The boxing classes at the community center have become part of my routine now, along with teaching writing at the community college. Working with kids learning to channel their energy, young adults finding their voices. It fits me better than the university ever did.
“We should probably get off this porch swing soon,” she says, looking up at me with those eyes that still get me every time. “Be productive. We still need to work on the guest bedroom today like we talked about.”
“Or,” I counter, grinning down at her, “we could skip it.”
She smiles, a slow smile that means she agrees. “You really think so?”
“Definitely. The guest bedroom can wait.” I turn her face toward me and kiss her deeply, thoroughly. When I pull back, she’s flushed and breathless. “Though I can think of a few things that need doing in our bedroom.”
She blinks up at me with mock innocence, her lips still parted from the kiss. “Oh? What kind of things?”
“The kind that definitely can’t wait,” I say, pulling her closer. Fuck, the things we did last night. It started with her in that little silk thing she knows drives me crazy. Ended with both of us breathless, tangled in sheets.
“Well then,” she says, her voice low and promising, her eyes heavy-lidded and full of heat. “We should definitely prioritize.”
Just then Laila bounds up the porch steps and vigorously shakes her rope toy, sending it flying across the porch. Her ears are flipped backward from the force of her head shake, giving her that goofy look that always cracks us up.
We both burst out laughing.
“Perfect timing as always,” I say, scratching behind her ears.
Laila’s tail is wagging proudly at her toy-shaking skills, and the morning sun is warm through the trees. I look at my life—this woman I love, this goofy dog we both adore, this house we’ve made ours—and feel completely content.
I’ve even started writing again. Finally, after so many years. My first book was about grief, written when everything was falling apart. This one’s about love, about finding home in another person. About the life we build when we stop running.
I can even look at that first book with fondness now. All that raw pain that brought me literary success, it led me here somehow. To this porch, this woman, this life.
This is it. This is everything I want.
The Black Lantern has been completely transformed for Maren’s book launch. Lark and I spent the afternoon stringing fairy lights across the ceiling and arranging copies of the book on every available surface. The place is packed, busier than I’ve seen it outside of the summer tourist season.
“Look at you,” I tell Maren, watching her chat with a group of readers near the bar. She’s wearing a deep green dress that makes her eyes impossible to look away from, and she’s glowing with a mixture of pride and disbelief. “Local literary sensation.”
“Stop,” she says, but she’s beaming, her hand finding mine and squeezing.
Alex arrives carrying a tray of what I recognize as Maren’s favorite dessert from Harbor & Ash, the chocolate lava cakes she orders every time we eat there. “Couldn’t have a party without these,” he says, setting them on the bar. Maren immediately hugs him so hard he laughs and has to catch his balance.
The whole town really has turned out. Eddie holds court at his usual stool, telling anyone who’ll listen that he always knew Maren was special. Jayson has outdone himself with food, the tables groaning under platters of everything from fancy canapés to his famous wings. Even Dolores is here, clutching her copy like it’s precious.
But it’s Eleanor and the Romance Raiders who make Maren really tear up. The entire book club is here, all five of them in their seventies and dressed to the nines. Eleanor’s eyes are wet as she approaches Maren with her copy.
“We’re so proud of you, sweetheart,” Eleanor says, her voice thick with emotion. “Susan would be over the moon. A real published author in our little town, and writing about women like us.”
Maren hugs all of them fiercely and then has to excuse herself to the bathroom after that, and I know she’s going to fix her makeup and pull herself together. Theo arrives with Chloe, who immediately runs to show Maren her dress when she returns. She’s decorated it herself with glitter glue, writing “My Aunt Maren Writes Books!” in careful five-year-old handwriting.
“This is the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen,” Maren tells her seriously, and Chloe beams.
The evening continues, the bar full of laughter and conversation. Everyone’s having a good time, drinks flowing, people taking turns congratulating Maren. Dominic’s by the bar with Alex, both of them holding copies of the book they picked up earlier. Theo and Jayson are discussing something about flavor profiles, gesturing animatedly with their drinks.
“Calvin,” Lark appears at my elbow while Maren’s signing books. “Everything’s set for later at the house.”
“Perfect,” I tell her quietly. “Thank you for helping with this.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve been waiting for you to propose to her for months.” She grins and disappears back into the crowd.
The party continues, and I find myself just watching Maren work the room. She signs book after book, talking to each person like they’re the only one there, making everyone feel special the way she always has. She laughs at something one of the Romance Raiders says, her head thrown back, completely in her element.
This is where she belongs, surrounded by people who love her, celebrating something she created. She’s radiant, confident, entirely herself.
