Page 13 of Glacial Mountain Man
Twenty minutes later, we were loaded into Dr. Murphy's truck, our Thanksgiving feast packed in containers between us. Candace sat in the middle, her hand resting on my thigh as her father navigated the snowy roads with practiced ease.
"Mom's going to flip when she sees us," Candace said, grinning.
"In a good way?" I asked.
"The best way. She loves surprises. And cooking has become her new hobby since they started spending more time at their vacation cabin.”
Dr. Murphy caught my eye in the rearview mirror. "Fair warning—she's going to interrogate you. Thoroughly."
"I can handle it," I said, squeezing Candace's hand.
As we climbed higher into the mountains, toward family and a future I'd never dared to imagine, I realized this was turning out to be the best Thanksgiving of my life. And I had a feeling it was the first of many with this amazing woman.
EPILOGUE
CANDACE
"Do we really need three bags of marshmallows?" I asked, watching Tank toss another bag into our cart.
“Olivia insists on making sweet potato casserole this year, and Liam wants to roast them over the fire pit," he said, smiling as he discussed our eight-year-old daughter and five-year-old son. "Plus backup. You know how competitive your parents get about dessert."
I laughed, checking items off our list. The grocery store was packed with last-minute Thanksgiving shoppers, but I didn't mind. These quiet moments together had become precious since the kids started school and Tank moved his entire operation to Wildwood Valley. Who would have thought that my ex-military trucker husband would end up running a nationwide transportation company from our kitchen table? The same table where we'd first made love ten years ago.
It had been my idea, actually. After Olivia was born, I'd taken a job as director of the small town library, and Tank had been commuting back and forth to Charlotte for three years.
One morning, watching him pack his overnight bag again, I'd simply said, "Why don't you just move the office here?"
"Here?" he'd asked, like I'd suggested he relocate to Mars.
"That table's seen plenty of action," I'd teased. "Might as well see some business too."
Now his laptop and phone occupied one end during the day, while we ate breakfast at the other. Best of both worlds.
"Remember when our biggest worry was whether canned cranberry sauce counted as gourmet?" I nudged him with my elbow as we headed toward the produce section.
"Now we're debating organic versus conventional everything." He wrapped his arm around my waist, pulling me closer. "Though I still say that first Thanksgiving was perfect."
“Even with my parents?”
“That part was great too, but I’m talking about before we were…interrupted. Especially that first time on my kitchen table.”
Heat pooled in my stomach at the familiar rumble in his voice. Ten years of marriage, two kids, and he could still make me melt with just a look.
In the produce section, Tank leaned over my shoulder, ostensibly reaching for a bag of apples. "You know," he said against my ear, his breath sending shivers down my spine, "the kids won't be back until tomorrow morning."
My pulse quickened. "Tank Williams, are you propositioning me in the grocery store?"
"Maybe." His hand brushed my hip as he straightened. "When's the last time we had the cabin to ourselves?"
I couldn’t remember. Between work, kids' activities, and life in general, stolen moments had become rare treasures.
"We have groceries to finish," I said, but my voice came out breathier than intended.
"We do." He moved behind me as I selected vegetables, his chest brushing my back. "But your parents aren't arriving until four. That gives us plenty of time to…prep."
Loading the groceries into our SUV twenty minutes later, Tank’s hands lingered every time he reached around me. When he leaned over to arrange bags in the back, I caught a glimpse of the muscles that still made my mouth water after all these years.
"Candace." His voice was rough when he turned to find me staring.
