasped in unison, then their lips began uselessly flapping with excuses and apologies. My beautiful, sexy wife just laughed and answered the little brat's question.
"Both. Now, do you like only boats or are submarines cool, too?"
"Both," the kid echoed, his hands seizing an expensive encyclopedia of naval warfare that as beyond his years but likely within range of his parents' checkbook.
"And you?" she asked the little girl. "What do you like?"
Seeing Christine's face light up, I stopped working and just smiled. Buying the bookstore had been the right choice. Neither of us had to worry about coming up with phony references for would-be employers or answering a thousand questions from co-workers. And Christine loved it because she could still—in her own way—teach.
Catching my gaze on her, she flashed a sweet smile then led the girl over to books on mermaids and other mythical sea creatures.
Straightening, Christine winced. I took a step toward her, but she shook her head and rubbed lightly at her belly, the gesture a signal that the baby growing inside her was practicing his field goals.
The parents peeled away, each to their own interests. I finished unpacking the box then moved over to the register. Ten minutes later, I was ringing up nearly three hundred dollars.
Once the door solidly closed behind the family, Christine came around the counter softly laughing.
"If more kids called me fat, we could retire early."
Pressing my chest against her back, I circled my hands around front to gently rub her belly. Our son rewarded me with a fresh kick.
"You don't actually want to retire," I said.
Placing her hands over mine, she gave a light squeeze.
"Okay, if more kids were rude like that, we could put in an espresso stand."
Nuzzling her neck, I lodged another objection.
"You don't really want an espresso stand. You just want to see me in a little black apron."
"Maybe," she admitted. "Perhaps we should test that theory at home."
"Depends." I pulled back from teasing her neck so I could study the side of her face. "Do I have to wear pants while I'm wearing the apron?"
The plump cheek flushed a bright pink and she had to swallow before she could answer.
"It's definitely the no-pants kind of experiment." She paused, another deep flush dipping down to color the top of her shoulders. "No shirt, either."
"Then, baby," I said, turning her to face me. "I'm all in."
Halfway through the kiss, the chimes on the door jingled. Pulling away, Christine laughed and faced our customers.
"Welcome," she said, her beautiful smile absolutely beaming. "To the Great Escapes Bookstore."
the end
