A/N: No time jump this time. Just a peek into BelLeia's mind, ten years later.

Epilogue Part 2:

Long fingers massage my shoulders, working my muscles and lathering my body with suds. I sigh and tilt my head to one side when they hit a particularly wonderful spot. Before long, Masen's hands are moving down my back, eventually landing on my waist.

"Ready to rinse?"

I smile but shake my head. "No, you can keep going."

"All right," he says, his voice mischievous. The next thing I know he's reaching for my chest.

Laughing, I grab his hands. "Okay, I'll rinse."

He chuckles and helps me turn. Our shower is barely large enough for the two of us, and the tile and glass walls—while sleek and stylish—aren't very forgiving if we slip.

I stand beneath the spray, facing my husband. Watching him, watching me. I smile and then close my eyes. The water washes the soap off my back as I allow my mind to wander.

"What is that smile for?"

I shrug. "I don't know. I was just thinking about the first time we did this."

"What, showered together?"

"No, silly. Made a baby together."

He hums and kisses me. "Oh that."

"Yeah, that," I answer, giggling as I open my eyes.

He's smiling. His green eyes are bright and happy. "What about it?"

I slide my hands over his chest, thinking how to explain. "We . . . had no idea. It was an accident. At the time, it was the furthest thing from my mind."

"Yeah . . . Mine, too." He sounds a little confused.

I slide my hands to his shoulders. "This is different."

He curls his arms around my waist. "It is. But good different, right?"

"Yes," I answer, smiling softly. "It's good. Better."

"Better how?"

I sigh. "This time, it's something to look forward to. Something happy and shared. We get the full experience."

"You're excited about it," he says, as if just realizing it.

"I am."

His kiss is quick and thorough. "I'm glad. Because I am, too."

We hold each other a while longer, just smiling at each other like a couple of loons. We rotate so Masen can have a turn under the water, and I wash his hair for him, then his back. He spins, helping me wash his chest.

"What are you looking forward to most?" I ask. "Besides the obvious."

"Hmm, the obvious being the part that led us to needing a shower?"

I laugh. "Yes, besides that part."

"Well, I don't know yet. But I like what you said about it being something shared. I want to be there when you find out. And when you start showing. I guess everything I missed the first time."

I smile, prodding him to turn and rinse again. "Do you every think about . . . what would have happened if we had been together when I found out about Charlie? If my 'situation' hadn't been part of a larger 'situation' and no one had tried to . . ."

He turns to face me. "You mean if this hadn't happened?" He lifts a hand to the long scar on his shoulder. "If you'd never gone away?"

I nod. "Yeah."

He takes a huge breath and lets is out between his teeth. "I guess . . . on occasion. Maybe? I did think about it. Right after I found out you were pregnant."

"It would have been a mess. No matter what."

"That's probably true. Why are you thinking about that now?"

"I don't know," I admit, staring over his shoulder. "I've got a loop of what-ifs running through my head. What if this had been different? Or what if we'd done that? Would Charlie have turned out the same? Would we have been able to figure it out?"

He stays quiet. Looks worried.

"I know it's weird. To go there now," I say, smiling, reassuring him. "I just . . . when I think about how things were with Charlie—how we had to try and conceal it, to keep her existence a secret while I waited to testify. How we couldn't really do the normal things, not even pick out baby stuff, until the very end—and then I think about how it'll be now?" I take a breath. "I guess I wonder if there was a better way. Back then."

The expression on Masen's face makes me suddenly aware this is the most I've talked about anything of this nature in a long while. He's happy, I'm happy, we're alone, and he has time to listen to me for once.

I touch his cheek. "I know it's silly. I mean, I feel very lucky. Grateful even, despite it all."

"It's not silly," he says, quickly. "I'm just catching up with you."

I nod, then grin. "What do you think? What would have happened if we had been able to stay? Pregnant by accident, and me, your parents' supposed foster kid?"

"Uhh," he says, his eyes blinking. "I don't think it would have gone over very well. We would have survived, of course. Tried to spin the story that I knew who you were all along, or that you had a secret boyfriend. Except, the moment Charlie was born, everyone in town would have known we were full of shit."

I shake my head, laughing as he squeezes my ribs. "She's definitely daddy's girl."

"She is. And I would never have been able to deny you guys."

"Okay, but . . . maybe you could have just let the secret boyfriend idea circulate around town long enough for people to hear it? Then we could have just bonded over the course of my pregnancy, and after I ditched the imaginary deadbeat, and took up with you, it wouldn't have been such a scandal."

He narrows his eyes playfully. "Again, only until she was born."

I laugh. "She was bald for the first six months!"

He chuckles. "She was never that bald. I'm starting to think ten years without any incidents has given you delusions of grandeur."

My eyebrows go up and I smirk. "Delusions of grandeur?"

"Yes," he says, lifting my face so he can kiss my nose. "Delusions of grandeur."

"You and your Star Wars," I say, smiling.

He gives me his patented Han Solo smirk. "Don't judge, Princess."

I pinch him. "Stop."

Laughing, he grabs my hand. "Would you prefer I call you General?"

"Call me whatever you want as long as you never ask me to run around in that awful metallic bikini."

He pouts. "It had a skirt attached."

"It was practically the poster child for everything wrong with Hollywood's golden era."

At this he pushes my hands behind my back and links our fingers together. "But you wear it so well, Leia."

I groan, and not in pleasure. He's so cheesy. And ridiculous. "Stop. I still can't believe I let you talk me into taking her name in the first place."

"I didn't talk you into anything. It was as close to Bella as we could get."

"No, it wasn't. You just wanted it to be."

He grins and kisses me. "I did not."

"Then why did you balk at spelling it a different way?"

He looks at me like I'm nuts. "Because that would have made you a Lee-ah. Not a Lay-ah."

"Oh, perish the thought."

He growls and dips his head, nipping at my lip playfully. "You like to make fun of me, but I think you agreed because you knew Leia was a symbol for strong female archetypes, long before they called her General Organa."

"Oh, here we go again."

"The princess was the one who found the garbage shoot. She saved Luke from plunging to his doom in Cloud City. She rescued Han from the carbonite. And she did it again when he got into trouble in The Force Awakens."

I laugh, despite myself. "Yes, yes. I know you've loved her from the beginning."

"I love you," he says, kissing me. "Only you. And, as you've saved my life a few times over, believe me when I say you're the only strong, female character I need."

My breath hitches and I swallow against a sudden rush of emotion. "How . . . do you do that?"

"Do what, princess?" He kisses me again.

"Make me forget my own name."

"It's a gift."

"Yeah, well don't call me princess, you scoundrel."

"Scoundrel?" he says, his eyebrows shooting high in surprise. "Scoundrel?"

