by Serena Bell
They were off script and she was off balance, a little wild-eyed, and he reached out to steady her. “To love and to cherish,” he said, smiling. “Till death do us part.”
“By the power vested in me by the state of Washington, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” the JP said. “You may kiss the bride.”
He did, brushing her tears away and whispering to her that it was okay, everything was okay, they were going to be just fine.
Epilogue
Jake and Mira usually held their annual picnic in their big backyard, but this year, they held it at R&R in honor of the completion of the veterans’ retreat’s newest wing, a series of tree houses constructed by Hunter and Trina.
“Hey, man. You enjoying life out of the army?” Nate said, coming up beside them.
Hunter grinned at him. “I don’t miss it, I’ll tell you that.”
Nate got serious for a moment. “I do. Sometimes. Just—the camaraderie, you know? Although—” He laughed. “I know if I want someone to swear at me and kick my ass, there’s always Jake. Speaking of which, you want to head out with us on our next trip?”
“Sure.” Hunter’s casual shrug masked real pleasure.
“The tree houses are amazing,” Nate said, gesturing skyward.
“Thanks,” Hunter and Trina said together.
“Do you two do other work besides tree houses?” Alia asked, smiling at Trina. “I’d love to have you do built-ins and decorate our living room. It’s meh right now, and just looking at what you did up there gave me a million ideas.”
“I haven’t, but—sure. I’d love to.”
“All the little details. The wraparound deck, the built-in bunks—and the grain in some of that wood, too.”
“In that one?” Hunter pointed. “That’s quarter-sawn oak. You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get quarter-sawn oak of that quality. There’s basically one guy in the United States who takes that kind of care with cutting for the beauty of the grain.”
“Well, it’s worth it.”
The tree houses at R&R were their second joint project. They were intended for veterans who wanted to visit the retreat with their wives and children instead of alone. They’d been built by a small crew under the direction of Hunter, and decorated by Trina, with help from her own crew of Phoebe and Clara.
A week before, they’d celebrated a similar success several hundred miles north—the opening of a bed-and-breakfast in a series of tree houses they’d been commissioned to build. They’d walked away from the event with several business cards in their pockets.
But there was something special about the project at R&R. Maybe the enthusiasm of the vets themselves, who were like little boys as they explored the tree houses’ features—circular staircases, wood-and-rope suspension bridges, wraparound decks, bunks and lofts, and a bajillion built-ins.
Trina had interviewed veterans’ families for hours, asking what they needed in order to feel comfortable. There were quiet, curtained-off areas that were simple, nearly bare, where the vets could retreat from their thoughts and the clutter of the world. Secret corners where kids could hide and seek. Nooks that soothed spouses who’d been frayed and frazzled by the borrowed stresses of their partners. And views of the outside to call them all out of hiding and back into the world and nature—a peek here at the beach and the lake; a tiny wedge of the archery range; a path, wandering away into the woods and beckoning visitors to follow.
But if Hunter hadn’t built her such inspiring places, such perfect cocoons high up in the world, she wouldn’t have had half the pleasure in putting her stamp on them.
“We love working together,” she said, smiling at Hunter.
He gave her back a smile that was 80 percent public and 20 percent private, and that was enough to make her face heat up.
“Ah,” Nate said. “The romance of a Jake-and-Mira picnic. Did I ever tell you two lovebirds that Alia and I met at one of these?”
“Really?”
“Uh-huh,” Alia said. She was a pretty, athletic woman with dark hair, freckles, and a totally infectious smile. They’d met once before—with Nate and Hunter—though Hunter still had no memory of that episode. Earlier today, Trina had hung out with Mira and Alia, and the three women had hit it off. “I thought he was interested in my sister, but it turned out—one very messy love triangle later—”
“That I had eyes only for her,” Nate said, grinning at her.
