Epilogue

It was a perfect October day.

The light was golden . . . the air was crisp . . . the leaves were strutting their autumn finery . . . and Colin Flynn was coming up her front walk.

Life didn’t get any better than this.

Trish pulled the door wide as he approached. “Good morning.”

He gave her the familiar heart-melting smile that told her even before he spoke how much he’d missed her during the hours they’d been apart.

“I’m early.”

“I know.”

“You were watching for me anyway?”

“Always.”

He slipped inside, closed the door, and gave her a proper welcome.

“Now my day can start.” He rested his forehead against hers. “Mmm . . . you smell good.”

“New shampoo.”

“Nope. It’s all you. My favorite perfume.”

“Very smooth.”

“Very true.” He draped an arm around her shoulders. “I see the realtor put the sign on the lawn. You’re positive you want to sell the house?”

“Yes.” She’d talked it through with him, sought his advice, but in the end he’d left the decision to her. “I want to start fresh. I’ll always treasure my happy childhood here . . . but everyone I made those memories with is gone. Now the quiet, empty rooms just remind me of all I’ve lost.”

“There could be laughter in these rooms again one day.”

“I’ll let a new family fill them with joy. I want to find my laughter somewhere else.”

He squeezed her shoulder but didn’t press.

That’s how Colin was. He listened. He played the devil’s advocate if asked. He posed smart questions. But he never pushed. Only when it came to joint decisions did he present persuasive arguments for his position.

And they were usually sound.

“You want to sit for a minute before we leave?” He motioned toward the living room.

She studied him. In the months they’d been dating, she’d learned to judge his moods from tiny nuances only a woman in love would notice—barely detectable changes in facial expression . . . subtle variations in inflection . . . slight alterations in body language.

Something was up today.

“What’s going on?”

One side of his mouth hitched up. “We could use your intuitive skills during interrogations if you ever want to change careers.”

“No thanks. The kids I teach are all the challenge I need.” She nudged him with her elbow. “Stop evading my question.”

“I have some news.”

“Did you by chance find some evidence to incriminate the Russians who paid us a visit last summer?”

“No.” His features tightened. “We’re still trying, though.”

But it wasn’t going to happen. If there’d been any way to pin Michael’s murder or her own trauma on them, this man and his colleagues would have found it by now.

She suspected Colin knew that as well—and that it would remain a thorn in his side. This was not a man who liked to admit defeat.

At some point, however, they were both going to have to make their peace with the frustrating reality and move on.

“Then what’s the news?”

He took her hand and led her toward the sofa in the living room. Once they were seated, he pulled out a single sheet of paper.

“During our investigation, we had some conversations with Matt Parker’s attorney. Once we were able to verify through DNA that both Parker brothers were dead, he executed Matt’s will. This letter from him was with his papers. His attorney gave us a copy, and I thought you’d like to read it.”

She took the single typed sheet he handed her and skimmed the contents.

The first section detailed the problems in Boston, which she already knew about.

But the last paragraph was news.

Based on our history and my brother’s avarice, I wouldn’t put it past him to come forward and try to claim my estate if anything should happen to me. For the reasons listed above, I want to be clear that he is not to get one penny of my assets. Every dime that remains after my estate is settled is to be donated to Habitat for Humanity. My father dedicated his life to building quality homes for people and giving them fair value for their money. I wish to continue his legacy by providing homes for people who might not otherwise be able to afford one.

Trish’s throat tightened. “This sounds like Matt. He might not have been the man for me, but he was very kind and generous.”

“The evidence certainly supports that. I thought you’d want to know that at least one positive result came out of the whole ordeal.”

“Thanks for sharing this.”

He took the letter, folded it, and slipped it back in his pocket. “Now let’s put all this behind us for the rest of the day.”

“I agree—but aren’t Kristin and Rick going to be mad at you for skipping the every-other-Saturday Treehouse Gang breakfast so we can go on a picnic?”

“No. They love you almost as much as I do.”

Love.

He’d begun tossing that word out casually in the past month, though he hadn’t yet strung together all three magic words. But that was coming.

She hoped.

