Brad and I stand back, watching from a vantage point behind the reception guests as the newly wed Mr. and Mrs. Van Ness get into their limo. We give a polite wave goodbye along with everyone else, and Brad puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me tight. The tail lights disappear, and I lower my arm, sagging even as I smile. Finally.

Brad smiles widely. “We did it! Triple B action in full effect.” We celebrate with our usual special handshake, complete with finger waggles and bootie smacks. We keep it small and tasteful, though, considering the guests are still meandering back inside to wrap up the reception.

I sigh happily. “We did. Bridal prime time season one . . . successfully in the books.”

Brad raises an eyebrow at me, replying sassily, “Successfully in the books? I’d say we’ve been more than successful. We’ve been ground-breaking, awesome, epic, and . . . and . . .”

I giggle as he searches for more adjectives to describe the season we’ve had. “You’re right, we’ve been all that, plus a bag of chips.”

The summer wedding season officially ended with those fading tail lights, and after months of pampering bride after bride at the resort, Brad and I are exhausted, happy . . . and a lot better off financially than we were.

We’ve got a large clientele of regular customers at the salon now, and between weekday clients and weekend brides, it’s been a booming success. We’ve even hired not just one, but two helpers . . . a girl who covers the walk-in cuts on the busy weekends, and a guy who runs the front desk reception and scheduling. Brad campaigned heartily for a cutie there, but ultimately, we hired the best person for the spot. Too bad for Brad that he’s super straight.

The trial for Jaxson is over too, and while he didn’t get as much time as we’d hoped, I’m confident that after his years of incarceration, he’ll never be welcome in this town again. His trial was the biggest thing to hit this place since the resort opened, to the point that people were actually lining up outside the courthouse early in hopes of getting a front-row seat for the trial. Because of the lookie-loos and the subsequent gossip, everyone got to see just how psycho he really is. I had to go testify for several days, and he'd looked longingly at me the whole time. So beyond the time I had to attend, I'd avoided the whole thing as much as possible. I didn’t want to give Jaxson any more thought than I had to, didn't want to let him have power over me ever again.

Right after his arrest, the police searched his house. He had pictures of me pinned up all over a wall in his bedroom, a diary with romantic poetry about me, and detailed reports of every interaction we had and my actions when he’d been watching me. It was seriously creepy, some scary shit, and I’ve spent more than a few nights curled up wondering about how I overlooked the signs. I don’t think I’m the only one either. A few people around town have given me creepy stories about Jaxson, stuff they overlooked at the time.

It was all too much, and a month ago, I realized that to process everything, I needed to see a therapist. I didn’t tell Evan at first, unsure how he’d react with his last blowup. But after my first visit, I knew I needed to trust him.

He was tentatively accepting, and once he saw the progress and insights I was getting with my doctor, he shocked the hell out of me by asking if he could meet the ‘voodoo headshrinker’.

It’s where I’m going now, jumping into my car after hurriedly changing to drive through town. Dr. Jackson’s great as he’s the only counselor in town who works on Saturday afternoons, which is convenient for us.

I pull up in front of the unassuming two-story house, pulling around back to find Evan’s Harley. Parking, I go inside, hearing muffled voices coming not from the living room but the kitchen. “Hello?”

“Oh, hey, Princess,” Evan says, sticking his head out. “Doc said that I could stick around since we knew you wanted to come by after the wedding. How were the nuptials?”

“Just fine,” I reply, giving him a hug and a kiss. “How was your session?”

“Evan was remarkably open and honest,” Dr. Jackson says, the most he can say, I know. “Although I think he’s full of shit on his football opinions.”

“Not my fault you don’t like hard nose football,” Evan says with a laugh before sobering. He takes my hand and leads me over to the sofa, pulling me down to sit next to him. “Really, though, I’ve talked over a lot of my demons. I know it’ll be a long road, but you and the doc are helping.”

“Well, you have been less growly at people, maybe not exactly nice, but I don’t know if I’d want you being nice to everyone. It’d be like the Twilight Zone or something, and your sweet side is kinda just for me and me alone,” I tease lightly. “Really, though, you’re still you, gruff and growly and rough around the edges. You’ve been shaped by your past, but you’re choosing your future. I love you, but more importantly, I love who you are. I’d even let you hang out in the salon if you let me wash your hair. Doc, you know the worst part of Evan? All this wonderful hair, and he washes the whole mess with a bar of Irish Spring. Honestly, that’s just blasphemy.”

Both of the guys laugh, and Evan hugs me lightly. “I love you too, and you like the smell, Princess. Admit it.”

“Well . . . maybe.”

“McKayla, I agreed to let Evan ask you in here because he told me you two have recently begun living together,” Dr. Jackson says. “Nothing wrong with that, but realize that Evan’s right, this is a long process of progress and retreat, and there are going to be times where things won’t be so easy.”

“It’s fine by me,” I agree. “There are going to be nights that’ll be long, and maybe we’ll have to spend all night sitting up talking or taking the occasional midnight bike ride. I’m down with that.”

“Also at the lodge with Earl,” Evan admits. “No offense, Princess, but there are some things that old man’s got insight on that I have trouble talking about with other people.”

“A lot of us have those same ghosts,” Dr. Jackson admits, and I remember that he’s an Elk too. I nod, knowing it’ll be good for Evan to see guys with some of the same ghosts, especially since they’re doing all right, living happy, full lives.

We leave Dr. Jackson’s, and outside, Evan pulls me in for a kiss. The new minty Evan is different than when we first kissed, but I’ll take this over Marlboro Evan any day. “Hey, Princess . . . coffee?”

“You buying?”

“Damn right,” he says with a chuckle. “Meet me at the diner?”

I take a look at him in his jeans and light summertime riding jacket, purring. “If I didn’t have to take my car with me, I’d want to ride the Harley.”

Evan surprises the hell out of me when he reaches into his jeans pocket and tosses me the keys. “Meet you there.”

Without another word, he climbs into my car, grabbing my spare set from the console, and pulls out. I’m in so much shock it takes me a good two minutes to recover and climb on. He’s only let me ride the Harley in carefully controlled situations, and as I ride back into town . . . it’s like I can feel everyone’s eyes on me as I head up Main Street toward the diner. I can see old Earl give a double-take before nodding, rubbing his big belly while I fly by. When I get to the diner, Evan’s waiting for me, a grin on his sensuous lips.

“How was it?”

I grab him around the neck, kissing him hard. “I think,” I purr, pressing my body against his, “that I need more than coffee tonight.”

“Oh, really?” he says, running a hand down my back to the jeans I changed into after the wedding, cupping my ass and squeezing. “And what would that be?”

“I think you know, stud.”

Evan growls and nibbles my ear. “Then fuck the coffee. You’ve got ten seconds to get anything you need out of the car before we roll.”

“Ten seconds, huh?” I tease, scratching his chest. “Think you can last that long when we get some privacy?”

“Nine . . . eight . . .” Evan teases. “Better hurry, Princess, or else I might just give Brad a ride on my hog.”

I can’t help but laugh as I run to my car. Evan’s gotten so comfortable joking and throwing entendre at Brad that it’s natural. I toss most of my purse inside, knowing the car will be safe overnight, and stick my wallet and keys in my pocket. Slamming the door, I give a little wave to Rose, who’s giving me a shake of her head from a booth inside. Running back to Evan, I swing my leg over and climb behind him just as he finishes his countdown.

“I’m ready. Let’s roll.”

Climbing on the bike, we fly out of the parking lot and out of town. I’m right where I should be . . . on the back of Evan’s bike, my thighs straddling the frame, free and full-throttle into a future undetermined and wild.

One big adventure.