I try not to laugh, but it's impossible. "Yes, scoundrel."

He grins and waggles his eyebrows. "I kinda like the sound of that."

Smiling, I glance down. "I can tell."

He half-laughs, half-groans and drops his head to my shoulder. "God, I love you."

I smile and wrap myself around him. "I know."

-o-0-o-

The bad thing about turning my husband into a pile of hot-and-bothered goo in the shower at his age, is that we run out of hot water before either of us can do anything about it. Factor in the reality that we've already gone two rounds today? And I feel like a very big tease.

Masen is positively glowing, though. He's the happiest I've seen him in ages. Possibly since Charlie was born. This is better, though, because instead of being half terrified like we were then, he's smug. It shouldn't be attractive, but somehow it is. His chest is puffed out, his green eyes are aglow, and his smile is ridiculously cheeky.

"You're staring," he says, glancing up from his phone.

"Well, can you blame me? You're naked." And clearly bragging about our sex life to someone.

He grins and finishes whatever message he was sending. "You could be naked, too."

"I could be, but then we'd be late getting our daughter from school."

To emphasize my point, I finish securing the hook on my bra and reach for my favorite pair of jeans. Masen puts his phone down and tracks their movement as I slide them up my legs and over my hips. I secure the button, then bend over at the waist to reach for my shirt, making sure he gets a good view of my cleavage.

"It's not nice to tease," he says.

I laugh. "Says the man who refuses to put clothes on."

"That's not teasing. You could totally have this again if you wanted." He gestures to his body, puffing that chest out a little farther.

"Could I, though?" I ask him, raising an eyebrow at a certain part of his anatomy.

He puts his hand to his heart and drops onto our bed as though wounded. "You're questioning my virility? Already? Ouch."

I laugh. "Please. As if you haven't already proven yourself several times over today."

He's pleased by that and his smile stretches wide once again. He places his hands behind his head and leans back, closing his eyes and crossing his legs at the ankles.

I slip my shirt on—the one we bought last year when we took Charlie to the new Star Wars park at Disney World—and bump the bed with my knee to get his attention. "Hey. You don't get to nap again if I don't."

His bottom lip pouts out. "Why not?"

"Because equal rights."

He snorts, but otherwise pretends to ignore me. I watch him with an affectionate smile as he peeks one eye open, grins at me, and then pops the other open.

"You're staring again," he says even as he takes notice of my top.

"Yeah. Because you're still naked."

He laughs and reaches an arm out for me. "You're not really helping me want to get dressed running around in that."

I walk to his side of the bed and place my hand in his, urging him to sit up. "Sorry, but you'll have to take it off later. Much later."

"You're no fun," he replies.

Rolling my eyes, I pull at him until he complies. "I'll be sure to remember that the next time I consider taking you to 'lunch.' "

"Did I say no fun?" he asks, placing his hands on my hips.

"Mm-hmm."

"I meant you're the most fun. Best. Wife. Ever." He places a kiss over my stomach, chest, and neck, then grins at me.

Like I said, smug.

Reaching around him, I grab the towel he tossed aside. "Go hang this up and get dressed. We have a child and a car to retrieve."

"Yes, General,"

"Go!" I say, smacking him on the butt. I'll show you General.

He turns toward our bathroom, shooting me a lascivious grin over his shoulder. I point, and he mercifully keeps moving.

Once the door is shut, I glance at the clock and quickly straighten our bed. We barely used it, but the pillows are all over the place. I bite my lip and stifle a smile at the thought of why. It's enough to make me blush.

I take a deep breath to calm my heart, feeling a sense of awe. I'm relieved everything worked out the way I had hoped. Days like this are very rare for us lately, or at all. The way my husband responded to his surprise, seemed to speak for itself. I mean, I knew it would make him happy, I just didn't realize how happy. And I can't deny it's bittersweet for me now, loving him as I do. Because I wish I'd given this to him sooner. He was right, though. I just wasn't ready.

When that changed is something of a mystery. I can't really pinpoint why, either. At some point, though, I began to feel safe and secure enough in our life to allow myself to want this. To want more. It was just a moment, like any other. A split second where I was looking at my husband and my child and loving them so much I shook with it. But instead of imagining all the ways I could lose them, or all the awful things that could happen to take me from them, I leaned in and dared to want more.

And now . . . already, at this very moment, I could have it. We could have it.

Catching sight of my reflection in the large mirror in the corner of our room, I quickly smooth the last of the wrinkles from our bed. I stand and slide my hand over my stomach, unsurprised when the butterflies kick up a notch. I have to force a slow breath from my mouth. I've had my birth control removed. Had a physical. Everything is in working order. I could be pregnant even now. A new little life could be forming, at this very moment.

"Everything okay?" Masen asks, appearing behind me.

"Yeah," I answer as his arms slide around me and his hands cover mine.

"You're not having second thoughts, are you?"

I smile and shake my head, leaning against him. "No. It's kind of the opposite of second thoughts. I'm waiting for it be real."

His lips brush my ear. "It will be. Soon."

I turn and wrap my hands behind his neck, pushing my fingers into his still-damp hair. "I do love you. Scoundrel, math teacher, sound producer. I love all of it."

"I love all of you, too," he says, dipping his face to mine.

In the distance, the alarm on my phone goes off. It's time for us to go. School will be out in forty minutes. That doesn't make it any easier to pull myself away from the man before me, but somehow, I manage.

"We gotta run," I whisper.

"Wait," he says, nipping my bottom lip and lifting me up a few inches off the floor. "Why don't you stay here and do whatever you need to do for work, and I'll go get Charlie? That way, we can have more time together tonight."

"Oh, um . . ." I can hardly think as he slides me down his body. The alarm on my phone is still ringing, though, so I blink and take a breath. "Um . . . sure, that could work."

"It's up to you," he says. "I just wanted to offer. Besides, I kinda miss picking her up."

I nod, knowing it had been an adjustment for him. He used to pick Charlie up every day when he taught at the local high school. They used to have their summer off together, too. Now I worked different hours to be able to pick her up most days, and we were going to be sending her to day camp for the summer.

"I'm sure she'd be happy to see you, but what about your car?"

He shrugs, taking my hand and pulling me with him as he heads for the stairs. "We can ride in together tomorrow. You can drop me off."

I think about it, and then—spotting the destruction from our earlier activities—make an easy decision.

"I think that's an excellent idea. You go, I'll stay here."

-o-0-o-

Just under an hour later, my phone chimes with a notification from the motion-triggered camera we have installed at the entrance to our driveway. Before I can even think to look at it, a flash of reflected light moves through the living room.

