For Seven Nights Only (Chase Brothers) (15 page)

Epilogue

Two months later

“These booths are getting smaller by the minute,” Sawyer said. He edged closer to Kelsie, grinning wickedly at the more intense body contact. Liam sat next to Sawyer, while Ethan had dragged a barstool from the counter to take up space at the end of the table. Crosby and Estelle were across from them, with Estelle’s brother, Grady, looking a bit trapped between his sister and the wall.

Liam snorted and held up his empty beer for the waitress. It was Friday night, and Foam’s For You was packed. Way too packed for them to pull up an extra table, and probably too packed for Liam to have a decent shot at getting a refill. “That’s what happens when you add entire people.”

“I think we need to petition for a larger booth,” Crosby said.

“Yeah, all the issues at large in the world,” Estelle said, rolling her eyes, “and you want a bigger booth.”

“I vote for a smaller booth,” Sawyer said. “That way I have a very good reason for Kelsie to sit on my—”

“People
eat
here,” Crosby interrupted.

“My
lap
,” Sawyer said. “And why would
you
want more room? Estelle have you by the balls?” As if that much wasn’t obvious. She had a brand new rock the size of a marble on her left hand. Spring wedding, Sawyer would bet. Somewhere in a garden, since Estelle was a landscape designer, although Crosby had said something about a fire escape. As long as it wasn’t a boat, Sawyer didn’t care.

“Estelle has had him by the balls from day one,” Liam said.

Grady snorted.

“I think Kelsie wins the ball-slinging award,” Crosby shot back. “I mean, she actually got Sawyer to settle down.”

“Sawyer hasn’t exactly settled down,” Kelsie muttered. “He ordered a sex swing.”

Sawyer nudged her with his elbow. “Tell everyone, why don’t you?”

Kelsie rolled her eyes. “You don’t think they’re going to notice? The apartment is the size of a shoebox. You can’t really miss something like that.”

“Well, he may have a sex swing, but he won’t have a line at the door,” Estelle countered, “and that counts for something.”

“That counts for a lot,” Ethan said. He smiled at Kelsie, and Sawyer had the sudden urge to give him a hug. Or punch him in the shoulder. But he’d probably need him to help move. After a bit of debate over his apartment or hers, they’d settled for door number three, a two-bedroom apartment a couple of streets over. It boasted twice as much space without doubling the rent, which made it well worth the wait for renovations to be complete.

“Well,” Crosby said. “Now that Sawyer has figured out monogamy, I’d say either the world has gone off its axis or that serves as proof there’s someone out there for everyone.”

“Yeah, not so fast there,” Estelle said. “My brother sleeps on
Star Wars
sheets.”

“You banged Crosby on those sheets,” Sawyer added helpfully. “Maybe they’re lucky.”

Ethan rolled his eyes. “I see being in a relationship doesn’t make you any less of a pig.”

“I have heard he was an animal,” Estelle said. “Kelsie told me about this one time—”

Kelsie kicked up an eyebrow. “On the fire escape?” she asked pointedly.

Estelle and Crosby exchanged looks while Grady rolled his eyes. Sawyer made a mental note to ask about the fire escape thing. Or maybe not. In fact, he was almost certain he didn’t want to know.

“Grady’s the real freak,” Crosby said. “He’s got a tree in his apartment.”

“
You
put it there,” Grady told him. “And if you don’t get it out of there soon, it’s not going to fit back though the door.”

“I’m sorry,” Estelle said. “You have a tree and
Star Wars
sheets, and the
tree
needs to go?”

Everyone laughed. Everyone but Grady. “All right, guys. That’s enough abuse for me for one night. I need to work in the morning.”

Crosby and Estelle slid out of the booth. “You really have a date, don’t you?”

“If I did, do you think I’d be sitting here taking the aforementioned abuse?”

“But you aren’t,” Estelle said. “You’re leaving.”

“I’m going
home
,” Grady said. “To my sheets.
Alone
.”

“Are you at least going to check your dating profile?” Estelle asked. Someone kicked on the jukebox, so she ended up yelling, much to Grady’s apparent chagrin.

“Actually I’m going to delete it,” he told her. “You know, so you’ll quit asking me if I’ve met anyone.”

With that, the group scattered, Estelle following her brother while Sawyer’s brothers hit a vacant pool table.

“Did you see Estelle’s ring?” Sawyer asked Kelsie when they were alone.

“Are you kidding? She’s now one of my best friends. I saw it via text message two minutes after he proposed.”

