Love According to Science Bonus Epilogue

by Claire Kingsley

  Love According to Science

  Bonus Epilogue

  Claire Kingsley

  Contents

  1. Hazel

  Book Boyfriend: Chapter 1

  Also by Claire Kingsley

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 by Claire Kingsley

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. Any names, characters, places, or incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual people, places, or events is purely coincidental or fictionalized.

  Published by Always Have, LLC

  Edited by Elayne Morgan of Serenity Editing Services

  Cover by Kari March Designs

  www.clairekingsleybooks.com

  Created with Vellum

  1

  Hazel

  The sugar cookies were uneven. Peering into the oven, I tilted my head, noting that several of the cut-out shapes would be done at least a minute early. One on the end had such a thick layer of colored sprinkles, it would be anybody’s guess as to when it was baked through. And the two globs in the middle? Shapeless, uneven masses with thick centers, thin edges that were already browning, and heaps of sprinkles.

  They were perfect.

  My three pajama-clad bakers clustered around the oven, awed by kitchen science. It was our third batch, yet they still delighted in watching the dough change—the shiny wet surfaces browning, the centers puffing up.

  Baking was still one of my favorite activities, even with small children. Perhaps especially with small children. I’d learned that life raising multiple tiny humans meant a lot of changes. Noise, chaos, surprises, tantrums, snuggles, messes, hugs.

  And it meant some evenings you stopped looking at the clock, didn’t worry about bedtime, and baked cookies.

  Erwin wandered to his dish and plopped down to eat. When our first baby had been born, he’d been unimpressed with the noisy addition to our household. Now he navigated around toys, books, and discarded socks, made them laugh by rolling onto his back and batting at dangled bits of string, and rubbed against their legs as if they were furniture.

  Of course, mostly he just napped.

  “Erwin, we might need to discuss a dietary change. You appear to be putting on excess weight.”

  Henry, our five-year-old, glanced over his shoulder. “He’s just very fluffy, Mommy.”

  I smiled at him. “Of course he is.”

  While the kids watched their latest batch of cookies bake, I placed three that had already cooled on little plates and took them to the table. Abandoning our schedule in favor of some impromptu baking didn’t mean they could be up too late. That would be asking for trouble.

  Plus, evenings were sacred. Corban and I adored our children, but time alone was critical to the health of our marriage.

  “Who wants a cookie?” I asked.

  They erupted in an enthusiastic chorus of me, me, me, and like a herd of miniature elephants, ran to the table.

  Henry scooted Nicola and Owen’s glasses of milk closer so they could both reach. Nicola and Owen—our three-year-old twins—looked at each other’s plates and switched, shoving their cookies at each other before happily settling down to eat. I found their constant plate-switching—they did it at every meal—a fascinating behavior.

  The oven hadn’t beeped, but I went back to the kitchen and took out the cookies before the thin ones could burn. The globs the twins had made wouldn’t be done in the center, but I’d covertly toss those in the garbage later. It wasn’t like we had a shortage of cookies around here.

  I heard the front door open and the elephant herd was at it again, our oldest three rushing for the one thing that could tear them away from freshly baked cookies.

  Daddy.

  Corban had barely made it inside. I leaned against the kitchen doorway and watched the twins attach themselves to his legs, one on each side. Henry hugged him from the front, finding a spot among the twins doing their best koala impressions and the baby legs dangling from the carrier Corban wore against his chest.

  Our youngest baby, eight-month-old Eleanor, was recovering from a particularly nasty respiratory virus. All four of our children had been sick with colds recently, but poor baby Eleanor had been hit hardest. She was doing considerably better in the last few days, but her lungs still benefitted from fresh, cool air. Corban had taken her out for a walk while I baked with our other littles.

  “Oh no, I’m being attacked by monkeys.” Corban pretended to be unable to walk. “Eleanor, save me.”

  Owen looked up from his perch on Daddy’s leg. “She can’t save you, Daddy. She’s too little.”

  “She can’t? What am I going to do?”

  Nicola and Owen both laughed and squeezed his legs tighter.

  “Turn into Daddy-monster,” Nicola said.

  “Okay, you asked for it.”

  Henry ran around behind him and Corban squatted low enough for him to jump on his back. With Henry’s arms around his neck, the twins clinging to his legs, and Eleanor squealing in her carrier, he was literally covered in kids.

  His kids. Our kids.

  He met my eyes and one corner of his mouth hooked in a grin. I bit my lower lip against the potent rush of emotion.

  I loved him so much.

  I loved all of them so much.

  Moments like this never failed to amaze me that this was our life. I’d never imagined myself with a large family, but becoming a mother was the best thing that had ever happened to me. And Corban, the man who’d once believed he was somehow broken and unable to be loved, was surrounded by the family he’d always dreamed of having.

  He roared and shuffle-walked, the twins still holding his legs, into the living room. Henry laughed, clinging desperately to his back, and Eleanor kicked her little feet. Roaring again, he let Henry drop onto the couch and the twins let go of his legs in a fit of giggles.