I recognize the sound of our SUV crunching over the gravel and a moment later, the garage door goes up. Soon after, I hear the sounds of doors opening and closing. Charlie must bolt for the house without stopping to grab her things, because her father calls her name, his voice a low vibration. I can well imagine the exasperated roll of her shoulders as her little voice answers him. It sounds like she's asking if she has to, and then, why can't he just get her backpack for her. There's a faint, "Pleeeease," and then Masen speaks again.

I think I make out the words "little butt" in there somewhere, followed by some exaggerated footsteps. I laugh because Charlie's pre-adolescent moments of willfulness are much funnier when she pulls them on her father.

"Mommy!" she shouts when they finally make their way inside. "You're home!"

"I told you she was," Masen says, his voice exasperated.

I laugh as I hit send on my latest email, then turn toward them. I'm just in time to see Masen lift several grocery bags and, if I'm not wrong, a bouquet of flowers wrapped in cellophane, onto the (recently cleaned and disinfected) island. Before I can react though, our daughter throws her backpack and lunchbox to the ground and runs. She's a blur of bouncing, copper curls, and I have only a moment to wonder what she's hopped-up on before she's barreled into me and grabbed my neck.

"Oof," I gasp, pushing my chair back and steadying her. "Hey, firecracker. What's got you so excited?"

She hugs me. "Daddy picked me up!"

"You don't say?"

"Yep, and also Katie Newton's birthday was today so we got cupcakes and goodie bags in class, and we got to play freeze dance, and I'm invited to her party on Saturday! And . . . oh, yeah . . . we have fieldtrip tomorrow so no homework!"

My eyebrows go up and I glance at Masen, who is equally amused and bewildered. Our daughter is generally happy, but this is extra happy. Like, she-definitely-had-more-than-one-cupcake happy.

"Wow, you had a good day then, didn't you?" I say.

"Yep," she agrees, letting me go.

"Aren't you glad you went then?"

She nods. "Yeah. Except . . ." Her eager brown eyes dim a bit. "Mrs. V didn't give me a ticket for ice cream at the zoo tomorrow because I didn't finish my morning work."

My brow furrows. "Why didn't you finish your work?"

" 'Cause I was late." She shrugs like it's not a big deal, and I'm instantly annoyed.

"Well, you had the dentist this morning. Didn't you show the note to your teacher?"

"Yeah, but she told me I still had to finish my work, or I couldn't get a ticket for ice cream."

My husband shoots me a look in between putting things in the refrigerator.

"Well," I say, tucking an errant curl behind Charlie's ear. "Did you at least try to finish?"

She shrugs again. "Yeah, but there wasn't enough time."

"Did all the other kids get a ticket?" her father asks.

"Yeah."

I sigh while Masen mutters, "Of course."

"Show me this paper she gave you and your agenda, okay?" I ask Charlie.

She nods and turns, sort of slide-hop-dancing across the floor. I shake my head at her energy as she twirls around before stooping to get her stuff.

"When you're done, hang your backup up, please," her father says.

He then picks up the cellophane wrapped bouquet and crosses the room. His expression makes me blush.

"What are these for?"

"What do you think?"

I take them, my blush deepening as I look at the beautiful blooms. "They're gorgeous."

"Like you," he says, bending to kiss me. "Thank you. For a wonderful day."

I sigh as our lips meet again. Then laugh as he almost topples over me when our daughter crashes into him with her school binder.

"Has she been like this whole way home?" I ask, eyebrows high, as she apologizes and goes right back to spinning.

He grabs her mid-spin and picks her up, making her squeal. "And at the store, too."

"Daddy!" she laughs as he tickles her. Her binder hits the floor.

Masen laughs and sets her down again. "I had no idea what I was getting myself into when I volunteered to pick her up."

I shake my head, bemused as she begs him to do it again. "Me, either."

"I think there may have been something in those cupcakes," Masen says, winking, then to our bouncing daughter, he adds, "We can play later, baby. Do as your mother asks first."

Charlie tries one more time to get her way but relents and picks up her abandoned school binder.

"Here, Mommy," she says, as I reach out.

"Where are you going?" I ask when she starts to dart off.

"I'm going to my room."

"Just wait a minute, firecracker."

She sighs but returns to my side. I keep an arm around her while I open her binder and pull out the fieldtrip paper. It's the typical set of reminders, so there's nothing I didn't already expect or hadn't planned for. I tell her to hand it to Daddy since we'll all be riding into town together tomorrow.

"We'll have to leave a little earlier than usual," I say as I check her agenda for a note from Mrs. V.

When I see it, though, I amend my statement. "Okay, make that a lot earlier."

I sigh, trying very hard not to think uncharitable thoughts. For example, the V happens to be short for Velictkov, but some of the other parents pronounce it, Ve'bitch'kov. My husband and I try not to let ourselves fall into that group, but there are less than four days of school left and I may have just reached my limit.

"What'd she say?" Masen asks, leaning over me. I turn the agenda, so he can see.

CHARLOTTE FAILED TO FINISH HER WORK IN A TIMELY MANNER TODAY. PLEASE MAKE AN EFFORT TO GET HER TO SCHOOL ON TIME NO MATTER HOW FAR IT IS INTO THE SCHOOL YEAR.

I feel him tense and reach for one of his hands, clasping it in mine.

"Is she serious?" he says, his voice low. I slide my thumb along his palm, trying to calm him as he continues. "We had a dentist appointment!"

"Don't worry about it," I say, keeping my voice calm. I agree with him, but I'm over it. "It's the last week of school. She's probably just pissed because we could have gone next week."

"That's not her call. Her student was given a doctor's note. It's an excused tardy."

"I know. Forget about it. Charlie's an A student, anyway. It's not like it matters."

He shakes his head. "No, it matters. This woman has a superiority complex. She's correcting us. But not before punishing our child for something she had no control over. It's unprofessional and I'm saying something. Tomorrow."

I don't like seeing him upset, but I can't help smiling as I lift my face to him. His protectiveness is a turn-on, and perhaps unsurprisingly, it really does it for me today.

"Can I watch . . . Mr. Masen?"

He blinks at me, then a single eyebrow lifts. I grin as he bends over me, cupping my chin in his hands and tilting it up so I can do little more than wait for his next move. "Careful, bellissima," he says. "You're going to get both of us in trouble."

And oh . . . he's using his teacher voice. It causes an immediate reaction and my body flutters in response. Biting my lip, I reach for his face. "Sounds good to me," I whisper.

He chuckles darkly, kissing me in the next second. His lips are soft, but insistent as he stands over me. I slide my fingers into his hair and—

"Eww!" Charlie cries. "Gross!"

I jump, having forgotten she was in the room until that exact moment. She's apparently decided to join us at the table, too. Poor kid.

My husband half-groans, half-chuckles as we separate. I try to stifle my own laugh and straighten my expression as I peek around my laptop to face her.