“Speaking of romance at Jake and Mira’s picnics…” Nate tilted his head and they all looked toward the clearing where there was a Wiffle ball game in progress. Well, more or less in progress. At the moment, Clara was chasing Braden, trying to tag him with a Wiffle ball even though they were nowhere near the base path, and Phoebe was wrestling the bat out of Sam’s hands. They were all laughing, red-faced and sweaty.
“Young love,” Nate intoned.
Hunter frowned. “I am so not ready for this.”
“Better get yourself ready. As the father of two girls, you’re going to have to polish up your weapons of war and practice looking threatening.”
“Oh, believe me, both those girls can more than take care of themselves,” Trina said dryly. Even though Clara and Phoebe had since both gotten their periods, she still hadn’t quite gotten over that deception—or how much it had tugged on her heart. “It’s Sam and Braden I feel sorry for.”
And they all watched as the girls booked it for the woods, boys in pursuit.
“Did I hear a rumor…?” Trina asked tentatively, and both Nate’s and Alia’s grins got bigger.
“Yup,” Nate said, resting a proprietary hand on Alia’s belly. “November.”
“Congratulations!”
“Thank you,” Alia said.
“We were actually hoping you could build us a tree house. So we can put him out there and get a little bit of sleep.” Nate laughed. A little nervously.
“You’ll be fine,” Trina said. “By the time he’s— He?”
They nodded confirmation.
“By the time he’s twelve, he’ll be sleeping in and you’ll start to feel better.”
Nate groaned. “That’s what I was afraid of.”
“If we come visit you in Seattle, the girls can babysit and the four of us can go out.”
“Sounds like a plan to me,” Alia said, smiling at Trina.
“Or, we can host some get-togethers at our place and Jake and Mira and Sam can head our way, too. We have plenty of guest space.”
“And Griff. Don’t forget Griff,” Nate said.
Alia and Nate exchanged looks, and Trina got the feeling there was a whole story there, but she didn’t pry. “Of course,” she said. “The more the merrier. But gender-separated rooms for the teenagers.”
“Amen to that,” Nate said. “All right, Li, dessert’s served and it looks incredible. Let’s load up. Catch you guys before you take off, okay? We’ll make plans.”
When they were alone, Trina tipped her head back and looked up at their handiwork. “They’re beautiful,” she said, resting her head against Hunter’s shoulder.
“Thanks to you,” he said. “Before you got your hands on them, they were merely well crafted.” He dropped a kiss on her hair, and then dipped his head to kiss her just a little longer than was family-friendly.
She didn’t mind, despite a few catcalls and whistles and get a room exhortations. She was feeling insanely happy. Not just about the man who hadn’t left her side for a moment today, but also about the work they’d done together.
Still, it was the story of how the business had come to be in the first place that Trina loved most. In classic style, they’d had the same great idea at the same time. In secret, Trina had contacted Jake and talked him into the idea of building the two new units high in the branches of R&R’s beautiful old trees. But she’d made him agree to use Hunter’s contracting services and her own design expertise.
At the same time, in secret, Hunter had reached out to a friend of Nate’s who wanted to start a B&B tha
t took advantage of some wild and beautiful land he’d purchased in Washington. And Hunter had held out on signing the contract he’d negotiated until the new B&B owner had decided to employ Trina to do the interior work on the new, canopy-hugging rooms.
The best part was that they’d both decided to break their surprises to each other over a candlelit dinner (and chocolate cake dessert) in their own newly finished getaway. Hunter had barely gotten a few words out before Trina was laughing.
“What’s so funny?” he demanded. “I think it’s a fabulous idea!”
She’d explained.
“Great minds think alike,” Hunter had said, and then they’d celebrated the abundance of work by opening a bottle of champagne and licking it off each other’s bodies.
“What are you thinking about?” he asked now, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Why?”
He leaned close. “You just blushed all the way down to your cleavage. And mighty fine cleavage it is, too, I might add.”
She told him.
“Mmm,” he said.
