I made him wait just long enough to suffer. “I didn’t say that.”
Relief softened him instantly. He kissed my knuckles. “Good. Because I’m not letting you go.”
From the back seat, Briggs groaned. “Great. He’s gonna bethat guynow.”
“The whipped one?” Knox asked.
“Absolutely,” Mason said without shame. “Prepare yourselves.”
I laughed—real laughter, the kind that feels like release—and let myself lean into his side.
The roadhouse lights cut through the snow like a promise. Kameron burst out the door as we pulled up.
“Are you okay?” she asked. “I was about to send another team?—”
“We slid off the road,” I said. “But Mason took care of me.”
Her eyes dropped to our hands. Then back up. Slowly. “Ah.”
Behind the window, Elsa was grinning like she’d just won a bet.
“I have to head back to the station,” Mason said, tipping my chin up with his thumb. “But I’ll be back first thing tomorrow.”
He kissed me—slow and unapologetic—right in front of everyone.
“Get some sleep, girlfriend.”
“Drive safe, boyfriend.”
I watched the rescue truck vanish into the snow until Kameron nudged me.
“Well. That escalated.”
Inside, hot chocolate waited. So did questions. So did warmth.
And for the first time in a long time, I wasn’t bracing for disappointment.
I had Mason.
And tonight, that felt like everything.
EPILOGUE
GABBY
“Mama, look. I drawed a fire truck.”
I leaned over to examine the crayon masterpiece our three-year-old was waving in my face. It was mostly red scribbles with some orange thrown in for good measure, but I could sort of make out a boxy shape with wheels.
“That’s beautiful, Eloise,” I said, smoothing down her dark curls—Mason’s hair, my eyes. “Is that Daddy’s truck?”
“Uh-huh.” She nodded solemnly, then grabbed the blue crayon and started adding what I assumed was water. Or the sky. Or just blue because blue was her favorite this week.
Mason caught my eye across the booth and grinned. God, that grin still did things to me. Four years of marriage, one toddler, and another baby currently using my bladder as a trampoline, and the man could still make my stomach flip with a single smile.
“Hi there, folks. Welcome to the Wildwood Ridge Roadhouse.”
I looked up at our server—a young girl I didn’t recognize, probably nineteen or twenty with a high ponytail and a nervoussmile. She must be new. There’d been a lot of turnover at the roadhouse since I’d stopped working here, but I still knew most of the staff.