"Hello, may we help you?" I ask, feigning innocence.

She scrunches her nose. "You may stop kissing, please. I'm trying to eat."

"Oh, really?" I laugh. "Well . . . maybe you should eat somewhere else. I was trying to kiss your father."

"That's gross, Mommy."

I laugh again as Masen returns to the kitchen with his hands crossed in front of him. "Sorry, firecracker, that's life."

She chooses to ignore me and grabs a carrot stick, crunching it between her teeth with gusto. Her legs swing as she chews, so I quickly inspect the rest of her plate to see what her father put on there. Not that I don't trust him, but she's clearly still coming down from her sugar high.

"No more snacks after this, all right?"

She doesn't argue, thankfully, and finishes her food quickly so she can go play in her room.

"Can I get my makeup out today?" she asks before she goes.

Lord help me. "Um, why don't we not? You have to get to bed early for the zoo, and I really don't want to have to clean anything out of the carpet tonight."

"But I'll be more careful this time!"

Masen starts to intervene, but I've got this. "I said no. Let's wait until the weekend. I'll get mine out, too, and we'll give each other makeovers, okay?"

She sighs but agrees. "Okay."

"Nicely handled, Mommy," her father says when she's disappeared up the stairs.

"Thanks," I reply. "I don't know how we ended with a pre-teen already."

"Bite your tongue. She has three years to go before all that."

"You think so? Because all she wants to do now is hair and makeup. That's the first step. And the second step is being grossed out by any sign of affection between your parents."

Masen sticks his fingers in his ears. "Lalalala, can't hear you."

I laugh and return my attention to my email. He starts fiddling around in the kitchen again, offering to make us both something to drink. I ask him for some sun tea, figuring I ought to enjoy the real deal before I have to give up caffeine completely. When it's ready, he sits with me, his feet up on the chair across from him and his arm slung over my shoulders.

"Do you even know what to do with an afternoon off anymore?" I ask, side eyeing him.

He chuckles. "Well, I've already done my favorite thing to do with my free time, and I really don't feel like working on the house, so . . ." He pulls out his phone. "I guess I'll get caught up on some mindless entertainment."

I finish updating my department's tasks for the next day awhile he plays on his phone. I smirk when he pulls up Netflix and puts on an episode of The Clone Wars.

"You could go watch on the big TV," I say.

"I'm good. I'd rather stay with you."

I start to protest, but my heart flip-flops and swells with love for him. It makes it hard to turn back to my laptop. I'd rather curl up with him again on the sofa. I suppose I could.

I'm fortunate I can take afternoons off on occasion and work from home. My role as the communications manager for the local county is conducted primarily online these days, anyway. In fact, I've got a meeting next week with the commissioners to discuss the benefits of a four-day work week and setting up virtual office practices for working parents. It was a bandwagon I jumped on months ago, but now that I might have a future need for more time at home, I've pushed it up on my priority list.

Masen's phone rings just as I click on my final unopened email. He gets up to answer it, and I can tell it's Liam. He paces around the house, as is his habit, but I blush when Masen clears his throat and heads for the back door.

"Oh, yeah . . . it was um . . . good," he murmurs. "I definitely owe you one."

He disappears outside, returning a while later, sliding the door closed. "Sorry, work stuff," he says, holding up his phone.

"Uh-huh," I say, because even though I know it was primarily a business call, I also know he tells Liam things.

He might like that I pretend I'm clueless, but I know. And he knows I know. Of course, that's because I tell Liam's wife things. She tells Liam. And the circle continues.

"He said Siobhan says hi."

Speaking of . . . I smile as I close my laptop, disconnecting the power cord. "I'll text her a little later."

He leans against the island in the kitchen and considers me for moment. "You didn't tell her what you were up to today."

It's not a question, but I answer him all the same.

"No. She knew I was planning to steal you for lunch and asked Liam not to schedule anything for you guys this afternoon on my behalf, but I didn't tell her why. I figured you should hear it first."

He nods, a small, pleased smile creeping across his face. "Thank you."

I put my laptop back in its bag. "Not that I mind, but did you tell Liam just now?"

"Um, yes?"

"What did he say?"

"Something I can't repeat."

I laugh even as my stomach flutters. "Oh, really?"

He nods, chuckling as his cheeks turn pink. "Yeah, it was very . . . Liam."

"Surprise, surprise," I say, and give him a wink.

Not long after, amid chopped vegetables and a half-blended batch of homemade garlic spread, we get busted kissing again. Masen and I find it hilarious. Our child does not. We watch her stomp off and turn the television on, clearly wanting to keep us in sight and in line. She reminds even me of her Aunt Tori in that moment and makes me wonder how she'll react to the news that she might get a younger sibling—if and when the time comes.

As if reading my mind, my husband bumps my hip with his and pulls me into his side. "She'll be fine. Trust me."

"You think?"

"She's asked for a baby brother for Christmas multiple times."

"Yeah, but that started because she was four and I made the mistake of letting her watch Miracle on 34th Street on repeat."

He laughs and turns back to the food processor, pointing his garlic press at me. "Right, I remember. She asked every Christmas until the year she discovered Olive, the Other Reindeer and decided she wanted a dog instead. And a penguin—"

"Shh. Do not speak of the movie-that-shall-not-be-named. She's finally forgotten about it."

He chuckled. "The Voldemort of Christmas movies."

"You kid, but if she heard that and pulls it out come Christmas time, I might have to smother you in your sleep."

"Well, that's comforting," he says, chuckling.

I shoot him a kiss, then go back to chopping chicken breast into bite sized pieces. A few minutes later, he finishes prepping the garlic bread and joins me in front of the stove, his hands on my waist and his chin on my shoulder.

"All kidding aside," he says softly. "I do remember what it's like to have a younger sibling unexpectedly invade your home. Even if Charlie reacts badly at first, she'll get over it. I did."

I glance back at him, my heart giving a small pang at the mention of his family. I idly think of my own, as well. As the only child of two only children, I don't have much to draw from in this arena.

"I guess we're counting on your expertise, huh?"

He shrugs and quirks his lip up ever so slightly. "Eventually. I guess we can tell her more about the aunt and uncle she's never met, if anything. How good it was having someone besides my parents around."

The mention of his family brings with it a familiar pang of regret. The words I'm sorry are on the tip of my tongue, like always. But after almost a decade together, I know they're words he resents hearing.

So, instead I say, "I think that's a great idea."

He squeezes me tight and we finish dinner together, a little quieter and a little less silly, but no less excited about what life has in store.

-o-0-o-

A week or so after we start trying, Masen calls me at work.

"The contracts are signed. The deal is done! We're going out tonight to celebrate!"

"Really? Baby, that fantastic. Congratulations!"

