EPILOGUE
Tabby
Christmas music seemed even louder as I strode toward baggage claim to retrieve my luggage. Santa hats were everywhere, smiles beaming as Christmas Eve swept everyone into joy.
“What are you doing?”
I whirled around at the sound of the familiar but wholly unexpected voice. Owen was striding toward me with purpose, his mouth set firmly, but his eyes were dancing. He grabbed my suitcase by the handle rather than the strap and pecked me quickly on the mouth.
“Come on, let’s go,” he commanded, barely hiding his delight.
“Why? What’s going on?” I demanded suspiciously. Owen never met me inside the airport at baggage claim. I’d grown accustomed to seeing him leaning against his limo with a cocky grin on his face every time I had flown to New Orleans. His swift gait and poorly stowed excitement were definitely grounds for suspicion.
“Just get that sweet little butt moving, or I’ll carry you instead of the luggage.” He wasn’t kidding.
I followed him out to the area clogged with taxis and family vehicles and, of course, the limo I had now seen so frequently I could’ve picked it out of a lineup. Stephan was flanking the car with the trunk already open for my bags, and he cast me a telltale smile. Yes, something was definitely going on, and while I had a great rapport with Stephan, he was more loyal to his role as Owen’s driver than he was to our friendly exchanges, so I knew there wasn’t a chance of getting the truth out of him. Not yet defeated, I handed the kindly middle-aged gentleman my carry-on as Owen turned over my suitcase, then I clambered into the back of the vehicle before Owen had a chance to smack my rear for being pokey.
“Okay, will you tell me now?” I pressed hopefully once the limo was moving.
He shook his head stubbornly and tugged me onto his lap, handing me a flute of freshly poured champagne. “Curiosity killed the kitten,” he quipped, scribbling my ribs momentarily. I barely stopped myself from spilling my drink all over us.
“I’ve never even broken a bone. I’m pretty sure I still have all nine lives. Sacrificing one for the sake of finding out why you’re acting like a weirdo might be worth it.”
“For the love of God, woman, we’re fifteen minutes from the house,” he laughed. “Shut up and kiss me.”
I did, deeply. Our lips blended together, and our tongues met and our breath intermingled. He tasted delectable, as always, and I was hit with a powerful sensation of gratitude for being with him again. It had only been a couple days since we’d last seen each other, but it was too long.
For every second we were apart, I missed him more and more.
For some stupid reason, I’d assumed seeing him so much would’ve eased my constant desire to be in his presence and see him eyeing me hungrily and have the ability to grab his hand whenever I wanted, but it didn’t. Every single time we parted ways, I had an increasingly painful ache in my stomach, and every time we reunited, I felt giddier. It sounded cliché, but I couldn’t help feeling like I’d never truly known love before Owen.
We didn’t break apart until the limo came to a stop in the driveway, and I barely had a second to collect my breath before Owen was grabbing my hand and yanking me out of the car.
“Oh my god, relax!” I ordered.
“You know what?” He bent down, grabbed me by the waist, and scooped me over his shoulder. “You’re going too slow. This’ll be faster.”
“Owen!” I yelped through a giggle. I beat on his back lightly and kicked my feet. “Put me down!”
He chuckled and pressed his thumbs into the creases of where my legs met my hips, wriggling them around. My yelp turned to a shriek and a series of repetitious laughter-laden pleas for him to stop and drop me, but my cries fell on deaf ears. I could feel his shoulders shaking with chortles in response to my flailing as he strode toward the enormous plantation house’s entrance. Once we’d crossed over the threshold, I was sure he was going to set me down and stop tickling me, but he persisted up the stairs and down the hallway in the opposite direction of his bedroom.
Finally, relief came when he opened a door and took me into a room I’d never been inside before. I gasped for breath, tear tracks running up my temples into my hairline, and had to take a long minute to recuperate before looking around. Unlike his impatience from the airport to the room, he now stood quietly and waited.
I started taking in the vision around me, and it was breathtaking.
What the room had once been, I had no idea, but it had been transformed into the most exquisite shrine to photography I’d ever seen. Display cases featuring vintage cameras and various lenses and films were strategically placed against the walls, and beside each one was a print of my own work. A bookshelf was packed from shelf to shelf with identical black portfolios, all empty and ready to be filled. In the center of the room was a comfortable furniture set with books about famous photographers, the history of the camera, and other relative topics arranged neatly on the coffee table.
“Look in there,” Owen advised, pointing toward a door. I’d hardly noticed it because of the Christmas tree that stood in the corner. A tree decorated with little cameras and picture frames. It was adorable.
I gaped at him as I turned the knob and peered inside.
A darkroom.
The man had built me a darkroom.
Words failed me. I was stunned, practically shell-shocked, but I was also extraordinarily flattered that he was willing to sacrifice one of the rooms in his idyllic home for me. And I was more than a little grateful because I’d had to haul my photography supplies to and from Chicago more often than I would’ve liked, and it was a pain in the ass.
“I need you to know why I did this,” he said. He came to where I stood and curled his arms around me, looking down into my eyes with a very serious expression. “I can’t do the long-distance anymore. I need you with me, Tabby. All the time, because apparently I’m a needy jerk who can’t stand being away from you for more than twenty minutes.”
I laughed softly, completely relating to his plight.
“This room is yours to do with what you wish, to use it when you wish, but I was hoping you would use it often,” he continued.
I thought I knew what he was asking, but I didn’t want to assume. “You mean, like staying longer?”
He tilted his head, and his hand moved up to cup my cheek. “I mean, staying forever.”
I inhaled sharply. If the photography surprise had been a bomb, hearing him say he wanted me to move in was a friggin’ nuke.
“Really?” I questioned breathlessly.
“Have I ever been less than serious with you?” he teased.
I snorted. “Only on the days ending in Y.”
“I’ll pay for you to go back and forth to Chicago whenever you want, to see your family or Heather or whatever, but I need you.” He jerked his chin. “This room is my bribe.”
“Bribe?” I teased, my heart pounding my chest. “And here I thought you were a betting man.”
His eyes narrowed. “What are you suggesting?”
I licked my lips, my stomach churning as I watched him watch the gesture. “Got a quarter?”
A smile curled his lips as he stuck a hand in his pocket. “Yes. What’s our Christmas bet?”
Taking in a deep breath, I stared at the quarter in his hand, begging it to be on my side. “Tails and I move in with you.”
It was his turn to lick his lips. “And if it lands on heads?”
I laughed. “Then I guess we’ll go two out of three.”
He laughed too, his eyes shining as he flipped the quarter into the air.
I held my breath as he caught it in his fist and slammed it down on his arm. Slowly, he removed his hand.
Tails.
I didn’t even have time to cheer because Owen was dragging me to the floor, his mouth on mine as he stripped away my clothes.
We made love, our hands entwined, our eyes locked together as surely as our bodies were. And after we were through, I laid in his arms, my head on his chest listening to his heart slow back to normal.
“I love you, Owen.”
He kissed my hair and gripped my chin, turning my face up until I was looking at him. “I love you too.” His lips brushed against my forehead. “And I’ll always, always bet on you.”
THE END
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