She nods, those tearful eyes still watching me like I'm something precious instead of the scarred beast I know myself to be.
I stay buried inside her, unwilling to break our connection yet. The world outside is starting to intrude—daylight growing stronger, the sounds of the storm receding—but in here, it's still just us. Just this perfect bubble where nothing exists but her sweetness and my need to possess it.
I gather her into my arms, against my chest and hold her close.
I’m never going to let this precious angel go.
epilogue
. . .
Julia
Five years later
Five yearsafter the storm that changed everything, our home stands on three acres of land just outside Hickory Ridge. Not just a house—a fortress, exactly as Butch promised. Security cameras monitor every approach, walls thick enough to withstand anything Mother Nature throws at us, windows reinforced to keep out more than just the wind. It's excessive, according to the locals who whisper about the mysterious couple who built it. But they don't understand. They weren't there the night Butch Hale showed me what true protection looks like. They don't know what it means to be treasured so completely that a man would build walls against the world just to keep you safe.
Inside these walls, we've created our own universe. Three-year-old Everly toddles through the house with her father's determined scowl and her mother's love of books. One-year-old James already shows signs of his father's size, chubby legs propelling him after his sister with surprising speed. And thenewest addition, six-month-old Lily, sleeps peacefully in her bassinet beside my desk, where I manage the online expansion of Pages & Petals.
The original storefront in town is still there, run by my assistant five days a week. But the real heart of the business happens here, in the converted sunroom where rare books are cataloged, online orders are processed, and literary-themed subscription boxes are assembled. Business is booming—turns out there was a market for carefully curated book packages with handwritten recommendations. Who knew my English degree would finally pay off?
Butch's security business has expanded too. He has six employees now, all former military or law enforcement, all personally vetted to ensure they meet his exacting standards. He still does installations himself sometimes, particularly for clients he deems vulnerable. Last month, he refused payment from a young widow opening a cafe downtown. Installed top-of-the-line equipment and cameras, then came home and held me tighter than usual that night. He never explains these moments of generosity. Doesn't need to. I understand the man beneath the gruff exterior better than anyone.
The sound of his truck in the driveway makes me smile. Everly hears it too, abandoning her picture book to race toward the front door.
"Daddy!" she squeals as Butch enters, his massive frame filling the doorway before he crouches down to scoop her up.
"There's my princess," he rumbles, pressing a kiss to her dark curls—my color, his texture. "Been good for mommy today?"
She nods solemnly, already understanding that being good for mommy is the highest praise in Daddy's book. James wobbles over next, arms raised in silent demand. Without missing a beat, Butch hoists him up with his other arm, balancing both children with an ease that still amazes me.
His eyes find mine across the room, that same heat still there after all these years. No matter how many children we have, no matter how domesticated our life becomes, that primal connection has never diminished.
"How are my girls?" he asks, crossing to where Lily and I wait.
"We're perfect," I answer, tilting my face up for his kiss. It starts gentle, mindful of the children, but deepens just enough to promise more for later.
"Missed you," he murmurs against my lips. "Thought about you all day."
Even now, these simple declarations make my heart flutter. Five years, three children, and a mortgage together, and he still looks at me like I'm the rarest first edition in the world.
After dinner, when the children are bathed and storied and tucked into bed, Butch pulls me into our bedroom and shows me exactly how much he missed me. His hands, still rough from work, map my body with familiar possession. His mouth, demanding and skilled, draws sounds from me I once would have been embarrassed to make.
"Still so perfect," he growls against my neck, pressing me into our mattress. "Still mine."
"Always yours," I agree, arching into him.
His mouth claims mine again, hungrier this time, his large hands pinning my wrists above my head. Even after three babies, he still handles me like I'm made of glass—precious, breakable—while simultaneously claiming me with a possessiveness that makes my toes curl.
"Say it again," he demands, his voice a low rumble against my throat as he trails kisses down my neck.
"I'm yours, Butch," I whisper, knowing exactly what he needs to hear. "Only yours. Always yours."
He groans, the sound vibrating through me as his grip on my wrists tightens just enough to make me gasp. After five years together, he knows my body better than I do—knows exactly how much pressure makes me melt, how much dominance makes me surrender.
"My sweet little bookworm," he murmurs, one hand releasing my wrists to slide down my body. "Still blush for me after all this time."
I do. I can feel the heat in my cheeks, the way my skin flushes under his intense gaze. Some things never change, no matter how many times he has claimed me as his wife.