"Thank you," he says, and I can tell he's swiveling his chair back and forth. It has a distinctive squeak to it, thanks to a visit I paid him two nights ago when he was stuck at the studio late.

"I'm so proud of you," I say, feeling my cheeks heat at the memory. I'd left Charlie at her friend's birthday party and decided to make my last fertile day count. I'd also needed a distraction. It was Charlie's first time staying overnight with someone besides Siobhan and Liam, and probably only her fifth night away from us ever.

"I wish I could take all the credit," Masen goes on. "Liam had a lot to do with it."

"Yes, but it's your music. And it's your ear he relies on when you guys are mixing and remixing."

"Yeah, I guess."

I shake my head at his modesty. "Well, are you relieved? No more late nights for a while, right?"

He laughs. "Nope, although I might not mind the late nights if they were all like Friday night."

Blushing all over again, I lower my voice. "I guess we'll have to work something out the next time you have a big client."

"That might be a while. I'm currently planning to pour all my energy into other activities."

I almost snort. "Haven't you been doing that every day for the past week?"

He takes a quick, soft breath. "Not nearly as much as I'd like to."

My eyebrows raise. "Seriously?"

"Hey, I'm a man on a mission. You gave me a job to do, and I mean to get it done."

I laugh, amused, but also slightly bewildered. "Thanks for the warning."

"My pleasure. Or at least, it will be."

"Masen," I giggle. "We're at work."

"All right, all right. But I'm serious about dinner tonight, and then a little you and me time, okay?"

I smile and bite my lip. "Okay. Should I . . . um, Charlie's friend Katie has been asking to have her over again. The mom's texted me twice. Should I arrange another sleepover for her? Or is she coming along to celebrate?"

"Well, as long as you're comfortable with it, I think it might be a good night for a sleepover."

My stomach flutters. "All right. I'll text Mrs. Newton to see if it's a good night."

"Perfect," he says.

As it turns out, Katie Newton's parents think it's a perfect night for a sleepover, too. They're thrilled to have Charlie over again, and Charlie's thrilled to get to stay the night again so soon. And Masen, well he's thrilled about everything, especially my dress. It's one he hasn't seen before, even though it's been in my closet for months. It's a sleeveless black sheath over a fitted skirt with metallic trim. There are accents that match the skirt in just the right places, and it's both breezy and sexy. I'm really glad to have occasion to wear it, too. Lord knows if it will fit anymore come New Year's Eve.

If we're lucky, that is.

We take Masen's freshly washed Audi and meet Liam and Siobhan at The Green On Vine, a swanky restaurant in the resort town of Highlands. It's just a twenty-five minute drive from home, but it's normally outside our price range. My husband explains that's part of what we're celebrating tonight, though. They got more money out of this deal than originally projected. Liam's mad business skills, he says. But I imagine Masen had something to do with that, too.

He's shy about his music. Even now. When he's mixing it, he prefers to think he's just good at pointing out the obvious. When he's writing it, he says he's just putting things together. He doesn't realize how talented he is. It's quite unfair. Some people have to work day and night to learn what he can do on instinct.

It's a beautiful summer evening when we arrive in Highlands. The sun has dipped low and the sky is full of brilliant colors. Soft pinks, muted amber, oranges, blues that are rapidly darkening into purple. A light breeze has chased away the worst of the day's heat. It's pleasantly warm now, and the energy in downtown is slowly transitioning from quiet, small-town shopping mecca, to quiet, trendy night spot. The wine bars have opened, the lights strung across their patios lighting up one by one. Music, filtering out from one of the nearby restaurants, reaches my ears as Masen opens my door. By ten o'clock, you won't be able to walk a block without hearing a set coming from one place or another.

It's just . . . nice. A welcome break from our day-to-day.

My husband offers me his hand and helps me out of the car. He shakes his head at me, inhaling slowly as he pulls me against his body. I'm still looking around, listening. Enjoying the ambiance.

"I really do love this dress," he says, his hand sliding low on my back.

I smile, my cheeks growing warm, pleased. "Thank you. I feel the same way about this," I say, tugging on his tie.

I mean the suit. He looks amazing in a suit. The tie's not bad either. It brings out the green in his eyes, which are currently laser focused on my lips.

"Come on," he says, kissing me quickly. "You're making me want to get back in the car. But our friends are waiting."

The Green On Vine is busy tonight. Not surprising, being that it's a Friday. We enter through the courtyard and Masen veers to the side, across the green for which it's named, to a patio area with a sunken fountain surrounded by outdoor couches and comfortable looking chairs. Lights are strung overhead between the large oak trees. The bar is on the far side, bumped up against the restaurant, and is busy, but not packed, and a few people are seated at high-top tables nearby.

We find Siobhan and Liam at one of them.

"My God. You look incredible!" Siobhan says standing to hug me.

"Thanks," I say, laughing and leaning in to her greeting, which is enthusiastic as ever. "So do you."

"No seriously," she says, pulling back and making me turn around. "Did you think Masen needed more motivation to try getting you pregnant? Because this would do it."

I blush as the guys laugh and slap each other on the shoulders in a very manly exchange.

"You should talk," I say, ignoring them for now. "You're stunning as always."

"Ach," she says, batting my compliment away. "I just threw this together. They're rags, really."

"Right," I say, and laugh as she poses side to side. My best friend has curves and knows how to use them. She's tall, too, so she has legs for days—a fact she's currently showing off. "Did you get this in one of your boxes?" I ask.

"You know me so well." She winks, a cheeky smile in place, her grey eyes twinkling.

I nod. Because, even though we met barely four years ago, I really do know her. She's feisty, creative, and has a wicked sense of humor. She hates to cook, but bakes like nobody's business. She's fiercely loyal, even shaving her head to support her cousin who was diagnosed with breast cancer last year. Her hair is still a boy cut, and she plans to keep it that way until Mary beats the disease.

Siobhan, or Aunt Shivvy to my daughter, also spent her college years in New York and still struggles with a slight addiction to fashion. Living where we do, though, in the southernmost range of the Appalachians, limits her selection. So she subscribes to three or four mail-order clothing boxes a month.

Liam hasn't even noticed she's got one coming for him as well.

"Leia," he says, kissing my cheek when I turn to say hello.

"Hi, Liam. Congratulations."

He smiles and raises his tumbler, which is mostly just ice now. "Thank yeh."

Masen and Siobhan exchange hellos next and then we join them at the table, ordering a drink to toast the evening and enjoy the beautiful weather before heading inside to get a table.

"Where's Miss Charlotte tonight?" Liam asks. "We thought ya'd bring her."

Masen puts his arm over the back of my chair. "She wanted to stay the night at her little friend's house."

