Southern Bombshell (North Carolina Highlands 5)

Whatever. I don’t have time to worry about him. Things at Kingsley Distilling are busier than ever. The new tasting room and warehouses are finally complete, and we’re gearing up to start selling our newest product, Redheaded Romeo, this spring. June has proven to be a hands-on investor, and she and her boyfriend, Patrick, visit the distillery often, the two of them tasting blends and taking notes on how a spirits business is run. I love having them around, and I know the rest of my team does too.

“So how are you feeling about him?” Milly asks. “Your dad. Do you miss him?”

“Honestly?” I scoff. “No. I was actually thinking about it on my drive home today. I feel like I can finally breathe for the first time in years, you know? I’m not running around after him trying to put out his fires, and I’m not constantly worrying about what shit he’s going to pull next. He took up so much mental and emotional energy, and it was really sucking me dry.”

“Good thing you have me to replenish your stores,” Milly teases. “Freedom’s awesome, isn’t it?”

I kiss the tip of her nose. She tickles her fingernails over my thigh. “The best. Especially when I get to enjoy it with you.”

“We won’t have much freedom if that baby we’re trying to make comes along,” Milly replies. “You do know that, right?”

She stopped taking her birth control the day we had sex without protection for the first time. We’re certainly not in any rush, but we haven’t gotten a positive test yet, and I can tell Milly’s getting a little antsy.

“Maybe having a baby comes with a different kind of freedom,” I say. “One that gives us the best excuse ever to focus on us. Our little family.”

Milly nods. “I imagine a baby forces you to slow down a lot.”

“I know how much you like slowing down.”

“I do.” Her eyes glisten. “I really, really do, Nate.”

“Slowing down also means no rushing. It’ll happen when it’s supposed to happen.”

She smiles. “I know. Doesn’t hurt to try in the meantime, though.”

I lean down to kiss her mouth. “I love trying with you. Always.”

Milly reaches for my hand and twines her fingers through mine, her expression thoughtful. “You know, I’d always dreamed that love would look like extravagant gifts and fancy trips. Looking good in pictures in front of your villa on stilts in the middle of the Indian Ocean, or rubbing shoulders with Daniel Craig at a club in London.”

“I’m gonna miss that guy as Bond.”

“Me too, but I’m also excited to see who’s next. I hope it’s that chick from Time To Die.”

“Same here. She was great.”

“But honestly?” She taps our joined hands on my knee. “I’m glad that dream didn’t come true. Because this—you and me, the couch, Lucy, dinner—this is the dream. The one that makes me happy, anyway. Don’t get me wrong, I still want to go to London with you. But more than that, I want to do this together every chance we get. Hang out in our stretchy pants, eating carbs and drinking good wine.”

“God, you make love sound sexy.”

She laughs. “What’s sexier than JOMO?”

“I can’t say because I don’t know what the hell JOMO is.”

“The joy of missing out.”

I think on that for a minute. “There is joy in giving your stomach the space it needs to comfortably expand. Especially with an excellent cook like you around.”

“You’re the better cook. But I’m learning.”

“Let’s make it a tradition then. Stretchy pants and carbs every Valentine’s Day from here on out. Can I also request glittery hearts and cupid costumes?”

Milly bites her lip. “You most certainly can.”

“I love it.”

“I love you.” She arches up to kiss the underside of my jaw. “Let’s make the most of missing out, shall we?”

“Let’s,” I reply.

And Milly was right. It’s pure joy.

THE END

Epilogue

June

Six Months Later

Life doesn’t get much better than summertime in the North Carolina mountains.

It’s seventy degrees and sunny, and a warm breeze rustles the new growth on the old oaks surrounding the Stag Pavilion. The smells of freshly cut grass and smoked meat fill the air. Our staff has just lit the bonfire, and I sniff a hint of burning wood too.

The cloudless sky is alive with the approaching sunset. Peaches and light blues mingle with electric pinks and purples; the colors coat everything in a golden sheen that lends a sense of magic to the evening.

Or maybe it’s gathering at Blue Mountain Farm’s first bonfire of the year with all my loved ones that feels magical.

Patrick and I are the last ones to arrive, thanks to the pre-shower quickie we squeezed in after his flight landed a couple of hours ago. All my children and their significant others—my grandkids too—have set up camp around a few blankets spread out by the food tables.