“It could be a tradition. For celebrating things.”
“What sorts of things?”
“All sorts of things.”
“The opening of a new wing at a veterans’ retreat, for example?”
“That seems like a good thing to celebrate.”
His eyes, dark and intent, held hers. “But let’s work some things out ahead of time, okay?”
She nodded.
“You tell Jake and Mira we need a separate room for the girls.”
“You buy the champagne.”
“You wear that sexy blue silk nightgown thing.”
“You tell the bedtime story.”
She let out a long, slow exhalation, trying not to make it audible to everyone else at the picnic.
“And then we can do what we do best,” he said.
“What’s that?” she teased.
He dropped a soft kiss on her parted lips, stared into her eyes just long enough to make her toes curl, then leaned down, his breath brushing over her ear to start a chain reaction of sensations swirling through her body.
“Make new memories.”
Acknowledgments
This book—and I—have been incredibly lucky. We have benefited from the wisdom and perspective of not only one fabulous Loveswept editor but two. I’m so grateful (with hugs on top) to Sue Grimshaw for her support of this series and her storytelling genius in the planning stages of To Have and to Hold. And although I’ll miss working with Sue regularly, I’m beyond thrilled to have the wonderful, thoughtful, brilliant Sarah Murphy as my editor through this book’s writing and revision and going forward. I couldn’t ask for a better dream team.
The dreaminess extends to the rest of Loveswept, as well—Gina Wachtel; Matt Schwartz; Lynn Andreozzi and her beautiful covers; Penny Haynes, Nancy Delia, and Lisa Wolff for their care and attention to production and copyediting detail; marketing masters Ashleigh Heaton and Erika Seyfried; Angel Pastrana for going to bat against the forces of evil in the universe; and everyone else who touches these books and my life through your work. And this year I’ve been blessed to get to know so many Loveswept Lovelies, that terrific group of supersupportive Loveswept authors—you ladies are fantastic, and I’m so grateful to have met you, online and in person.
To my agent, Emily Sylvan Kim: I have LOVED getting to spend more time with you this year. What a joy to have you visit my neck of the woods! And—of course—thank you for all the help and support you give so generously all the time at every stage of the process. Having you in my corner is a superpower in and of itself.
To my two Ambers: Thank you, Amber Shah, for building and repairing my website, and Amber Belldene, for building up my ego and repairing my sanity (among other acts of friendship too numerous to name). To Rachel, thank you for the walks, wise words, and open ear. And there are so many other women, too many to name, who give me the strength and courage to do this sometimes very crazy job of ours.
To my Hero, my Girl, and my Boy: You guys are saints and a constant delight, and I couldn’t do any of this without you. I love you.
BY SERENA BELL
After Midnight (novella)
Yours to Keep
Hold on Tight
Turn Up the Heat
Can’t Hold Back
To Have and to Hold
Getting Inside (coming soon)
PHOTO: © SUSAN YOUNG PHOTOGRAPHY
USA Today bestselling author and RT Reviewers’ Choice Award nominee SERENA BELL writes richly emotional novels about big-hearted characters with real troubles and the people who are strong and generous enough to love them.
A former journalist, Serena has always believed that everyone has an amazing story to tell if you listen closely enough, and she adores hiding in her tiny garret office, mainlining chocolate and bringing to life the tales in her head.
When not writing, Serena loves to spend time with her college-sweetheart husband and two hilarious kiddos—all of whom are incredibly tolerant not just of Serena’s imaginary friends but also her enormous collection of constantly changing and passionately embraced hobbies, ranging from needlepoint to paddle boarding to meditation.
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The Editor’s Corner
Looking for the next romance that’ll give you the feels? Our fantastic selection of books will definitely satisfy.