  “Uh-oh, I see unfinished cookies,” I said. “Daddy-monster will eat them if you don’t hurry.”

  Henry, Nicola, and Owen rushed back to the table to finish their snack. Corban took Eleanor out of the carrier and brought her to me. I held her perched on my hip while Corban went for the cookies in the kitchen.

  “How was your walk?”

  “Great, she hardly coughed at all,” Corban said around a mouthful of cookie. “These are so good.”

  Eleanor grabbed for the remnants of cookie in his hand.

  “None for you yet.” I shifted so she couldn’t reach. “I hope this means she’ll sleep tonight.”

  “She will.”

  “You’re very confident about that.”

  He grinned at me again, making my insides feel melty. Years of marriage and four children hadn’t changed the way he could do that to me.

  “Do you want to feed her one last time?” he asked, nodding to Eleanor. “I can get Henry and the twinkies to bed.”

  “Yes, perfect.”

  He leaned in for a kiss, his tongue doing a tantalizing swipe across my lips. With another adorable grin, he winked and took another cookie.

  There was a lot of roaring from Daddy-monster, and giggling from the tiny humans, while he took them through their bedtime routine. I fed Eleanor, happy and relieved at how clear her breathing sounded. Her eyes drifted closed as she ate, and the noise from the twins’ room quieted.

  I put an almost-asleep Eleanor to bed in her crib. Her eyes
fluttered a little, and I hesitated, waiting to see if she’d need another round of rocking before I could go. Thankfully, her eyes closed, and I tiptoed quietly out of her room.

  Corban was waiting for me in the living room. I tucked myself against him on the couch, and he put his arm around me.

  “Are they asleep?”

  He kissed the top of my head. “The twins fell asleep while I was reading, and Henry will be soon. He was barely keeping his eyes open. I had to carry him to his room.”

  With my head against his chest, I threaded an arm around his waist, enjoying the quiet and the feel of him next to me. The kitchen was still a mess, but we’d get to that later. This was more important. We both needed closeness right now.

  We cuddled in silence for a while. We’d already chatted about our days over dinner. He was in the middle of developing a new version of his questionnaire based on the extensive data we’d collected. I was at Woodward College part-time now, and had been since the twins. Things had changed in this season of our life together, but we’d struck a balance that was good for both of us.

  Corban shifted and nudged me onto my back. “Do you hear that?”

  I listened but all was quiet. “No. I don’t hear anything.”

  “Exactly.” He grinned. “They’re all asleep.”

  His kiss wasn’t a soft brush of his lips, appropriate for children’s eyes. It was deep and hungry. My body responded, lighting up with desire, and warmth pooled in my core. We shifted so he was between my legs, the hardness of his arousal pressing against me.

  My hands slipped beneath his shirt, finding skin. His tongue dragged against mine and he moved his hips to grind his erection into me. I dug my fingers into his lower back, seeking more.

  “Bed,” he said against my mouth, a rough command I had no intention of ignoring.

  He climbed off me so I could stand. My lips felt swollen, my cheeks flushed, and the pressure between my legs begged for his thickness to fill me.

  A sharp cry from Eleanor’s room made my breath catch and my back tighten.

  Our eyes met and we both let out a heavy sigh.

  Corban raked his hands through his hair and adjusted his pants. “I’ll get her.”

  I reached out and squeezed his arm. Eleanor had been remarkably difficult to get back to sleep since she’d been sick. “Are you sure?”

  “Of course.” He placed a knuckle beneath my chin and lifted my lips to meet his kiss. “Go get naked. I’ll be in soon.”

  “Soon? If she won’t sleep, this could take hours.”

  The corner of his mouth hooked in a grin. “Don’t worry. It won’t take hours.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “It won’t?”

  “Nope. She’s feeling much better, and I have this down. I cracked the code to baby sleep.”

  Trying not to smile, I crossed my arms. “You cracked the code to baby sleep?”

  “The challenge is that it’s different for every baby, and illness isn’t just one variable, it’s basically twenty. But in the absence of outside influences keeping her awake, yes, I absolutely cracked the code to baby sleep. I’ve got this.”

  He went quietly into Eleanor’s room and she immediately stopped crying. I crept to the door and peeked inside. The lights were dim, but I could see the shadowy outline of Corban standing next to the crib, our youngest daughter in his arms.

  Swaying gently, he patted her back and murmured in a soft voice. His motion was rhythmic and regular. Practiced.

  Sure enough, in just minutes, Eleanor relaxed. He swayed with her, patting her softly for a while longer to ensure she was truly asleep. Then he carefully laid her in her crib.

  He came out and clicked the door shut behind him. “I thought I told you to go get naked.”

  “You really did crack the code to baby sleep.”

  “Of course I did.”

  He put a finger to his lips, telling me to be quiet, then picked me up and tossed me over his shoulder. I clapped a hand over my mouth to avoid making noise and waking any of our sleeping children while he carried me to our bedroom.

  I hit the mattress and bounced. He shut and locked the door.

