by Freya Barker
Epilogue
December
Rafe
“So…Mrs. Thomas.”
I grin as I drag my mouth down over the soft swell of her belly, her skin pebbling into goosebumps.
“Yes, Mr. Thomas,” she returns in a breathless voice, as I hook my fingers under the elastic of her pretty lace panties. Taz’s wedding gift to me, which I’m only now getting to unwrap.
She’s wearing my wedding gift in her dreadlocks, spread out over the pillow. Tiny, shimmering, colorful gemstones I had a jewelry designer in Springfield rush order from the Congo and set in small, platinum clips to fasten around the tight twists in her hair. Ten in total: one for every year I’ve loved her. I intend to add one for every year to follow.
She took my breath away; the hair charms matching the retro-style silk turquoise dress, with large dark pink tropical flowers and leaves she was wearing. When Sarah started crying as Taz came down the stairs this afternoon, looking absolutely stunning, I clued in to the significance of that dress. I’d seen glimpses of it over the years, packed away with Nicky’s wedding dress in our closet.
The beautiful way she managed to include her sister in our wedding is a testament to the person she is. Something I know her parents, Sarah in particular, has come to recognize these past months.
Taz still grieves the loss of her sister at times. We all do. But along with the grief, our love for Nicky has become something we all share. The kids talk about her freely, as do the rest of us, making her still very much a part of our lives, and as Taz made clear today, of our futures.
I think Nicky would be happy for us today.
I asked Taz to marry me a little over eight weeks ago, right after we christened our brand-new master suite. I’d had the simple diamond solitaire ring a lot longer, but out of respect to her, her parents, and her sister, wanted to wait a full six months after Nicky’s passing. The first night we spent in our new bedroom seemed like the appropriate time.
We both agreed we’d be happiest with a small ceremony, with only our family and good friends in attendance. The only exception had been Mrs. Myers, who Taz had taken under her wing; despite the less than friendly reception the woman had given my wife when she first returned to Eminence.
Taz truly has a heart without limitations. Occasionally I’ll catch her mumbling, “bonus kiss,” as she presses her lips to the old woman’s cheek, something she usually reserves for the kids, her parents, and for me.
She is teaching me to make every moment count, not to focus too much on a future so we don’t forget to appreciate what we have today, and my life is better for it.
“I like your gift for me,” I mumble, my lips pressing right above her neatly trimmed pubic hair.
“That was just the wrapping,” she says, emotion heavy in her voice. “But you’re getting warm.” I lift my eyes to find her looking down at me, her eyes filling with tears. “It’s still tiny, about the size of a raspberry.”
I push up and scramble to my knees, placing my hands on either side as I lean over her. “No way,” I manage, my voice cracking.
The smile she gives me is blinding. “Oh yeah. Eight weeks as of yesterday.”
My mind is trying to catch up. “What about the Depo injection?”
“That only lasts so long. I honestly didn’t think about it with everything we had going on. Are you upset?” A note of apprehension creeps in her voice.
“Are you nuts?” I crawl back down her body and cover her belly with kisses, mumbling, “Fuck me,” to myself.
She giggles through her tears.
“You did that already, thoroughly, about eight weeks ago.”
August
Taz
“Mama Taz? Can I put her to bed?”
Mom and Dad came over with dinner, something they’ve been doing quite a bit since the little one was born two months ago.
They’d both been here when I delivered our daughter in the master bedroom upstairs, in the care of a pair of wonderful midwives. That was my choice.
I’ve been able to see firsthand the difference between a clinical birth in a hospital, and the many natural births I attended in Africa. Although often living under less than optimal circumstances, one thing most of the mothers delivering at home had in common: being in control of their own delivery, and surrounded by supportive families, seemed to be an empowering experience.
I was adamant, but Rafe had taken some convincing. My parents had been mortified, and objected loudly, but were quick to change their tune when after only six hours of labor, Veronica April Thomas was born. Both cried when Rafe introduced her, and they stayed for an entire week after, sleeping in the spare bedroom.
It was a wonderful week with Mom and Dad running the household, giving Rafe and me lots of time to get acquainted with our new daughter.
“How about we do it together?” I tell Sofie.
She’s wonderful with the baby, but I’m not comfortable letting her carry her sister up to the nursery alone yet. She’s had a lot of practice the past two months since our little peanut’s birth and expertly lifts her onto her shoulder, but still I place my hand over Sofie’s smaller one on the baby’s butt and walk beside her up the stairs.
It was Spencer who started calling me Mama, or Mama Taz, even before Nicky was born. He picked it up from Rafe, who would refer to me as Mama whenever he was holding one of many his one-sided conversations with our little girl in my belly. Sofie had not been far behind.