“Well, tell them I’ll make it up to them. In fact, I’ll invite them for homemade lasagna one night next week.”

“Am I included?”

“What do you think?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He rose and held out his hand. “Let’s go.”

She let him pull her to her feet. “What’s the rush? It’s only ten o’clock. Isn’t this kind of early for a picnic?”

“No.” He tugged her toward the door.

“Okay, okay. I get the message you’re in a hurry. Are you certain you don’t want me to provide some of the food? I baked brownies last night.”

“Save them for later. This one’s on me.”

A sudden buzz of excitement zipped through the air, and she studied him out of the corner of her eye.

Colin was the steadiest guy she’d ever met—solid in the face of danger, a rock in turbulent seas.

But he seemed unsettled . . . jittery . . . nervous . . . today.

She could think of only one thing that might unnerve her handsome detective.

And as she joined him at the door, activated the security system, and returned Stan’s thumbs-up with a wave, a delicious trill of anticipation raced through her.

Maybe the day she had hoped would arrive sometime in the months ahead was going to come early.

The moment had arrived.

Colin crumpled the butcher paper his sandwich had been wrapped in, leaned back on his palms, and tried to rein in his galloping pulse.

No dice.

Despite the fact he’d been sitting on this blanket for more than half an hour, his heart was beating as hard as it did after an intense game of one-on-one basketball.

How nuts was that?

He carried a gun to work, for crying out loud. Put his life on the line day in and day out. Willingly walked into volatile situations that could—

“This is a beautiful spot.”

He looked over at Trish sitting beside him on their hillside perch. She was drinking in the view of the colorful trees, lips curved up. Contentment softened the planes of her face, and the golden highlights in her light brown hair glinted in the noonday sun.

“I agree. The scenery here is beautiful.”

She turned toward him, and he winked at her.

“Are you flirting with me?” Amusement twinkled in her eyes.

“Yep.”

“I bet you do that with all the girls.”

“Just the pretty ones—and you’re at the top of that list. That’s why you got lunch too.” He nodded toward the wicker picnic basket.

“And what a lunch it was. Cheese plate, spinach-artichoke dip, crackers, chicken salad sandwiches, strawberries. You can take me on a picnic anytime.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“So what’s for dessert?”

His pulse picked up again. No matter how certain a guy might be about the signals a lady was sending, when he was getting ready to pop the question, it was best not to take too much for granted. After all, he was sort of rushing this. Four months of dating wasn’t all that long.

But at thirty-five, he knew what he was looking for in a woman.

And since Trish was it, why waste time?

He opened the basket, pulled out two gourmet chocolate cupcakes—each in its own plastic-domed container—and handed her one.

“Wow.” Her eyes lit up at the confection decorated with shaved white and dark chocolate curls. “You definitely know the way to this lady’s heart.”

He hoped that was true.

“Before we eat these, I wanted to . . .”

All at once, the sun vanished, a rumble of thunder intruded on the bucolic tranquility, and a raindrop plopped onto his nose.

What the . . . ?

He checked out the sky behind him.

Dark clouds had encroached while they enjoyed their lunch . . . and unless he missed his guess, they were in for a serious deluge.

“When did that happen?” Trish assessed the heavens too. “I didn’t think it was supposed to rain today.”

“It wasn’t—according to all those meteorologists who get paid the big bucks.”

Another raindrop splashed onto his forehead.

This was so not how he’d planned this moment.

“We better gather up all this stuff and relocate to my friend’s porch.” He went into action as he talked, stuffing everything on the blanket back into the picnic basket with Trish’s help.

By the time they had it all stowed, the sky had blackened even more and the rain was beginning to fall in earnest.

“Let’s go.” He picked up the basket, grabbed her hand, and sprinted toward the cabin.

They reached the covered porch mere seconds before the skies opened.

“You know . . . we could be stuck here for a while.” Trish surveyed the downpour from under the sheltering eaves, then motioned toward the porch swing. “But that’s a fine spot to sit. Very cozy. And those cupcakes will taste wonderful wherever we eat them.”

“I like how you make lemonade out of lemons.”

