Page 85 of Beg Me Angel

Epilogue

Pax

One year later

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Dropping a stack of wood by the fire, I wiped my arms clean. “Look who's up.” Smiling, I walked to the kitchen and hugged Vera from behind.

“It's not because I decided to get up, it's this little guy's fault.” Pulling my hands over her growing belly, she stopped them right in the center. “Wait for it. . . Wait for—there it is.”

A heavy kick thumped against my palm, causing it to pop up. “Oh wow, he's really going to town in there today.”

Laying her head back on my chest, she laughed. “You're telling me.” Her hand came up and wrapped around my neck as her fingertips gently raked my scalp. “Are you hungry? I'm starving.”

“What do you want me to make you, eggs, french toast. . . Pancakes?”

“Ooo, pancakes, yes, pancakes. Can you make me those little silver-dollar ones?”

Cocking my head, my lids lowered. “Really? I thought you were starving?”

Vera giggled, waddling to the couch and lowering slowly with one hand on her back and one bracing the arm. “I am, so make me a whole damn platter full.”

I loved seeing her pregnant, I loved knowing that my child was growing inside her, that we were forever connected by more than just our emotions.

I loved this woman, and I would do anything for her.

“You got it.”

I heard her groan, mumbling to her belly. “You need to stop, this is getting ridiculous.”

“You okay?” I asked, glancing over my shoulder while I whipped the batter in the bowl.

“Yeah, he's just using one of my organs as a punching bag. Oh, don't forget, my family's coming for dinner tonight.”

“Don't worry, I didn't forget. I got the deer hanging out back, thought maybe Chris could help me gut it.”

Making a loud gagging noise, she spun in place, giving me a raised brow. “You're not serious?”

“Why? You don't think he'd enjoy that?”

Shaking her head, she stuck out her tongue. “I don't know, but I don't want to think about our dinner being gutted.”

Chuckling, I rolled my eyes. “Fine, I guess we'll just have to eat the lasagna Sara's bringing. But—” Spinning on my heels, I held out the spatula, aiming it at Vera. “I will not enjoy it, not one ounce of it.”

Vera giggled as a huge grin painted across her cheeks. “You're right, you won't enjoy it, Sara's making it. Maybe you should gut the deer anyway, just in case. We can have emergency venison on hand.”

Pouring tiny, quarter-sized droplets into the hot pan, I watched them carefully for little bubbles. The tops began to sizzle, blowing up and popping. Flipping them over, I felt her hands slowly work around my waist.

“Don't burn them, the baby doesn't like burnt pancakes.”

Her stomach pressed into my spine, fitting into the arch. A small foot, or arm, I had no way of really knowing, bumped me softly. “I think he's going to like it here, what do you think?”

Her face leaned over my arm, her nose inhaling a long breath of pancake aroma. “I think he's going to love it. Have you thought anymore about a name?”

“No, you hated my last suggestion.”

“Babe, the name Winston is like two hundred years old.”

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