Page 22 of Curvy Girl and the Single Dad Cowboy

"Hey, no regrets, remember? We'll figure it out." He glances toward the open door. "But first, I better sneak back to my room before my brothers join the party too."

As he hurriedly pulls on his clothes, I can't help but think that my first day at the Covington ranch has certainly been nothing like I expected—and day two is already promising to be just as unpredictable.

Epilogue - Vincent

Two and a half years later

I flip the burgers on the grill, inhaling the smoky aroma as the late-afternoon sun warms our family gathering. Behind me, laughter and conversation fill the ranch yard. I can't help glancing over my shoulder, seeking out Charlotte.

She sits under the old oak tree with our one-year-old daughter Emma in her arms. Emma's dark curls bounce as she claps at whatever Lily is showing her. At eight now, Lily has embraced her role as big sister with a devotion that sometimes brings a lump to my throat.

"You're doing it again," Aaron says beside me.

"Doing what?" I ask, though I know exactly what he means.

"Staring at your wife like you still can't believe she's real." He flips the hot dogs. "It's been over a year since you married her."

I chuckle. "Some days I still expect to wake up and find it was all a dream."

Aaron hums, his version of understanding. He's opened up more since meeting Elena, the bride he ordered. I still have no idea how that worked out, but they’re fantastic together. She's talking with Charlotte now, probably discussing their book club.

"Never thought we'd end up here," I admit. "The five Covington brothers, feared bachelors of Cedar Falls, all settled down within two years."

"Domino effect. You started it," Aaron says with his subtle smile.

I survey our expanded family spread across the ranch yard. Jackson and Violet are setting up tables, while Cole and Luisa toss a football with Ethan and his girlfriend, Melissa.

"Dad! Mom wants some watermelon!" Lily calls, running toward me.

"Tell your mom I'll cut some up as soon as these burgers are done," I reply.

"Mom’s feeding Emma," she says matter-of-factly, and my heart swells at how naturally she began calling Charlotte "Mom" just months after we got together.

No prompting—she simply came to breakfast one morning and said, "Mom, can I have more juice?" as if she'd been saying it her whole life.

Sarah still calls occasionally, sends cards, and even visited once. But she's more like a distant aunt now—connected but not central. The wound of her leaving has scarred over, healed by Charlotte's steady presence.

As I cut watermelon, I can't help reflecting on how much has changed since she arrived. That first night together—exposed by Lily's early morning enthusiasm. The awkward explanations. Our attempts to maintain boundaries during the day while exploring our feelings at night. My brothers' raised eyebrows, their gentle teasing, their eventual acceptance.

Charlotte giving notice to the agency after three months, officially ending her role as nanny but staying as... well, we didn't have a title then. Partner. Girlfriend. The woman I couldn't imagine living without.

My proposal a year later, during another stargazing session on that same knoll where I first showed her the starry night sky. Our small wedding on the ranch, Lily proudly serving as both flower girl and ring bearer. The joyful surprise of Charlotte's pregnancy just two months after.

I carry the watermelon to my family. Lily immediately claims her share, and soon we're all sticky with juice and contentment.

"What are you thinking about?" Charlotte asks as Emma smashes fruit between her fingers.

"How lucky I am," I answer honestly. "How one broken-down car and a three-mile walk changed everything."

Charlotte's smile softens. "Best walk of my life."

"Best hire of mine," I counter, leaning in to kiss her.

Later, with our daughters asleep, Charlotte and I stand on the porch watching the stars, her back against my chest, my arms around her waist.

"Still think the stars look like spilled diamonds?" I ask.

"Better," she says, leaning against me. "They look like home now."

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