It took another day and night in the hospital before Emberlyn was finally released. That day had been a joyful one, because normalcy was slowly reintegrating itself into our everyday lives. Unfortunately, my mother was still in her induced coma; but healing well, according to the health professionals I spoke with.

With everything that had happened, I’d put in for a sabbatical from the JPD—one Captain Dodge was all too willing to provide. Despite having a murderer for a son, he still had a hard time digesting the fact that his one and only child was now dead.

That first night in Emberlyn’s house had been a dream. With Lana Rose upstairs in the guest bedroom she’d started personalizing with my woman’s permission, we found ourselves in bed early, cuddled with one another as we watched mindless television.

“I know it hasn’t been that long, but I missed this,” she whispered against my bare chest, her breath tickling as it slid over my skin.

“I missed this too, sweetheart.” I kissed the crown of her head. “Are you comfortable?”

She lifted her head slightly to look up at me. “Are you kidding me? Anything better than this would be a cloud. That hospital bed did more harm than good, honey.”

I chuckled. “I’ll see about straightening out those kinks when the time is right, how’s that?”

“Mmm…I’ll look forward to it.”

The next morning, I woke up to profuse swearing. Upon opening my eyes, I saw a sprawled out Emberlyn on the floor.

“Fucking men!” she uttered.

“Hey now, you just woke me up, so what could I have possibly done wrong already?” I smirked.

Apparently that was a bad move.

“Clean up your fucking shit!” she stated. “I just tripped on your shoes, jerk.”

Worry hit me immediately and I jumped out of bed. “Shit, Em! Are you okay?”

“Aside from having an already bummed toe, and stitches holding my insides together, I’m just peachy,” she growled. “What’s another few more bruises, right?”

“Sweetheart, I’m sorry,” I came to crouch low beside her, helping her up to her feet. That’s when I saw the small stain of blood on the side of her shirt. “Shit.”

“What now?” she grumped.

I hurriedly pulled at her shirt, lifting it clean off of her, to reveal a fully nude upper torso. “I need to look at your stitches. I think you might have torn them open.” I all but dragged her toward the bathroom adjoining her room. “Sit.”

I turned to the cabinet and grabbed the stack of facecloths I had yet to put away from my stint of laundry yesterday afternoon. Wetting one, I turned to find Emberlyn inspecting her side.

“Let me,” I said, kneeling in front of her and gently removing the gauze that covered her wound.

Dabbing at her side, I inspected the wound closely. “Looks okay,” I whispered. “The stitches are fine. I think you might have just opened up the wound a bit. Let me get some of that ointment and a new bandage, and I’ll finish patching you up.”

She nodded, all the while following each and every one of my movements.

When I was done, I bent closer and kissed the top of her bandage lightly. “There, all better.”

Emberlyn’s hand reached up to cup my cheek, and our eyes met and held. “Move in with me,” she whispered.

“What?”

“This morning proves you’re all but officially living here, and you’re clearly feeling at home if you’re doing laundry, cooking, and cleaning. Hell, you leave your stuff lying around everywhere. You might as well have all of your stuff here,” she all but blurted.

I swallowed hard. “Are you sure?”

“Does that mean you want to?”

I grinned. “Sweetheart, I’m a thirty-seven-year-old widower with a nine-year-old kid. I wasn’t exactly looking to keep living with my mother for the rest of my life.”

Her grin matched mine. “Is that a yes?”

“Fuck, yeah that’s a yes.” Cupping her face in my hands, I pressed our foreheads together. “In case you missed it—and I’m sure you didn’t—Rosie thinks of you as her mother. So long as she’s okay with it, then it’s a go.”

“Good,” she smiled, “now kiss me to seal the deal, then go and clean up your fucking clothes.”

Laughing that hard first thing in the morning was a foreign thing for me. It fucking felt awesome.

“Would you just stop it already? It’s not like the Queen of England is coming for breakfast, Em, you’re feeding my daughter…something you’ve done countless times already.” Shane laughed.

“I can’t help it,” I whisper-whined. “I want her to say yes.”

“Sweetheart.” He came to a stop behind me, confiscating my spatula and wrapping his extra arm around my stomach, careful not to put pressure on my wound. “She loves you, of course she’ll say yes.”

I let go of the large breath I’d been holding onto. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Em.”

“And I love the smell of pancakes in the morning!” Lana Rose called out as she bounced into the kitchen.

“Have a seat, baby girl, we need to talk to you.” Shane sure as hell wasn’t going to beat around the bush by the looks of things. “Em, sit down. I’ll serve us up.” With a quick peck to my lips, he patted my butt in a playful manner, urging me toward the breakfast table.

“Sweets,” I began, “how would you feel about you and your dad moving in here?”

The girl looked confused. “Is Grams coming too?”

I smiled, but Shane took over. “No, honey.” He grabbed my hand. “After everything we’ve been through, Em and I would like to make us a whole family. I thought we’d have our own house by now, but it was so much easier to just stay with Grams, all of these years, and help each other out.”

“I want you to be my little girl, Rosie,” I told her. “I love you, and I love your daddy, and nothing would make me happier than if you both came to live here with me, so we can be a real family.”

“Does that mean you two will get married?” she asked, throwing us both for a loop. “Can I be the flower girl? Do I get to wear a white dress too? Oh! And I want pretty white ribbons in my hair. Will you let me wear makeup? Can–”

Shane broke out in a full belly laugh that had my heart lifting, whereas I was still stuck on the topic of marriage. Would he want to get married some day?

“Rosie, hold on,” Shane started. “We’re talking about moving in, right now. If this thing between all of us is going where I know it is, one day you’ll get to be the most beautiful flower girl Jacksonville’s ever seen.”

Lana Rose bit her lip, a sign I had grown to recognize that she had something else she wanted to say.

“What is it, Sweets?” I urged her.

“Does that make you my new mommy?” she practically whispered. “I-I know I called you that before, but saying it doesn’t make it real.”

My eyes welled up and I got up to go to her. Pulling a chair next to hers, I turned her toward me, then cupped her face between my hands.

“Lana Rose Peters, it would be an honor to be your mother. You are by far the best little girl anyone could ever hope for.” I kissed her forehead.

Letting her go, she turned her chair to face her plate once more, grabbed her fork, and dug into her pancake. “Okay then,” she said over her first mouthful of breakfast. “When do we move in?”