Page 151 of In Your Wake

A laugh forces itself out of my lungs, releasing any lingering stress. “Love you, too.”

Later, when everyone is chilling by the fireplace with filled bellies and filled cups, Max finds me outside on the back steps.

“Hey, you.” She hands me a new beer and slides into my arms as if she’s always belonged there. “You doing okay?” she asks softly.

I take a deep breath of fall air and release it, then kiss her temple. “I am now.”

“Seems Hunter took the news pretty well.”

“Yeah, I told you he would,” I say, earning her elbow in my side.

“You did not,” she answers while I chuckle.

“Okay, I was a little worried. But you know how he is? Hunter just wants us all to be happy.”

She shakes her head. “Fucking hippie.”

“Whoa, careful, you’re starting to sound like Spencer.”

“Well, shit. Guess it’s time for us to leave, then.” She drops her head onto my shoulder and releases a contented sigh, then wraps her arms around my waist.

I’m so fucking comfortable. I could sit here with her all night and take in the soft breeze, and stare out at the beautiful garden. For the first time since I left Oakwhite for college, I don’t feel like I need to run away from anything. Or that I don’t quite fit in.

Maxine shivers in my arms.

“Are you ready to get going?” I ask.

Smiling, she looks up, her arched eyebrow hinting at one thing. “More than ready.”

I feather her lips with mine. “Okay. Let’s go home.”

Epilogue

Once for Green, Twice for Gray

Max

A spoon clatters to the ground, waking me.

“Damn it!” Mitch shouts from the kitchen downstairs.

I open my eyes with a small giggle. I’m sweating. The heat from the fireplace is suffocating, so I roll out of bed and open the windows to let in some air.

The sun’s cresting over the horizon, and I let its light hit my face, enjoying the coolness of the mid-April morning. As much as I love winter in Oakwhite, I’m looking forward to the warmer days and the opportunity to go for a swim, or even sailing.

I rub my belly, running my hands over the curve of my stomach. I’m nearly due; a little less than a month away. A swift kick makes me giggle, but also presses down on my bladder.

“Morning,” I say, hurrying to the bathroom.

When I return, Mitchell is heading upstairs, so I jump, or rather roll back into bed, bringing the thick comforter up to my chest.

“Christ, woman,” he complains, walking into our bedroom holding two mugs. “Why are the windows open? It’s freezing in here.”

“No, it’s not. I was sweating.”

“Well, you told me you were cold last night, so I made a fire,” he says, nodding toward the fireplace.

I shrug. “What can I say? Hormones.”