There was a chorus of murmurs affirming.Ren turned back to them, his tone serious.
‘So, that’s it.The juicy details.Now, get us a drink, will you?We just bought a bloody derelict farm, for God’s sake.I think we deserve one.’
I laughed, blinking back tears, as Ren glanced down at me, an expectant expression on his smiling face.
‘Did I miss anything, Sunshine?’
I laughed, tears stinging my eyes.‘No.You did perfect.’
And then we were pulled into my childhood home, arms wrapping around us, kisses planted on cheeks and surrounded by warmth and noise and a whole lot of love.
Epilogue
Lydia
18 Months Later
The groan was music to my ears.I shifted forward, arching into the delicious stretch, breath catching as my body lengthened just right.My hands gripped the solid frame beneath me.
‘That’s it,’ I murmured, voice low.‘Push into it.’
Another groan joined mine.Then another.Until a full chorus of deep, masculine groans echoed behind me – 11 voices in perfect harmony.
The Lancaster Vale men’s first team were lined up on reformer machines, looking like a sexy calendar shoot gone rogue.Shaking limbs jutted out at odd angles.Some shirtless and sweaty.All absolutely hating every second of Pilates.
‘Really, lads,’ I tutted.‘You haven’t been doing your stretches.The gaffer will be hearing about this.’
Cue a chorus ofLydia, pleaseandWe’ll do extra this week.
‘Fine.But I want box seats next season.’ I pointed at Thiago Blundell, Lancaster’s star striker, who held up his hands in defence.
‘You’re the best, Lydia,’ added Nico van Haaren, the Dutch-Argentine keeper with hands like dinner plates.
The studio door swung open, sunlight flooding the room in golden beams.A familiar silhouette leaned against the frame, arms crossed in a cocky display.My face broke into a grin, my stomach still flipping with butterflies, even now.
‘You’d think I’d be intimidated,’ Ren drawled, ‘knowing my girlfriend trains eleven professional athletes every Friday.But after the performance you lot gave last week?I’m feeling pretty confident I don’t have to worry.’
‘Oh, piss off, Hunter,’ shot back Robbie McNair, though his lips twitched.Robbie was in Liam’s year at Everly Heath High and had known of Ren long before Pilates became part of his pay-cheque-sanctioned weekly torment.‘Like you could do any better.’
‘At this rate, they should let me have a go.’ Ren sauntered into the room, heading for my reformer.
He leaned over, where I was still stretching out my hamstrings, and cupped my cheeks in his hands.His lips met mine in a long, lingering kiss, slow and unhurried, only pulling back when my tongue grazed his and his chest rumbled in quiet satisfaction.
The 11 giant babies burst into a chorus of ‘Eww!’, save for Nico, the eternal softie, who let out an ‘Aww!’
Ren ignored the lot of them, totally unfazed, and pressed a kiss to the tip of my nose.
‘Hey, Sunshine!’
I beamed.‘Hey!What are you doing here?Aren’t you supposed to be unloading the wine for the wedding?’
‘All in the cellar.’ His eyes flashed with excitement.‘It’s here.Dad just delivered it.I came straight here to tell you.’
‘Oh, my God!’ I squealed, pulling myself off the reformer in the most elegant way I could – spoiler: not very.‘Are you serious?’
‘Jesus, Lydia!’ Heath McKinnon, the Aussie right back, winced.‘Pretty sure they heard you in Blackpool.’
‘Right.Class is over!’ I announced.‘If you leave now, I won’t tell the boss man you’ve been skipping your stretches.’
