I loop my arms around his neck and hold on tight, and he holds me back just as fiercely, one hand still protective over where our baby is growing.
And for the first time in my life, I realize happily-ever-after is more than just a fairytale.
Epilogue
One year and eight months later…
The Montana sun is warm on my shoulders as I stand on the back porch of the main ranch house where Luke’s parents live.
There’s barely-controlled chaos unfolding across the lawn. Our friends’ kids are running around on the vast expanse of grasslands. Red and pink balloons bob in the breeze, tied to fence posts and chair.
A banner strung between two trees declares “Happy 1st Birthday Valentine!” in glittery letters.
“Your daughter,” Luke says, coming up behind me and wrapping his arms around my waist, “has just discovered she can throw cake.”
I turn to look at the scene unfolding near the picnic tables. Sure enough, Valentine, perched in her high chair with her wild dark curls escaping from the little bow I'd so carefully placed this morning, has a fistful of red velvet cake and is gleefully launching it at anyone within range.
“Oh no. The cake.”
“The beautiful, expensive, heart-shaped cake from yourfavorite bakery,” Luke confirms, kissing my temple. “She's got good aim though. Got Buster right in the head.”
I watch Buster gobbles up the cake that’s fallen onto the grass. Valentine squeals with delight and claps her frosting-covered hands together.
“She gets that from you,” he says.
I lean back against my husband's chest. Even after all these months, the word still gives me a thrill.Husband.
“The good aim or the chaos?”
“Both, Mrs. Brennan.”
Mrs. Brennan.Another phrase I'm still getting used to. We'd gotten married at the courthouse two weeks after seeing those positive tests, with just my dad, Luke's parents, and Emily and her husband Garrett there with us.
Quick and simple, because Luke had said he wasn't waiting another day to make me his wife, and I'd been too dizzy with happiness to argue.
The real celebration had come later, after Valentine was born. We had a small ceremony at sunset right here on the ranch, with our daughter sleeping peacefully in my father's arms as Luke and I renewed the vows we'd made in the courthouse.
I haven’t gone back to bartending. “Unpaid maternity leave” from Mad Dog’s turned into stay-at-home-mom life here on the ranch.
Sometimes I feel guilty about not going back to work, but Luke managed to finish his MBA remotely. Now he has the ranch running more profitably than it ever has.
My husband works hard so that I get to spend my days with my baby in paradise. I’ve even been taking art classes once a week.
Baby Val and I are living our best lives. It’s hard to feel guilty about it when Luke makes it clear how much pleasure and pride it gives him to make that life possible for us.
“Maddie!”
Emily waves from across the lawn, herblonde ponytail swinging as she waddles through the crowd with Garrett in tow.
She’s seventh months pregnant with her first. Totally adorable, as usual, especially doing the penguin-shuffle most of us pregnant ladies start doing in the third trimester.
“We need you to cut the cake before your sweet baby girl destroys the entire thing!” she says.
“Too late!” Luke’s mom calls out cheerfully. “I’ve got a backup sheet cake in the kitchen. I’ll go grab it.”
I make my way down the porch steps, Luke's hand finding mine automatically.
“There's the birthday girl!” I scoop Valentine out of her high chair, and she immediately smears pink frosting across my cheek. “Yes, thank you, baby. Very generous.”