"And you let her?" Siobhan asks, looking at me.

I smile and shrug. "She had fun last week. And the parents are really nice."

"Well, that's brilliant," Liam says, even as his wife pouts.

"Tell her we missed her. I wanted to see her all dressed up."

"I know. We'll have you guys over again sometime soon, though. You can play dress up with her, and she can show you her mad makeup skills."

Siobhan laughs dramatically. "My corruption of her is complete."

I snort while Masen glares playfully. "So you're to blame."

The waiter arrives, and we order champagne and a single club soda with lime. When he returns, I let them fill my glass to toast my husband, his partner, my best friend and the company the four of us built together.

Siobhan begins, as usual. "All right, glasses up." She sits up taller and clears her throat. "I just want to say that the past few years have been the best Liam and I have had together. And a large part of that has to do with you. Masen and Leia," she says, smiling at us over her glass, "if we had not met you at that dump of a bar off Highway 74, our lives would be much dimmer."

"Aww."

"Same for us," Masen says, tipping his glass.

Liam raises his glass higher as Siobhan finishes, looking at him. "Here's to friendship and love and being brave enough to risk failure. May it always be worth it. And may this be just the first of many successes to come."

"Here here," I say, even as Liam nods and clinks his glass with his wife's. "Here's to the first of many. Sláinte."

Masen grins and nods. "To Two Rivers' Studios."

"To Two Rivers' Studios!" everyone answers. "Sláinte!"

Smiling and cheering, we all drink. To his credit, Liam keeps his teasing to a minimum when I switch my glass for the club soda and lime after just a sip or two.

"Ya smug bastard," he says to Masen.

I laugh, seeing Liam's not wrong. The smugness is back in full force.

When it starts to get a little busier, Masen pops in to request a table while we settle the tab. Inside, the restaurant is just as charming as the green outside, but a touch more elegant. Brick accent walls, overhead beams, warm wood tones, and candlelight create a soothing atmosphere.

And the smells coming from the kitchen? Amazing.

Soon after we order appetizers and another round of drinks, Siobhan claps her hands and reaches for her bag. "I almost forgot. We need pictures!"

Masen shifts in his chair, shoulders straightening. I hold back a sigh. I don't want to ruin her fun, but it's no secret we're not exactly big on the selfie craze. Or social media. Or pretty much any media at all. Even though it's been years, we still maintain a very low, off-grid profile.

"Siobhan . . . um . . ."

"Oh, come on. It's a special occasion."

"I know, but you know how we feel. I'll take photos for you guys, but for us, aesthetic shots only."

"Please, Leia. Masen? Just one of the four of us as a group. For home."

Masen and I exchange a look. There's typically a tacit understanding from our friends on this. Siobhan doesn't push often. She hasn't since the early days of our friendship.

I think, at first, she and Liam just thought Masen and I were one of those couples that had conspiracy theories about what was happening to people's personal information when they shared it online. We were staunchly anti-Facebook and Twitter. We didn't Snapchat. We didn't even allow the local church to include us in their directory. No one used it anymore, but we were also unlisted in the phonebook.

It wasn't until Siobhan got to know Charlie that she realized it was something bigger than that. We were at a local park, taking turns pushing Charlie on the swings when she grabbed her phone and snapped some photos of us together. I'd been unable to contain my reaction. I'd snapped at her, asking her what she was doing. Fear and years of guarding our exposure got the better of me. I'd assumed she would do what ten-thousand other people did every day and put them on Facebook. Or Instagram. Or whatever else was out there on the Internet these days.

She didn't mean anything by it. She hadn't even planned on posting them. She was going to text them to me. But the damage was done. I'd gotten upset, panicked even. So, I had to tell her something. It was vague. Mostly me just apologizing and explaining that I couldn't have my picture floating around on social media. At all. That it was important.

She'd looked at me, her big, grey eyes hurt and confused. And then she'd teared up and hugged me tight.

"Are you in trouble?" she'd whispered.

I had shaken my head. "No. But I was. Once. A long time ago. Please understand."

"Is it . . . you're not on the run are you?"

I remember laughing at that and, while wiping away my tears, asking her if she was worried about the FBI showing up at her house one day. She'd said no, but spent a few moments contemplating it. Since then, she only ever asked me about my situation two other times. Once a few weeks after the first incident at the park, and the second time when I used her phone to record her shaving her head with Mary. After I played photographer for over an hour, and they had posted all their pictures, she brought it up on the ride home.

"Please," she asks, bringing my mind back to the matter at hand. "We have so few pictures together. And you guys are our family," she says.

"It's true," Liam says, but then adds, "but we do understand. Right, Shivvy?"

She's ignoring him, looking at me. "Of course we understand, but this is a special night. Can't we just take them for us? You know I won't post them."

I sigh, as does my husband. "All right. Here, use my phone," he says.

She practically squeals and gets up to take it from him. She then sits on Liam's lap and instructs me to do the same. I stand behind my husband instead and lean down. We squish in and she takes several selfies before one of the sommeliers offers to take the picture for us.

"This is getting out of hand," Masen grumbles when she poses the boys together and makes them raise their glasses. First with the champagne flutes, then their whiskey tumblers.

"This one is the aesthetic shot. You guys aren't in focus, just your drinks," she explains. We'll add it to the company blog when we post the press release about your new deal."

Then she starts scheming how to get the two of us in a shot without showing my face.

We get the same shots she took of the boys, essentially, before our food arrives.

Masen looks at me, relieved, and swallows down his whiskey. I laugh and shrug. This is life for most people. Tonight, we're just another couple out celebrating an important event in our lives. Photos are par for the course.

The rest of dinner is incredible. Masen finishes off a second glass of champagne, plus what was left of mine when the waiter refilled it. It's been so long since I've seen him imbibe, that I'd almost forgotten how sexy his lopsided, happy-drunk smile could be. His cheeks grow flushed and his hair gets messy. He laughs without care or restraint and keeps a hand on my leg or shoulder all night.

It's a great night. Fun, friends, and a promising future. We sit and talk after finishing our meals, the men ordering an after-dinner liqueur that smells awful. By the time I have room to share a dessert with Siobhan, Liam's toasted. His accent has been getting a little stronger as they night's worn on, but now he breaks out into full Irish on us. I can't understand most of what he's saying, but when Siobhan starts conversing with him and mimicking his accent, I almost choke on my Salted Caramel Panna Cotta.

It's clear our little group, apart from me, has had more than enough, so I order a couple cappuccinos and ask for the check. Masen makes a face, but he's started to get that sleepy look in his eye. I lean in close and remind him of some promises he made earlier in the day.

"I seem to recall you wanting to pour all your energy into something. Is that still the case?"

He grins at me, eyes glassy. "Hell, yeah."

