Epilogue
Nolan never would have thought he would have been able to sleep through that, but there was something to be said for distraction and the mind-numbing aftermath of really great sex. He awoke the next morning lying next to an angel, naked apart from the twist of the pastel pink top sheet about her waist. She lay on her stomach beside him, one leg drawn up, both tattoos as exposed as the finger-shaped bruises that marked her as his. From the backs of her thighs to the tops of her hips, he relived all the places he’d gripped her as she’d ridden him to pleasant exhaustion. One handcuff still dangled from her wrist, but it was her fingers that drew his attention. They were covered in glitter: red, blue, and silver, stuck there with flecks of dried craft glue and sparkling in the early morning light that shone through the drapes.
Not wanting to wake her, he eased up amongst the pillows and tangled bedding to get a closer look.
“Coffee,” she groaned, feeling the bed move but not opening her eyes.
Snorting laughter, Nolan untangled himself and rolled out of bed. Pulling on yesterday’s jeans, the bathroom was his first stop; the coffeemaker, his second. Leaving it to percolate, he wandered back through the house to fetch the paper in from the porch, stepping over a scattering of Crayola markers and a few yard stakes that he couldn’t remember falling over last night. This morning, however, they were scattered over every inch of available rug, from sofa to television.
“You need to pick up your toys when you’re done playing,” he called back through the house. Opening the front door, he stepped out to retrieve the paper… and froze mid-bend when the sign staked to his front lawn caught his attention. It was plain white poster board, swept with an arching rainbow of patriotic stars and stripes and huge black felt-marker letters that read: A Veteran Lives Here. Please Be Kind. No Fireworks.
Another sign was staked in Tricia’s yard, still just as highly glittered, though it read differently: Thank You For Your Service. Fireworks Free Zone.
Stapled to a nearby tree, sans glitter or any decoration apart from a smiley face, was a third sign: Please take one. There was nothing but grassy lawn beneath it.
There was, however, a glittering sign staked in the yard directly across the street from him. And another in the neighbor’s yard to his right. He didn’t even know those people by name, though he sometimes remembered to wave if he was driving past and they were outside. There were, in fact, signs all up and down this street, in more yards than not, whether he knew the residents or not. He counted nine in all. Nine out of ten yards with one of Tricia’s glittering signs, and he couldn’t put a name or face to even half of them.
“Are you mad, Daddy?”
Nolan turned to find Tricia standing in the doorway, dressed in nothing but a handcuff, his shirt from yesterday, and her Little’s most worried look. Her eyes were big. Her fingers tapped as she waited for his answer.
“How many signs did you make?” he asked.
“Twenty,” she admitted. “I’d have done more, but I ran out of poster paper.”
Nolan turned and stared again at the yard across the street, at the neighbor to his right, and finally at the sign she had made specifically for him. “You did that for me.”
She ventured out onto the porch, but only half a step. “Daddies aren’t the only ones who take care of things. Sometimes they need taking care of, too.”
Dropping the newspaper back on the welcome mat where he’d found it, Nolan came back to her. He put his hand on her throat, a much gentler hold than last night’s had been and yet, no less passionate in the desire he felt welling up inside.
“Coffee,” he said. “Blueberry pancakes. And all the orgasms my Baby Girl can handle. Go.”
Grinning, Tricia gave a hop and a squeak when he swatted her, and scampered back into the house.
He looked back over his shoulder at the yard signs.
God, he loved her.
The End