Page 161 of One Night with Number Nineteen

Then sigh and stretch and spin toward the windows that take up most of the wall behind my desk. We opted to install shutters throughout the house, each of the windows getting the bright white coverings that can be left open enough to provide light and sunshine, but angled so no one can look in.

Not that anyone’s going to get close enough for that, what with the beefed-up security system Sawyer and I decided on…the same day he moved in.

He wasn’t the only one moving.

Nancy…well, there were a few hiccups—backtracking and old behaviors creeping in, tangling with both her and Sawyer trying to figure out a new normal—but eventually she decided to relocate to a senior living community. It’s in town, and she still lives alone, but there are helpers employed by the community along with an on-site handyman. Plus, if she ever needs more help, there are step-ups for higher levels of care.

So far it’s been good.

No.

It’s been great.

The situation with Jonah, less so. It’s been months of back and forth with lawyers and prosecutors and Detective Roberts and police departments from other states…and while Jonah won’t be going to prison for the rest of his life, it looks like he’ll be in custody for the foreseeable future.

I hope he gets the help he needs.

Still, I’ve also put in some time with a local Krav Maga class—not just on the slim chance that he may get out, but because I want to be able to protect myself.

But I saw Jonah’s mugshot.

I took care of myself pretty damned well before Sawyer and the guys got there to help.

A team effort.

Grinning, I save my document, upload it to the cloud and email it to myself (because I'm not losing a word of this). My gaze drifts around my office, taking in the collection of musical playbills pinned to my bulletin board. They’ve grown over the last six months—Rent, then Hamilton and & Juliet, and most recently, Six. All amazing. And all with Sawyer at my side, his head bopping along to the music.

Building memories.

Building our future.

Something I intend to focus on today as I reach into the bottom drawer of my desk and pull out the package that came yesterday.

It’s so pretty—especially with the hot Viking hunk on the front cover.

Getting up, I take it and my Just-Completed-The-Second-Book-That-Shall-Not-Be-Written booty out of my office and into the front room.

Sawyer and Ollie are making a mess in the kitchen.

“What are we cooking?” I ask softly.

The looks my boys give me.

Oh, my heart can’t take it.

Or maybe it’s that it can take it. Because it grows a little more every time I remember how much I love my family.

“Banana bread!” Ollie bellows, throwing his hands up and sending batter splattering onto the floor. And cabinets. And counter.

Sawyer swipes it up without missing a beat. “Olls was thinking he might want it for his birthday cake, so we’re experimenting.”

“Faye gave you the recipe?” I ask, more than a little surprised.

Oh, she’ll bake the bread.

But that recipe is under lock and key.

Sawyer’s eyes dance. “She gave us her second-best recipe.”