I laugh and shake my head. "Well, unless you want to fall asleep before we get out of the parking lot, drink up."

Liam finds this hilarious until Siobhan chimes in. "Oh please, lover, as if you're any better off. You're practically fallin' out of your chair."

He says something else thickly accented, and she blows a kiss at him. When the coffee cups arrive, Masen tentatively sniffs his while Liam simply pushes the other in front of Siobhan.

"These two," I sigh.

"I know," she says, shaking her head. "Peas in a pod."

"I think it's time to go," I say when they devolve into hysterics over something that neither Siobhan or I can understand.

"I think you're right," she replies.

"Lover," Siobhan says, catching Liam's hand and drawing it toward her. "I want to take you home. Can we go now?"

Liam's eyes dart from his hand to her cleavage and I bite my lip to keep from laughing. Not that I don't follow her lead. I quickly sit back in my chair and pull my napkin from my lap, swiveling my legs so they're visible on my husband's side of table. I uncross and re-cross them, brushing my toe against his ankle.

"What about you? Are you ready to go home?"

His lopsided grin is instant and eager. "Sure, bellissima. I'll go where ever you wanna take me."

We pay the check and I get him to finish his coffee. Then we say our goodbyes, making sure our friends get safely into their Lyft before I pour Masen into the passenger's side of his car.

By some miracle, we make it home before he's completely useless. It does take some coaxing to get him up the stairs, but once we reach our room, he's intent on fulfilling his "mission." I laugh as he stumbles out of his shoes and mutters to himself while he fights with his tie. It's quite the show, but I take pity on him and force him to sit so I can help. Then I slink out of my dress and push him onto his back.

He's handsy tonight, and sloppy, and very, very silly. He giggles in between wet kisses and makes the most ridiculous, yet dirty sounds when I lower myself onto him. His eyes close and he pulls his lip between his teeth, panting. I run my hands over his chest and tell him not to fall asleep on me. He giggles again until I move, then opens his eyes wide and gasps. His mouth hangs open as I fall into a steady rhythm. He grips my hips hard, encouraging and helping me move. His long fingers are still coordinated enough to touch me where I need to be touched. And when I collapse first, shaking and breathless, he manages to get his feet onto the mattress and lifts me with his legs. He rolls until he's covering me. And again, he's sloppy, and his weight is heavy on me, but he's inside me and it's slow, slow, slow, until I'm begging for more and he's as deep as he can possibly be.

I inhale, close my eyes and arch my body, holding him to me while he finds his release. His groan is loud in my ear, and I answer it with a moan, feeling every little pulse as I chase after him.

I can't complain, not even when he falls asleep on me in seconds.

-o-0-o-

When I open my eyes the following morning, it's far too bright and I'm far too warm. A quick glance tells me why. It's already after ten, our blinds are wide open, and my husband and I are both bathed in sunlight.

Lifting my chin, I see Masen's eyes are clenched tight, and as I roll off his chest, he begins flailing an arm, reaching for the comforter at the end of the bed. I don't know how he could possibly stand being covered up right now, but he's clearly more concerned about the light than the heat at this point.

I smile and roll away from him. He reaches his mark and pulls. It says something that he doesn't seem to notice me sitting up, but instead flips over to bury himself beneath his pillow and the comforter. Well, he tries anyway. His bottom is halfway exposed, and one leg is sticking out when he's done. Laughing, I swing my legs out of bed and grab his dress shirt off the floor, covering myself quickly before crossing the room to close the blinds.

It's an unusually bright morning for this part of North Carolina. And it's already hot. I can tell it's going to be a scorcher. I close the blinds all the way after having my fill of our mountain view. Then I run downstairs to adjust the AC and put some coffee on.

I return with a fresh bottle of water and some Advil for my husband, leaving them on the nightstand while I hop in the shower. I feel like a new woman when I emerge. My hair was absolutely insane. My legs were a bit sticky. And I'd never bothered to wash my makeup off.

Starting fresh is always good.

I check on Masen and contemplate getting back in bed with him, but the clock is ticking. I'll have to go get Charlie soon. Going the comfortable and easy route, I grab a sports bra, one of my favorite off-the-shoulder tops and some running shorts, not that I'm planning on running anything except errands.

I leave my top on the bed for now and go dry my hair. Masen emits a soft snore just as I cross the threshold to the bathroom, so I close the door. While I comb and separate my hair into sections, my mind wanders to the previous night and I smile. I wonder if Masen will even remember making love. Then decide I could have a little fun with him if he doesn't.

Ten minutes later, I run a little anti-humidity product through my hair and toss my head side to side. I like the way my stylist did the roots and highlights this time. We went a bit lighter because it's summer, but I worry about having to expose myself to repeat touchups when I get pregnant. I'm still doing my research on the subject.

With a little moisturizer and mascara, I'm good to go for the day.

My husband, on the other hand, is still snoring away. I laugh to myself and put my shirt on, then turn and grab some clean socks out of the dresser. I'm just about to pat Masen on the bum and cover him properly, when my phone chimes, followed a second later by the iPad we keep propped up on our desk in the corner.

My lips twist and my brow furrows. I grab my phone first, just in case it's an email. It's not. It's our security app with a notification.

MOTION ALERT: Your Front Gate has detected motion.

My ears perk up, and sure enough, I can just barely make out the sound of tires on our gravel drive. Touching the notification, I wait for the app to open so I can see who it is. It's clearly a car, but I don't know whose. I also unlock the iPad and open the same app there, doing a quick scan of all four cameras we have installed. Satisfied, I pull up the feed for the one we have mounted over the front door.

I hated these things when Masen first had them installed, but it's kind of nice being able to see the exterior of our property 24/7. Well, unless the internet goes out. Which it sometimes does. At least it's working now.

"Masen," I say, padding across the room and patting him gently on the backside. "Baby?"

"Hmm," he mumbles.

I sigh and move to the window, careful not to jostle the blinds too much. Breathing out against the surge of automatic alarm I feel anytime we have unexpected guests, I watch the sporty black hatchback make the last turn and park in front of our garage. It's got dark tinted windows, so I can't see shit, and the tags are out-of-state. Colorado, F1J-326. With a handicap symbol in the center.

My brain goes quiet.

I inhale and step back from the window blinking. Then look down at the live feed of the car on my phone.

"Masen . . . honey. . ." My thoughts slowly translate to words. "Were you expecting any one today?"

My breath comes faster. Not bad faster, just . . . there's something. Something too crazy to consider. And I don't know how to feel about it.

I'm trying to keep my brain from launching into overdrive, but it's hard. I sigh and close the security app to check for other messages. First for missed calls and texts, then I check my email.

"Masen," I say, louder and more sharply. "Wake up."