“I was kind of thinking about getting you one of those,” he said. Then he held his breath. Despite the whole moving-in-together thing that pretty well cemented where they were in their relationship, he was terrified she’d be horrified at the thought.

She grinned. “I was kind of thinking I might like wearing one.”

“And I’d kind of like it if that was all you wore.”

Her smile grew. “I think we’d be kicked out of here.”

“I actually think that sounds like a plan.” He slid out of the booth, then helped her bundle into her jacket before shrugging into his. He patted the pocket. Felt the box.

Outside, a light snow fell gently from the sky to swirl wildly in the wake of traffic, but he didn’t feel the cold. He felt…on the verge of something big.

Up ahead, the Brooklyn Bridge loomed. The lights of Manhattan rose on the opposite bank, the reflections wobbly across water peppered with falling snow. He felt Kelsie hesitate when they reached the walkway to cross the bridge, but their fingers were linked so he didn’t look back, and she didn’t say a word.

Halfway across the nearly deserted walkway, he stopped. He avoided looking at the river this time—not because it terrified him, but because he chose instead to look into the eyes of the woman he loved.

“I never did give you that seventh date,” he said.

She stared at him, puzzled, while snowflakes dusted her lashes. “You went to the wedding.”

“I missed the vows and crashed the reception,” he reminded her. “Work with me here, woman.”

“Okay, since you insist, yes, you owe me a seventh date.”

“To a wedding.” He dropped to one knee and swayed only a little when he caught sight of the water stretching to either side. After digging the ring out of his pocket, he held it out and said, “I hope this proves there’s no bridge I won’t cross for you. No river, no harbor. And no ocean, but don’t hold me to that any time soon.”

She laughed, tears glittering in her eyes. God, she was beautiful.

“I love you, Kelsie. Will you marry me?”

Her breath caught. “I’m terrified you’re going to drop that.”

“Then let’s put it on your finger.” He wanted to beg. To plead. But he settled for the simple question that mattered most. “If you’ll wear it.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m on a bridge. I’m sure.”

“Then yes. God, yes, I’ll marry you. But my perfect wedding—”

“I know,” he muttered, slightly terrorized. “It’s on a boat.”

She shook her head, eyes shining. “No. It’s with you. Anywhere. I love you. Always.”

He enjoyed a palpable sense of relief as he slipped the ring on her finger. It looked amazing on her.

So did the view, an entire city reflecting in her eyes. An entire future to share that was theirs alone.

One bridge crossed, and so many more to come.

He couldn’t wait for the next step.

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Acknowledgments

In a first for me, this entire book was plotted on the phone. And not just any phone, but one with Heather Howland on the other end. I think she’s discovered ten times over that plotting isn’t my strong suit, but she helped me pull this together and didn’t once stab me with that extra-large phallic candy cane of hers. That experience will linger far beyond the pages of this book, and for that I’ll always be grateful. (That and not having stab wounds.)

I also have to thank my editor, Tracy Montoya, to whom I should probably present myself for a good stabbing. I don’t know how she puts up with me, but I’m thrilled and grateful and exceptionally lucky to have her shredding my drafts and telling me to watch more TV. I shudder to think how some of my books would have turned out without her. She’s a plotting genius, and if there’s an award for that, someone get it to her, stat.

Finally, many thanks and much love to my street team members for their amazing, generous support, and of course to Michelle, who not only puts up with my forty-three emails a day, but actually replies to them. And to my family—my mom for taking all six kids so I can enjoy periodic days off, the kids for being precious little angels who know which facial expression of mine means RUN, and my husband for devoting so much of his time to being an awesome father and still having the energy to so enthusiastically help me research what he calls “the good parts.” You guys rock, and I’m deeply sorry for the constant churn of insanity. Sort of.

About the Author

Sarah
and her husband of what he calls “many long, long years” live on the Mid-Atlantic coast with their six young children, all of whom are perfectly adorable when they’re asleep. She never dreamed of becoming an author, but as a homeschooling mom, she often jokes she writes fiction because if she wants anyone to listen to her, she has to make them up. (As it turns out, her characters aren’t much better than the kids). When not buried under piles of laundry, she may be found adrift in the Atlantic (preferably on a boat) or seeking that ever-elusive perfect writing spot where not even the kids can find her. Though she adores nail-biting mystery and edge-of-your-seat thrillers, Sarah writes in many genres including historical, contemporary, and supernatural romance and romantic suspense.

Find her @
www.sarahballance.com
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http://sarahballance.wordpress.com
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www.facebook.com/sarah.ballance.author.news
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www.twitter.com/sarahballance
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www.goodreads.com/author/show/4103362.sarah_ballance

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