  We shed our clothes and wrapped ourselves around each other. Reveled in the closeness and love we shared. Our bodies connected and it was bliss, but this was so much more than physical pleasure.

  It was intimacy, deep and pure.

  Corban had taught me so much. About myself, and about love.

  We were happy. Busy, sometimes frazzled, often tired, but so happy. Surrounded by the love of the little family we’d grown. Living out our dreams side by side.

  He was my best friend. The first person I went to with good news, and the one to comfort me when things were difficult. He was my husband, my partner, the father of my children. Not only could I not imagine life without him, I couldn’t imagine a better life than this.

  He was my penguin, and I was his.

  Have you read about Everly and Shepherd in Faking Ms. Right? Read their hot fake relationship romantic comedy here.

  * * *

  In the mood for more steamy romcom goodness? Check out Book Boyfriend! Turn the page for a preview…

  Book Boyfriend: Chapter 1

  Alex

  Sometimes in life we all have moments when we realize we screwed up so badly, there’s no way out.

  I’m having one of those moments.

  Mia is staring at me, wide-eyed, like I just told her I murdered her mother. I didn’t, for the record. But the book she’s holding falls from her limp hand, and her mouth moves like she’s trying to find something to say. The depth of the trouble I’m in is starting to hit me.

  This is going to be bad.

  “Are you serious?” she asks. “You aren’t serious. How? No. You can’t be.”

  “I am.” Damn it, this is not how I wanted to tell her. “I’m so sorry. I’ve been planning on telling you. I wanted to tell you. It just never seemed like the right time, and when it did seem right, things kept happening.”

  She looks at the floor, her head slowly shaking from side to side. I’m panicking, trying to come up with the right thing to say. Is there a right thing to say when you’ve been lying to the woman you’re in love with? If there is, I don’t know what it is.

  “Oh my god,” she says, stepping away from me. “Oh my god. I’ve been… and you were… this whole time… and it was… Lexi was you?”

  “Yes, Lexi was me.”

  “Holy shit.” She puts her hand on her stomach, like she might vomit. “I’ve been telling you things—things about you. And you’ve been using that, haven’t you? You’ve been manipulating me this whole time.”

  “No,” I say, putting up a hand. “No, Mia, I swear it wasn’t like that.”

  “How can you say that?” she asks. “Oh god, it started in the bookstore. Can I buy you books? I told Lexi I wished a guy would do that, and you used it on me. You picked me up with my own line.”

  “No. God, Mia, I didn’t know who you were then. I just thought you were cute and it seemed like a good idea.”

  “When did you know?” she asks, finally looking me in the eyes.

  I stare at her, suddenly unable to speak. All my logic, all the decisions that seemed perfectly reasonable up until this moment come crashing down around me. The proverbial house of cards.

  I really fucked this up.

  “Alex, when did you find out who I was?”

  “After we had dinner at Lift,” I say, reluctantly. “You messaged Lexi and talked about your date. I knew it had to be me.”

  She gapes at me, her mouth dropping open, her eyes widening.

  Yep. I’m screwed.

  “How could you keep this from me?”

  “The only person who knows is my sister,” I say. “I kept it a secret from everybody else.”

  “Yeah? Well, you aren’t sleeping with everybody else,” she says.

  I wince. “Mia, please. I didn’t mean to lie to you.”

  “Of course you meant
to,” she says. “Lying doesn’t happen by accident.”

  “No, but I wanted to tell you,” I say. “I swear, I was going to.”

  She meets my eyes and crosses her arms. “But you didn’t. Why?”

  * * *

  Okay, maybe I should back up and explain why I’m standing in front of the love of my life, trying to make her understand how I’m also a woman named Lexi Logan.

  Confused?

  Yeah, me too.

  It all started a little over a year ago. I know, that’s a big jump, and you want to get to the good stuff. The boy meets girl, they fall in love, have hot monkey sex, are pulled apart by conflict, and come back together for a brilliant happily-ever-after stuff. Believe me, I’m all too familiar with that story.

  In fact, I write them for a living.

  A year ago, that wasn’t me. Five days a week, I was schlepping off to my job, sitting in a dull gray cubicle, staring at a screen, writing computer code. I had a shitty uncomfortable chair, a boss who needed a throat punch, and a bunch of coworkers who were stuck in just as deep a rut as I was.

  But in my spare time, I was writing a science fiction novel. I spent hours doing research, taking notes, drawing sketches. I would work late into the night, plodding away, word after word. The book kept getting longer, but I figured I would deal with that when I started revisions. Or maybe make it a trilogy. I certainly had enough material. More often than not, the sun would be staining the sky with color, and my eyes dry and gritty, before I’d finally fall into bed for a couple hours.

  Only to get up and go to my shitty job.

  To be fair, the sleep deprivation was probably not helping my attitude toward work.

  I’d wanted to be a novelist ever since I was a kid. I almost majored in English, but my dad, ever a practical man, talked me into getting a computer science degree in case the writing thing didn’t work out. The problem is, that practical degree led to a practical career, which led to the soul-sucking existence I was wallowing in.