Sabrina turned in my arms to face me. "Good morning, husband."
"Good morning, wife." I still got a kick out of that word. Wife. It meant we were permanent. It meant she was mine.
"I have news," she said, pulling her laptop across the counter. "I just posted a final update about the Ex-List."
I raised an eyebrow. Posts about the Ex-List had died off since our wedding, but occasionally Sabrina would get requests from people asking for updates on the men who'd been featured.
"What did you write?"
She turned the screen so I could read:
Final Update: Not all exes stay exes. Some become husbands.
When I helped write this list a few years ago (yes, I'm finally admitting it was me), I thought I was turning the tables on Hard Timber’s most difficult men. Turns out I was just making a list of guys who hadn't found the right woman yet.
All of the men on the Ex-List have found their own versions of happiness, whether that's marriage, meaningful relationships, or just figuring out what they actually want.
As for The Heartbreaker? He married the girl who wrote his name on the list in the first place. And if that's not proof that love is messier and more complicated and more forgiving than any of us deserve, I don't know what is.
Thanks for following our story. May you all find your own version of messily ever after.
—Sabrina Quade (formerly Meyer) Morning Wood Coffee, Hard Timber, Montana
I pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Think that'll put an end to the curiosity?"
"Probably not. But at least now when people ask, I can point them to the post instead of having to explain why I married someone I once publicly called a heartbreaker."
"To be fair, I was a heartbreaker. Just not in the way you meant."
She looked up at me, her hazel eyes soft. "And how's that?"
"I kept breaking my own heart by being too stupid to fight for what I wanted." I cupped her face in my hands. "Never again."
“Prove it, husband.”
So I did. Twice after breakfast and again right after lunch.
Around four, my phone rang while I was reconciling month-end numbers for both the hardware store and the coffee shop. My brother's name flashed on the screen, and I felt a familiar mix of affection and concern. Alex only called when he was in trouble or needed something, and since he was currently in the middle of his hockey season, it was probably the former.
"Hey, big brother," I answered. "Please tell me you didn't get traded again."
"Worse," Alex's voice was tight. "I got suspended. Three games, pending a 'behavioral review.' Whatever the fuck that means."
I pushed my chair back from the desk and looked out the window. Alex was four years older than me and had always been the one who attracted drama. Talented as hell on the ice, but he had a temper that got him in trouble more often than it should.
"What did you do?"
"Got in a fight during practice. Coach said I was being 'disruptive to team chemistry' and needed some time to 'reassess my priorities.'" He was quiet for a moment. "I was thinking maybe I could come up to Montana for a few days. Clear my head."
"Of course. You know you're always welcome here."
"Thanks, man. I just need to get away from the city for a while. Remember what normal feels like."
After I hung up, I found Sabrina in the kitchen trying out a new scone recipe. "Alex is coming for a visit," I told her. "He got suspended from the team."
She looked up, concerned. "Is he okay?"
"He will be. He just needs some mountain air and probably some of your cooking." I wrapped my arms around her again, still amazed that I could do that whenever I wanted. "Think Hard Timber can handle another Quade brother?"