You’ve never read bedtime stories like the sensual forbidden fairy tales in Sharon Lynn Fisher’s Loveswept debut, Before She Wakes. And speaking of debuts, don’t miss New York Times bestselling author Kelly Elliott’s Searching for Harmony—a gut-wrenching story of a love that transcends all odds. Vonnie Davis’s Her Survivor welcomes readers to Wounded Warrior Falls where beating the odds is what it’s all about, while Bound Beneath His Pain kicks off a deeply sensual new series from Club Sin author Stacey Kennedy.
Diana Quincy continues her Rebellious Brides series with a tale of forbidden love between a socialite and a scholar in A License to Wed. Wedding bells are ringing—and tempers are flaring—as Marquita Valentine’s Take the Fall series continues in the sweet and sexy Hard to Fall. The Brothers of Mayhem MC ride again in Carla Swafford’s explosive novel, Full Heat. Ashley Suzanne follows up Raven with the next round in her scorching Fight or Flight series, Cutter. The third book in Beth Yarnall’s Recovered Innocence series, Reclaim, is brimming with angst and sensuality. And don’t miss the next book in Stacey Lynn’s deeply emotional Fireside series, His to Protect. Or the story of a war hero fighting to remember the love he left behind in Serena Bell’s emotionally charged To Have and to Hold.
Then Shawntelle Madison’s seductive Surrender to You follows two career-oriented friends with benefits. And finally we have a cold case that leads to blazing-hot temptation in Kathy Clark’s romantic suspense Almost Forever.
Until next time ~Happy Romance!
Gina Wachtel
Associate Publisher
Read on for an excerpt from
Getting Inside
A Seattle Grizzlies Novel
by Serena Bell
Available from Loveswept
Iona
I wore the wrong bra for this.
I wore a going-away-party bra, not a football-playing bra.
I should have predicted that the girls—the middle school ones I coach, not the ones in my bra cups—would want to play a game of goodbye flag football, and I should have predicted that they’d want me to play with them and that I wouldn’t be able to resist.
I should have foreseen the bouncing, the sweating, and the wire. Ow.
It doesn’t take long, though, before the game makes me forget. They want me to QB one of the impromptu teams, and as soon as I get the football in my hands and am looking out over my little squad, instinct takes over and I stop thinking about my lingeri
e and equally improper footwear—black boots—and just play.
First and ten. Ish. More like first and seven, actually, because of the necessity of improvising the hash marks. But whatever. I hand off to Neve. She gets about four yards before Marci deflags her. So I feed Neve again. Why not? Because Neve will carry that ball all day long, juking and dodging to evade her teammates. I’m going to miss her like crazy—not just how brilliant and natural an athlete she is, but the totally unruly attitude that makes her stubbornly refuse to use any of the footwork I’ve tried to teach her. She reminds me of myself.
Third and inches. Keisha is way downfield, wide open, because her teammates have once again underestimated her. Love that girl.
For a moment I’m tempted to grab the big play, but then I look over at Neve, and I guess I just identify with her too much. This is hers. So I fake the pass and hand it to her. And she darts and weaves through traffic and then—keeps on going. Running all the way downfield, faster than her large frame makes her look. Right into the end zone. And she turns around and shows me the grip she’s got on the ball. Just like I’ve showed her.
For a moment I’ve forgotten. The boob sweat, the fact that I’ve probably ruined my one pair of decent shoes. The fact that we’re playing a game of flag football for zero stakes in a ratty park fringed with dangerous neighborhoods. It could be the Sunday night game. There could be bright lights and television cameras and the roar of tens of thousands of adoring fans.
You can see it in Neve’s eyes, too. That moment of victory stands in for all the moments in her beautiful, vivid future.
We win the game, even though I try to keep things fair. Afterward, the girls swarm me and hug me and tell me how much they’re going to miss me. And my eyes fill with tears as I clutch their sweaty bodies around me and tell them I’m going to miss them so much. It’s true. I’m going to miss them more than the grown women I coach, even though the grown women in question have risen to the top of their division and probably would have a shot at a championship next year.