“Better than going around with your face all puckered up.” She contorted her features into a sourpuss expression and nudged him with her shoulder.

The corners of his mouth flexed at her comic antics. Trish’s ability to roll with the punches was one of the things he loved about her—and an ideal attribute in a future mate.

Time to get to the main item on today’s agenda—rain or no rain.

“Why don’t we swing for a few minutes before we dive into dessert?”

“You’re going to make me wait for my chocolate?” She pretended to pout.

“There are other ways to satisfy your sweet tooth.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Hmm.” She pretended to consider that. “Okay. You’re on.”

She crossed to the porch swing and sat.

Colin glanced again at the steady rain. Maybe he wouldn’t have the blue skies and beautiful panorama he’d envisioned as a backdrop for his proposal . . . but after working up his courage for the past two days, changing the program wasn’t an option.

He fingered the small box in his pocket, joined her on the seat, and set the swing in motion with his toe.

“Don’t worry about the rain.” She scooted closer to him. “The sun is always shining in my heart when I’m with you.”

“You stole my line.”

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.”

“As a matter of fact . . .” His voice hoarsened, and he cleared his throat. “I’m hoping we’re also in the same book.”

She tipped her head, faint creases denting her brow. “What do you mean?”

“Stories are found in the pages of a book—and I’d like our stories to merge in the next chapter.” He pulled out the small jeweler’s box.

Her gaze dropped to it . . . and she went absolutely still.

“I know we only met a few months ago, but we’re not twenty years old.” He twined his fingers with hers and held on tight. “We’re mature adults who have our priorities in reasonable order and enough experience to be clear about what we like and don’t like. I knew almost from the day we met you were the kind of woman who comes along once in a lifetime—if a man is lucky.”

He flipped up the lid with his thumb to reveal the budget-straining oval diamond the sales clerk had assured him any woman would love.

Based on Trish’s gasp, the man’s advice had been sound.

“So here’s the bottom line. I could have waited a few more weeks—or months—to ask you this question . . . but I’m tired of going to bed every night wishing you were by my side and tired of waking up every morning alone. I want my days to start and end with you—the sooner the better.” He took a deep breath . . . and spoke the words he’d been saving all his life for the special woman he’d hoped someday to find. “I love you, Trish Bailey . . . and I’d be honored if you would be my wife.”

Her eyes began to shimmer, and when she spoke, a quiver rippled through her voice. “I love you too—and I can’t think of any role I’d rather play.” She held up her left hand.

It took him two tries to get the ring out of the box, and he fumbled it as he slipped the band on her finger.

But once it was securely in place, he rose and pulled her to her feet. “This calls for a kiss.”

“We could have done that on the swing.”

“Not like this.” He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close.

Very close.

“I see what you mean.” She looped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him. “Ready whenever you are.”

“On the count of three. One . . . two . . .”

Suddenly the sun peeked out from behind the dark clouds, bathing the rain-refreshed landscape in dazzling light.

“Perfect timing. This is the kind of ambiance I wanted for this moment.”

“It must have been a passing storm.” She locked her hands behind his neck like she never wanted to let go. “But I can weather any storm if you’re by my side.”

“Count on that . . . forever. Now—where were we?”

“Two.”

“You sure you don’t want to eat those chocolate cupcakes before I say the magic number?” He grinned. “We might be a little too distracted to eat after this.”

“Chocolate has its charm . . . but it doesn’t hold a candle to you, Detective Flynn. You can be my dessert any day. And I’ll prove it. Three!”

She stood on tiptoes and tugged his head down.

“A lady who takes the lead.” He could feel the whisper-warmth of her breath against his chin as he spoke.

“A lady who knows what she wants.”

“I like that.”

“Good. Because I’m done talking.”

With that, she pressed her lips against his.

And as the mood shifted from teasing to tender . . . as the skies changed to blue and the sun shone warm and bright . . . as birds chirped a joyous chorus overhead . . . Colin gave thanks.

For unexpected blessings.

For a future brimming with promise.

And for this special woman who would fill his world with love and laughter and hope all the days of his life.