The first time they called me that I bawled like a baby. Both because, well, hormones, but also because somehow these kids found a way to honor me, and their mother at the same time.
I love my kids. All three of them. To think a year and a half ago, kids were not even remotely on my radar, and here I am, mothering three of them.
“First we need to get her in a clean diaper, honey,” I remind Sofie when we walk into the nursery.
“You can do that.”
I grin at her immediate response. The interest in diaper changes wore off quickly after Nicky had her first blowout. It had been spectacular, going all the way up her onesie and soaked all the way to the surface. If I’m being honest, the event freaked me out as well. Rafe was the only one—apparently having had plenty of experience with Spencer doing the same thing as an infant—who kept his cool. He swiftly stripped Nicky down to her skin while instructing me to fill the trough sink in our bathroom. Spencer had been fascinated, but Sofie swore off changing Nicky’s diaper from then on.
She does burp her like a champ and can get her baby sister settled down in a heartbeat when she’s fussy.
“All done. Want to put her pj’s on?”
“Yeah.”
Of course, the moment Sofie is done and tries to put her down in the bassinet, Nicky wakes up and starts crying.
“I’m thinking she needs a little fill up. Why don’t we move this to the big bed?”
I don’t know how long it’s been when Rafe walks into the bedroom. By now both Sofie and Spencer are sprawled on the king-sized bed beside me, watching TV, while Nicky is dozing off at the breast, nursing sporadically.
I smile up at him as he sits down on the edge of the mattress by my hip.
“What?” I prompt him, when he takes in the scene in bed, and then his eyes land on me.
Before he speaks, he leans over me, kisses his baby daughter’s downy head, and then my lips.
“Bonus kisses.”
Also By Freya Barker
Click here to see all my books!
Standalones:
WHEN HOPE ENDS
VICTIM OF CIRCUMSTANCE
BONUS KISSES
Arrow’s Edge MC Series:
EDGE OF REASON
EDGE OF DARKNESS
EDGE OF TOMORROW
PASS Series:
HIT & RUN
LIFE & LIMB
LOCK & LOAD (2021)
On Call Series:
BURNING FOR AUTUMN
COVERING OLLIE
TRACKING T
AHLULA
ABSOLVING BLUE
REVEALING ANNIE
Rock Point Series:
KEEPING 6
CABIN 12
HWY 550
10-CODE
Northern Lights Collection:
A CHANGE OF TIDE
A CHANGE OF VIEW
A CHANGE OF PACE
SnapShot Series:
SHUTTER SPEED
FREEZE FRAME
IDEAL IMAGE
Portland, ME, Series:
FROM DUST
CRUEL WATER
THROUGH FIRE
STILL AIR
LuLLaY (a Christmas novella)
Cedar Tree Series:
SLIM TO NONE
HUNDRED TO ONE
AGAINST ME
CLEAN LINES
UPPER HAND
LIKE ARROWS
HEAD START
Acknowledgments
As always there are a great number of people without whom this book would not have been possible, but for Bonus Kisses my amazing family deserves honorable mention. Without them there would be no story.
I’m so grateful for my siblings. We all have our individual lives but at a moment’s notice we will pull together in a united front.
I’ve already talked about my mother, but she bears mentioning again. It is because of her strength, her creativity, her wisdom, and her love that we are who we are today.
And then, of course, there are the usual suspects. The people who keep me on track, correct my mistakes, support my endeavors, and promote my words. I consider every one of these people my friend;
My editor, Karen Hrdlicka, and alpha reader and proofreader, Joanne Thompson;
My agent, Stephanie Phillips of SBR Media;
My publicists, Debra Presley and Drue Hoffman and my PA Krystal Weiss of Buoni Amici Press;
My beta team—Deb Blake, Pam Buchanan, and Petra Gleason;
Every single blog and early reviewer supporting my work;
And my readers who motivate me and lift me up.
I love you all!
Freya
About the Author
USA Today bestselling author Freya Barker loves writing about ordinary people with extraordinary stories.
Driven to make her books about 'real' people; she creates characters who are perhaps less than perfect, each struggling to find their own slice of happy, but just as deserving of romance, thrills and chills in their lives.
Recipient of the ReadFREE.ly 2019 Best Book We've Read All Year Award for "Covering Ollie, the 2015 RomCon “Reader’s Choice” Award for Best First Book, “Slim To None”, and Finalist for the 2017 Kindle Book Award with “From Dust”, and Finalist for the 2020 Kindle Book Award with “When Hope Ends”, Freya continues to add to her rapidly growing collection of published novels as she spins story after story with an endless supply of bruised and dented characters, vying for attention!
https://www.freyabarker.com
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