Epilogue

Tequila doesn’t solve problems, but it’s worth a shot.

-Taco shop welcome sign

Hennessy

8 months later

I bobbed my head to the beat, then pulled the handle of the mop I was using up to my mouth and belted out the lyrics.

“Hit me baby one more time!” I bellowed.

Britney’s voice was drowned out by my god-awful voice, and seconds later the song ended just as abruptly as it had started.

But then, my jam came on.

“Ohhhh, yeah!” I cried out, dropping the mop and twisting around on my sock covered feet.

Putting these hardwood floors into the house was one of the best decisions Tate and I had ever made.

They allowed me to slide around on socks just as easily as I would on slick concrete floors, only they looked ten times better.

“Bye, bye, bye!” I cried out.

Then I danced.

Two days ago, I’d started my mad cleaning frenzy.

During that time, I’d discovered that N’Sync radio on Pandora was the perfect thing to listen to while you were cleaning. It kept me moving, never once failed to entertain me, and I didn’t have to stop every five minutes to skip the song.

It was literally the best station since sliced bread.

“It’s gonna be MAY!” I cried out. “All that I do!”

I paused to pick up a piece of trash, only instead of bending at the waist, I squatted down, doing a shimmy shake as I came back up.

Not only because I was dancing to the music, but because I was also six months pregnant with The Hulk junior, AKA Tate Casey’s fat kid, and was as big as a brick shit house.

They say that at six months with your first child, you’d just barely be showing.

I, apparently, was an anomaly.

I, Hennessy Harmony Casey, was so pregnant that it looked like I was carrying twins.

Only, I wasn’t.

I only had one baby in there.

One single, fat baby boy who apparently took after his father in the size department.

“Good one.”

I froze with my hands on my knees, and looked over my shoulder to see not just Tate standing there, but Evander, Travis, Baylor, and the two guys that I didn’t see all that much, Parker and Rafe.

They were all staring at me with various shades of laughter on their face.

It was the look on my husband’s face that had me turning bright red.

On his face wasn’t laughter, but a sexy look that clearly said, “I’d fuck you right now if I didn’t have the boys with me.”

“Uhh,” I paused, then turned.

All eyes went to my stomach.

“I’m surprised you can move that well with that thing poking out there.”

I snorted and walked to the radio that was playing my music, then turned it down before I answered.

“Y’all here for lunch?” I asked, looking at the clock.

All of them shook their heads.

“Negative.” Tate said. “They’re here to help me raise that stupid fucking windmill blade up on the wall.”

I grinned, wide and huge.

“Really!?” I squealed.

I’d gotten a windmill blade—which was eight feet in diameter—from a trades day of sorts that ran along the state line once a month.

I’d gotten it for our wall, and it’d sat against the side of our house. Until today.

Tate rolled his eyes and walked up to me, pulling me into his arms.

“How you feeling, wife?”

“Good,” I said. “I needed some motivation to clean…”

He snorted and pressed a kiss to my forehead before backing away.

His hand went to my stomach when he felt a kick from our baby, and I watched him smile as he felt our son move.

He stayed like that for a few long seconds, then patted my belly twice.

“Though, sandwiches wouldn’t go unaccepted.”

I rolled my eyes at the subtle hint to make him a sandwich, and went to the kitchen.

“Anybody else want one?”

Every last one of them raised their hand.

Eight sandwiches later, I had a windmill hung, and it looked flippin’ awesome.

“That’s beautiful,” I breathed, staring up at it in awe.

“Fuck.”

I turned to find Baylor staring at his phone.

“What?”

“Lark.”

He need not say more.

Lark and Baylor had a thing. One that I wasn’t sure I understood.

But the thing they had they kept private, and it left the rest of us to wonder what in the hell they were doing.

“Gotta go.”

Then he was gone, leaving without another word.

“Fifty bucks says they’re doing it.”

“Two hundred says they’re married by the end of the year.”

“Five hundred says she’s pregnant by the end of the year.”

I started to laugh, and walked to my man, who was finishing off the remains of his sandwich.

“Thank you!” I wrapped my arms around his waist.

He pulled me in close, then said the words that never got old.

“I’d do anything for you.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“What about get me a puppy?”

“Anything but that.”

We compromised, and two days later, I had a puppy. One that Tate pretended to hate, but secretly loved.