by Flite, Nora
I wasn't mad that she'd woken me up. Buuuut, I was extra pleased that she'd brought a box of doughnuts over for breakfast. I chewed a maple-log as I looked at the shiny presents from the wedding.
“Are those doughnuts?” Conner asked from the bedroom door.
“Mmf,” I giggled, stuffing the last of mine between my lips. He walked towards me slowly. He was dressed in nothing but black briefs—I stared at his muscles as they swayed like ocean waves.
He kissed me, dipping me towards the ground as he did so. “Good morning, wife.”
“Morning,” I said, dazed.
He set me on my feet and grabbed a sprinkle covered doughnut, chewing, pointing at the gifts. “What are we going to do with all of that?”
“No idea.” We'd deliberately avoided making a wedding registry. I'd moved in with him officially some months ago, and between us both, we had all the supplies a home needed. “People are way too generous.” I traced my fingers lightly over a wrapped box. “Look at this one.”
“It's massive.”
“It really is! This is so big and heavy,” I laughed until I saw the card taped to the top. I went still.
“Maya?”
Stripping the blue ribbon away, I popped the lid off, setting it on the table next to the other gifts. Inside, wrapped lovingly in pale tissue paper that crinkled under my fingers, was a piece of wood bigger than a hub-cap. The raw bark surrounding the outside was a juxtaposition to the smooth surface. Rings swirled through the grain like ripples in a pond. I touched them, counting them as tears welled in my eyes.
“What is it?” Conner asked me gently.
I held out the card so we could read it together.
Maya-bean,
I saw how sad you were when you knelt on the big oak's stump. I think you were wondering where we'd hang all the birdhouses we'd made years ago. For me, it was never about where the things we built ended up. It was about the time I spent making them with you.
Lucky me— Ted hadn't gotten rid of all the wood from the tree before I called him up. Next time you come by, let's make another birdhouse.
—Pappy
Epilogue 1
Perfect Match
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” he asked, coming behind me, setting his chin on my shoulder.
“Deleting the app.”
“RingMe? You mean you hadn't yet?”
Scrolling through my phone, I stopped when I saw the app's icon: a red heart with two rings inside of it. I pushed my thumb on it until a small x appeared. “Every time I started to, I got this awful pit in my belly. I had a lot of fun chats with you on here. But I don't need it anymore when I have the real person trapped with me for the rest of my life.”
“Who's trapping who?” He nuzzled my throat, tracing my clavicle until I whimpered. “We both know who likes to be tied up, don't we?”
Giggling, I turned my phone towards him. “When you made this, did you think it would help you find love, after what you went through?”
He hesitated. “Yes. It was a faint hope, but it was there.”
“Can I be honest?”
“Always.”
“I didn't think I'd fall in love again,” I said. “I didn't even want to.”
He pulled away, peering at me with his mouth in a humorless line. “Seriously?”
“Call my cynical, but I just felt hopeless after Ben. If he didn't love me, who the hell would? The idea of experiencing that pain again was too much.” I gave him an embarrassed smile. “I was all about the no strings hook up, if you recall.”
“Maya... when you signed up for RingMe, did you say that? About not wanting to fall in love?”
My eyebrows crinkled. “I think so? Why—hey!” He'd grabbed my phone from me. “Conner, what are you doing?”
Ignoring me, he opened the RingMe app. Scanning my profile, he pursed his lips and laughed in a way that came off a little crazy. “I can't believe I didn't notice,” he said. “That's it. That's the reason.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
“Why we never matched through the algorithm. It drove me nuts trying to understand why. This is the reason! I selected that I was open to falling in love... and you said you weren't.”
My eyes widened as I studied the phone's screen. Was he right? If I'd just clicked one little button... changed a tiny preference... would we have been matched from the start? Would Conner have avoided cracking his own code, forcing our profiles to match, and ultimately avoiding shredding the trust between us when I learned about it?
“Are you sure?” I asked.
