EPILOGUE
Brooke
I looked up from my book and eased my feet off the footstool, listening as the sound grew in volume. Tossing my book onto the couch beside me, I hurried to the front door just in time to watch Emerson pull into the driveway and slip his slick Kawasaki past my BMW and park it in the garage. He removed his helmet and saw me standing in the doorway. A huge smile spread across his handsome face.
He hurried toward the door I held open for him and wrapped me tightly in his arms the moment he bound up the porch steps. A long, languid kiss got my nerves tingling and made my knees weak. Even after so many years, he still had that effect on me.
“How was work, love?” I asked.
“Good. We're making progress on the solar power compound. I'm pretty sure this product is gonna be on the market within two years, and it's gonna revolutionize everything! A solar panel powerful enough to charge a laptop in three hours, and it's only the size of a dollar bill. How cool is that?” Emerson beamed. “How about you, beautiful? How was your day?” He planted a sweet kiss on my forehead.
“Actually, work was interesting. Remember that new bicycle concept I was telling you about?”
“Oh yeah, the one that charges all of your devices at home while you ride?”
“Yes! Well, we're very close to making a breakthrough,” I said. “Like, literally right on the edge.”
“That’s awesome, babe. I can’t wait until you get to bring it home for us to try out,” he smiled.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You just want to play with my gadgets,” I flashed him a smirky grin.
“Oh, I definitely want to do that,” he said with a wink. “Oh. Almost forgot. I got a call from Chris today.”
“Oh, yeah? How's he doing?”
“He's good. Still sober. That makes eight months. And he's starting his first semester of a new college degree.”
“I’m glad to hear that. He was stuck in a real rough patch for a few years after dropping out. I know you’re happy to see him like this.”
“Yeah. I was beginning to think he wasn't gonna get through it. I'm glad he's turned his life around and proved me wrong. It’s nice to hear my old friend’s voice when I talk to him now.”
“Speaking of old friends,” I added. “Don’t forget we've got an appointment in front of the TV at eight tonight!”
“Oh yeah, Leslie's big break! I'm super excited to see it.”
“She always did want a role in a sitcom, and I think she's gonna be great!”
“Old friends,” he said with a smile, “it's great to see them doing well.”
“It really is,” I agreed.
“But then, we can't just focus on the old. There's also the new…” He took my hand and brought it to his lips, kissing the diamond engagement ring on my finger.
“I'm counting the days until you are my wife. You can’t get rid of me then and I can’t wait!”
Tears stung the corners of my eyes. I kissed him gently on his forehead, and then on his lips. “I can't wait, either,” I said.
“How about we crack open a bottle of wine, light some candles, and watch the sunset from the back deck?”
“That sounds like a splendid idea. We'd better hurry though, the sun will be setting in a few minutes.”
“Right. Meet you out there.”
Emerson headed to the cellar to pick out a decent bottle of wine while I went out onto the deck. The air was still warm, with just the slightest nip of cold threatening to take over once the sun disappeared. Spring had always been my favorite season. The scent of new blossoms and flowers floated sweetly on the warm breeze, and the first evening star had appeared in the darkening sky.
Emerson strolled onto the deck carrying a bottle of wine and two glasses. We took a seat on our outdoor sofa and he filled up a glass for each of us as I lit some candles. I took my glass and clinked it against his.
“To chemistry,” I said with a smile.
“To chemistry,” he replied, the last golden rays of the day's sun glinting in his eyes.
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This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are products of the writer's imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 Claire Adams