"Nothing." I leaned into him, lowering my voice. "Just thinking that your crew might not be single for long. Not with this place right down the street."
His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Yeah?"
"Mm-hmm." I nodded toward Mason, who was very obviously watching Gabby return with my wine. "Case in point."
Devon followed my gaze and huffed a quiet laugh. "Poor bastard doesn't stand a chance."
"Against Gabby? Or against himself?"
"Both."
Gabby set my wine down with a wink. "Enjoy. And seriously, congrats on the clinic."
"Thanks, Gabby."
She headed to another table, and Mason's eyes followed her the whole way.
Conner raised his beer. "Alright, alright. Enough about Mason's tragic love life. We're here to celebrate. To Rylie and the new clinic."
"To Rylie," the table echoed, glasses lifting.
"To good friends," Hux added.
"Great food," Conner chimed in.
"And great beer," Mason finished, taking a long pull from his bottle.
I lifted my wine glass, warmth spreading through my chest that had nothing to do with the alcohol. Devon's hand squeezed my knee, and when I looked over, he was watching me with that expression again—the one that said I was his and he wasn't letting go.
Three days, and my whole life had changed.
I clinked my glass against his beer bottle and took a sip, already wondering what the next three days would bring.
EPILOGUE
RYLIE
Devon's construction office was dark except for the light spilling from his desk lamp.
Perfect.
I pulled into the empty lot, killed the engine, and sat there for a beat, heart thudding like I was twenty-three again and sneaking out past curfew. Except I was twenty-eight now. Married for four years. Mother to Carter, who’d just turned three, and Paisley, eighteen months of tutu-wearing energy.
The Thai food in the passenger seat released fragrant steam that fogged the windshield. I’d ordered all Devon’s favorites. But that wasn’t why I was here.
I checked my reflection in the rearview mirror. Hair down in loose waves I’d actually had time to style. Mascara still intact, untouched by sticky toddler hands. Lips painted deep red—the shade Devon only saw on rare occasions and usually ended up wearing courtesy of me.
And underneath the belted trench coat?
Well. He’d see.
My phone buzzed with a text from my mother-in-law.Both kids asleep. Carter made us readGoodnight Moonfour times.Paisley refused to take off her tutu. They’re angels. Don’t rush back. Enjoy your evening.
God bless that woman.
Devon’s parents had been begging for a sleepover for months, but between his work and my three days a week at Dr. Hanson’s clinic, we’d never made it happen.
Until tonight.