“I can find out,” he said, his voice's pitch rising with excitement. “I can reinstall the app on my phone and create a new profile. It'd be like we'd never talked, and if that's the thing keeping us from matching properly, it'll connect us right away because of how close we are.” He motioned between us to indicate the distance.
That was all it would take—a few button strokes, and we could know for sure if the algorithm would declare us a perfect match.
Compatible.
Soul mates.
I rubbed my thumb over my phone. The truth was in reach, if I wanted it.
“Maya?” he asked.
Pressing the app, I held down on the x.
“You deleted it,” he said, mystified. “Why? We could have finally known the answer.”
“I already know the answer.” Turning on the couch, I sat on my knees, kissing him so hard our noses rubbed together. His eyes were shut when I stopped, his thick lashes lying on his tan cheeks. “Conner.” He looked at me through half-lids. “I love you. I love how crazy it is that we met, how fast it all happened. I love all the wrong ways we fit together. You're the only person in the whole world I want to be with. My perfect match.”
Tension crawled up his temples to his forehead, like he was holding back a surge of emotions. “Sweet Cherry. My amazing wife.” Our mouths rose together like the tide, surging in a crash that left my cells trembling.
“We fell in love fast,” I whispered earnestly. “We did it all backwards, completely reckless without caring where we'd end up. It was easily the most insane way for any relationship to start.” I linked our hands until the pressure forced our wedding rings to dig into our skin. “And I wouldn't change a thing.”
Epilogue 2
Conner's Point of View
WHEN DO YOU KNOW THAT someone is special?
When do you know there's something in the air, a tether, hooking you together?
Is it the thrumming in your chest?
The way your tongue starts to swell?
The fact your brain won't shut up about them in the middle of the night?
There exists person after person who you have only splinter-thin bits of information about. When do you know one of them is different than all the others? For me, it was the second I read a simple sentence:
I know what I want and I don't make concessions.
That's not normal. No one knows what they want. Sure, they think they do, then reality comes along and grips their eyelids, forcing them to see how naive they are.
It happened to me.
But here was this woman, proudly declaring she knew what she wanted. More than that, she wouldn't give an inch for anything less. I was fascinated.
Maya Fontine... no.
Maya Whynn, my wonderful wife.
She was standing on the balcony outside our apartment. Her feet were bare, toes flexing as she stood as tall as possible to reach something just out of my view.
Her leggings clung to her thighs. I saw her smooth belly when her pink top rode upwards. My pants got uncomfortably tight, I adjusted myself with a bemused chuckle. She worked me up even when she wasn't trying to. I adored her.
I worshiped her.
She wobbled, frowning, and I had the sudden awful image of her tumbling backwards over the balcony to the city below. My muscles went tight as a drum. “Maya!” I gasped, running forward, sliding the glass door aside. “What are you doing?”
She stared at me with furrowed eyebrows. “Trying to look inside the birdhouse,” she said, going flat-footed. Dangling from the wall above the window was a bright yellow and white house, tiny enough for some sparrows to roost inside. She'd made it a few weeks ago with her grandfather. I remembered her asking me to hang it outside our place near the table I'd served her pancakes at.
“You look terrified, Conner.”
“I... thought you were going to fall.”
Maya laughed, gesturing at the shoulder-high railing. “I guess if I jumped on a trampoline I could manage that.”
She was right—I'd over-reacted. Rubbing my neck, I shrugged in defeat. “I panicked.”
“It's okay, you can still help me.” Maya held her arms out with a coy smile. “Use your mighty height, Mr. Hero.”
“Touch my wife and hold her close? Torture,” I groaned in faux exasperation. Gripping her hips, I flexed my shoulders and lifted Maya upwards. She felt good in my arms—I nuzzled her leg since it was eye-level.
“Easy, easy. Don't drop me.”
“Never.”
She put a hand on the wall, looking inside the birdhouse. “Ah... wow.”
“What do you see?”
