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Epilogue
Dani
One Year Later
Hunter’s chest heaves against mine as we struggle to catch our breath. Finally, with a sigh of satisfaction, I loosen my legs from where they’re wrapped around his hips and he takes a shaky step back from my desk, where I’d tempted him into a quickie. Only it hadn’t been all that quick, and now we’re running late.
“Totally worth it,” he says, as if he can read my mind, even as he pulls up his pants and zips up. I swipe my panties off the floor and slip them on under my new dress before turning to the small mirror hanging nearby. As quickly as I can, I comb my fingers through my hair so I can be as presentable as possible for the television cameras.
Once his shirt is tucked into his pants, Hunter straightens his tie but his hands are shaking—he always gets nervous being in front of the cameras—so I offer him some assistance. A year ago, I couldn’t tie a tie to save my life; now it’s become second nature.
I’ve learned so many things over the past year, some minor and some major.
I’ve learned more about football. To appreciate the game because of the feeling of community it brings its fans.
I’ve learned that I’m more stubborn than I’d like to admit, and I’ve learned that’s okay.
But most of all, I’ve learned that people don’t always leave. Hunter has taught me so much, just by sticking around and not bolting when things got rough. And because of him, I’ve learned to stay too.
“How did I get so lucky?” I pat him on the chest once I’ve fixed his tie.
“I’m the lucky one.” He gently caresses my cheek, his eyes twinkling with love and lust, then drops his hand to entwine the fingers of my left hand with his right. He lifts my hand and kisses the ring that is a symbol of our commitment to one another.
Everything can change in a year. Everything has changed in a year.
“We should go,” I whisper. He nods and leads me out of the office. We make our way down a familiar hall leading to the first of two black curtains. We rush through the open space with three workspaces on either side of us. The tattoo shop is basically the same as it’s always been—for now.
Hunter and I are preparing to work on renovations.
That’s right, I’m the owner now. I’m keeping all of the current tattoo artists and personnel while scouting for up and coming artists who are more than great artists—I want to bring in people who know how to tell stories with ink. I want to mentor them, help shape their artistic style in the same way kind men and women had done for me.
“Can you grab the sign?”
Hunter steps behind the counter to grab the plastic sign to hang on the door.
After he’s hung the sign and we’re outside on the bustling city sidewalk, I turn the key and take a step back to look at the tattoo shop—my tattoo shop. The sign reads: Closed For Renovations. Will Re-Open on May 25th Under New Name, Watercolor Dreams.
Hunter massages my shoulder with a firm hand and kisses me softly against the back of my neck. “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” I place my palm on his, holding him in place as I lean gently back against him. “To run this place, or for Chad to become a national star?”
“Both.” He throws his other hand around my stomach to hold me in place. Every time he touches me there, I can’t help worrying he’s sacrificed far too much to be with me. It’s always been a fear of mine, not being able to keep a man for multiple reasons, not the least of which is my inability to have children.
I’ve managed to voice my fears. Hunter assuaged those fears, literally tore them away from the aching pit in my gut that always seemed to scream the loudest that I wasn’t worthy.
We’ve talked about our options extensively when it comes to having children, and we’re not sure what path we’re going to pursue but I know whatever the path, we’ll walk it together.
“It’s a nice sign,” Hunter murmurs. “But we should really get going. Won’t look very good if Chad’s agent and sister are a no-show.”
I laugh, turning around and throwing an arm over each of his shoulders. “Yeah, well who’s fault is that?”
“Seriously?” He arches one brow, a cocky grin hitching across his lips. “If I recall correctly, you’re the one who pulled me into the office under the guise of needing an opinion on something.”
“An opinion on which dress I should wear.”
“And after you tried on the first two, I picked this one,” he points out, grabbing a fistful of the white fabric of the dress that flows just beneath my knees.
“And then you said my panty lines were too noticeable so perhaps I should go commando.” I laugh and shake my head. “After which, you stepped toward me with that familiar look in your eye and somehow…”
