Page 109 of Dear Pink

His face explodes in a smile. “You are?”

“Big time.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” I say, and we stare at each other, grinning like idiots.

He dips his head to my neck, leaving light fluttering kisses there. My hands roam over him. I need to touch—stroke—explore every single inch of his body. My mind pings frantically with his words. This man loves me. I am in love with the best person, and he loves me back.

He flips me over so I’m on top of him. My breasts rub against his chest. Sinking onto him, he moans and his sounds send the butterflies back. Though this time, they dance with joy. Our connection feels exactly right.

I move slowly, circling my hips, teasing him a little as the tension builds.

“I love this too.” I want to do this with him forever.

“Yeah, me too,” he says.

“Shit, did I say that out loud?” I ask.

“Uh-huh,” he mumbles as I get closer. “I want it to be forever too, Pink.”

Epilogue - Hannah

Six years later . . .

I stare out the window at the pecan tree, listening to the birds chirp. No rushing this Saturday morning. The bed’s too cozy and the sun filters in through the window, making fanciful patterns on the walls. I snuggle deeper into the comforter when Gabe’s lips trail along my neck.

I roll over to find him blurry-eyed with bedhead. He captivates my heart every time I see him.

“You’re awake?”

“Yes.” He wiggles in closer, and his strong arms circle me.

“And frisky, I see.” I barely get out the words when he ducks under the covers, continuing his kisses toward my navel. “Oh, my.” My husband has serious talents. “That feels . . .”

“Mmm,” he answers, traveling farther down.

“Mommy. Mommy? Daddy? Are yous awakes?” a little voice asks behind the shared wall.

Gabe freezes.

“Time’s up, babe,” I say, holding the blanket like a tent, laughing at his expression.

“Mommy! I drawed you a picture. Come see it,” the same sweet voice calls.

“Ugh, when will she sleep in?” Gabe slides his body close to mine, and I stroke his hard muscles.

“I’m afraid we have to wait another ten years. Kids don’t sleep late until their teens.”

“Ten more years? Coffee?”

“For sure. Thanks. I’ll go inspect the artwork. Seems we might have a budding Picasso.”

“Of course, we do. She takes after her mom.”

I throw on a robe and am greeted by an excited Lolly barking at a squirrel. I pat her head and move into the hall.

“Hey, sweetie.” I gather Isabelle in a hug and spin her around. “Let’s see your work.”

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