“Hold still, I'll show you.” She tried to fish out her phone—I shifted my grip so she could. “I feel like Jane Goodall.”
“You found tiny chimpanzees?”
Maya tapped my head softly. “Set me down, careful now.”
I spun her, hugging her as I let her slide down my chest until her feet touched the ground. Bending my head, I gave her a kiss. “Any other height-related tasks you need me for?” I asked.
She snuggled closer. “Look.” Holding her phone, Maya showed me the photo she'd taken. It was a little dark, but inside the birdhouse was a bunch of twigs, fluff, leaves... and two little speckled eggs. “Aren't they beautiful?” she asked in quiet awe.
My heart tugged in my chest. “I didn't even see the birds move in.”
“They're fast,” she said, “And sneaky. I've been watching them each morning. They're active right around sunrise.”
The lines in my forehead multiplied. “Why have you been waking up so early?” Now that I thought about it, she had been at the kitchen counter with breakfast ready and coffee brewed for me the past week.
“Oh, I just wake up when I feel sick.” She shrugged nonchalantly. I tiny worm of anxiousness wriggled through my gut. Maya's lips spread in a massive grin. “You look pale. Here, check out more bird photos.”
“Maya...”
“This one is good. I got the sparrows mid-flight.”
“Maya, wait, are you...”
“Heeere we go, this is my favorite picture.” My wife put the screen in my face, leaning her weight against me. It wasn't a photo of birds, not even nests or eggs. Maya was grinning on the screen with something in her hand. The white test had a pink positive.
I started to shake—my breath caught in my lungs, swirling, unsure where to go. She was watching me expectantly. She spoke but my ears rang too loud to hear at first.
“...Conner? Are you alright?”
Catching her in my solid arms, I squeezed her, kissing her forehead, her cheeks, and then I realized she was crying through anxious laughter. “You're pregnant? I'm going to be a dad?”
“That's how it works, yeah,” she sniffled.
“I can't believe it! Maya, that's wonderful!” I let her go, my body burning with so much energy I just—I just had to let it out. I grabbed the railing of the balcony, shouting at the top of my lungs to the city below. “I'm going to be a father!”
Maya couldn't stop laughing; she pulled me away from the edge. “Conner, stop! People will hear!”
“I want them to! Maya... I'm so happy. I can't—I'm stunned.” I palmed my head, running fingers through my hair. She turned me towards her. I looked into the watering eyes of the most amazing woman on the planet. I remembered what she said forever ago, about how she didn't think she was ready to be a mother. I'd told her it would be hard, but if she wasn't alone, if I was there to help, it would work out.
Knowing she believed in me created a rush of affection. “I love you so much, Maya.”
We embraced, and my hand went to her stomach. I couldn't stop myself. “I'm only a month along. You won't feel anything.”
“But I do,” I said, thick with emotion. “I feel our connection. I feel grateful.”
“Grateful?”
“You're special, Maya. I thought I had everything I needed, and now you're going to bring more into this world for me to devote myself to.”
I used to believe people didn't know what they wanted.
But with my palm on my wife's pregnant belly...
I knew.
The End
Thanks for reading!
Find all my books on Amazon in Kindle Unlimited HERE!
Other Books by Nora Flite
Want more heartwarming, unforgettable, but still oh-so-dirty romances?
Check out:
Last of the Bad Boys
Rock Me Deep
Never Kiss a Bad Boy
Royally Bad
Royally Ruined
Royally Arranged
~ABOUT THE AUTHOR~
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A USA Today Bestselling Author, Nora Flite lives in Burbank, California, where the weather is warm and she doesn't have to shovel snow—something she was never great at back in her tiny home state of Rhode Island.
All of her romances involve passionate and slightly obsessive heroes. She loves filthy bad boys and will never apologize for it.
If you see her in the wild, walk up and start chatting. Or hey, just email her— she reads every message she gets!
[email protected]
www.NoraFlite.com
Find all my books on Amazon in Kindle Unlimited HERE!