My heart races a little faster now. I need to run downstairs and check the mail. There's nothing on my phone that explains why the car I think is in my driveway, is actually in my driveway.

I plop on the bed and smack my husband's ass. "Masen Edward Anthony, wake up."

He gasps and hollers, jerking around and pulling the pillow off his head as he rolls onto his elbow. "What! What's wrong?"

"We have company. I think. You need to get up and get dressed."

He looks around, adorably confused and rumpled, and a good deal alarmed. "Who is it?"

I go to the desk and get the iPad to hand to him. "I think it might be an old friend of ours. I just don't know how, or why he's here."

Masen's quiet a moment, then he says, "Who the hell is that? I can't see anything through those windows."

I start for the hallway.

"Hey, where are you going?"

"I have to run downstairs and check the mail."

"Like hell," he says, rather gracelessly trying to jump out of the bed. "Oh, Lord, my head."

I'd laugh if I weren't entirely distracted. This scenario is quickly becoming way too familiar. Hauntingly familiar.

"I just need to see if I missed a letter from the Marshal's office. There's some Advil and water on your nightstand."

"Wait. Those letters come certified. I didn't accept one. Did you?"

I sigh. "No, I just thought . . ."

"Then stay put, okay. Let me get some clothes on."

I nod and then lick my lips, thinking. He gets up, grabs the water and pills I left out and strides to me buck naked.

"Stay, okay?" he asks, squeezing my hip.

I nod again, tilting my head as he dips his head. He places a kiss on top of my exposed shoulder and turns around. I move back to the bed and sit, picking up the iPad as the bathroom door snicks quietly shut.

No change. They haven't gotten out of the car yet, whoever they are.

Well, that's good, I guess.

Quickly, I grab my phone again and shoot a text off to Katie Newton's mom.

HEY JESSICA. I WAS WONDERING HOW IT'S GOING.
ARE THE GIRL'S HAVING FUN?

Depending on what she says, I may ask her if Charlie can stay an extra hour or so. I hope it won't be needed, but it's starting to feel that way.

The toilet flushes in the other room, so I stand and make my way to the window. I adjust the blinds just a smidge and look out.

"Holy shit."

I gasp and shake my head, gripping the blinds tightly as I move them aside a little more. The passenger's side window of the car is down and there's a woman inside. Her hair is pulled back, her face is covered by sunglasses, but delicate pale fingers lower them, I can see the visitor's eyes. Blue eyes.

"It can't be." I squint, and she waves her fingers at me.

Head swirling, I take a step back and cover my heart. The recognition is immediate and jarring. I'm not sure whether to smile and laugh, or freak-the-fuck out. I decide on something in between.

I laugh an almost hysterical laugh and scare the hell out of my husband when he steps out of the bathroom.

"What the fuck, woman?" he says, because I'm standing right in the doorway.

"It's Alice Brandon, if I'm right," I say. "The tags . . . they're handicap tags, and they're from Colorado. That's where Deputy Whitlock was and where Alice was moving to when the trial was over."

He's silent a beat too long. "You're sure?"

I nod. "She rolled the window down a second ago."

"And you're sure it was her?"

"Pretty sure," I say stepping back to let him through. He reaches the dresser in two strides and grabs a pair of boxer briefs.

He glances at me sideways, his expression dark. "And you haven't received anything official about this?"

I shake my head. "No, but—"

"That's not normal."

"I know."

"That's bad. Not normal, is bad."

"I don't think it's bad, per se. It's just . . . weird."

He's in the closet now, rifling around. "Stay away from the window. Call the district office and check it out."

I roll my eyes, but secretly I can't blame him for being suspicious. And hell, if Charlie were home right now, I'd have locked her in her closet or something equally as paranoid. I guess I should just take it as a small blessing that she's not here.

Picking up my phone, I fumble to find the right number. We haven't had need of it in a long while, but there are procedures. I get a recording at first, then press a button for immediate assistance. At this point, Masen is pacing and trying to put his jeans on at the same time.

When I finally get a person on the line, the Deputy on duty has no idea what I'm talking about.

"I'll call Denver and see what's going on. Sit tight. Call 911 if you have to."

"No, wait. Hang on a second," I say, but the guy actually puts me on hold.

"He put me on hold."

Masen looks livid. "Fucker."

I would laugh, but well, my nerves have kicked into high gear. This could be a huge deal. It could be . . . anything.

"Hello, Mrs. Collins?" a man's voice says.

"Yes."

"Deputy Jasper Whitlock called in about an hour ago asking to have us inform you he would stopping by. It's on the up and up. Sorry we didn't get the message delivered."

"Well, shit," Masen says, and lets out a huge breath, his hand flying into his hair.

"Yeah," I agree. "I think you guys ought to invest in better messaging services."

"Apologies, ma'am."

"It's fine. Thanks." And I hang up. "What the hell?"

My husband looks like he just aged five years. Or that could be the hangover. I'm not sure now that he's collapsed next to me on the bed.

"You okay?"

He lifts his eyes to mine and shakes his head. "No. I mean, yeah, but that was not the way I wanted to wake up today."

I smile softly. "I'm sorry. I guess we have company now."

"Jesus, Bella," he whispers, grabbing the back of my neck. He so very, very rarely uses my real name anymore that I know he's still pretty freaked out.

"Bad memories?" I ask.

"Yeah," he scoffs.

I take his face in my hands and press my lips to his. "It's all right. We're all right."

He sighs and kisses me again. "I had a flashback, I think. For just a moment, I was right back there."

"I know. It's okay though."

"How are you so calm right now?"

I smile and shrug. "No idea. Maybe I'll fall apart later." I let out a long exhale. "The cameras helped. The notification from the one on the gate? I saw it before I heard them pull up. I could see the whole house from the outside. I knew the alarm was—or is—on."

He nods, breathing out again. "You knew we were covered."

"We at least had an eye on everything. It helped."

I stand and pull him up with me.

"Does this mean I was right, then? About the cameras?" he asks.

I smile and start walking backward. "Yes. You were right. But . . . you were wrong about one thing."

"What's that?"

"Well, they gave me peace of mind. I'm not sure they helped you."

He smirks and shakes his head. "I was woken up, mid dream. I was caught off guard."

"Excuses, excuses," I say, trying to lighten the mood as we head downstairs to meet our guests.

He stops me briefly, pulling my back into his front and wrapping his arms around me. "There's never not an excuse for me to worry about your safety, baby. Whatever Deputy Whitlock and Alice are here to tell us, that comes first."

I close my eyes and try not to hear the warning in his voice. The fear of the unknown. I feel it too, but I've got to hold on to hope that the reason for my old friend's reappearance is not a worst-case scenario.

-o-0-o-

More to come. Part 3 will be up soon!