EPILOGUE
“DADDY’S home!” squealed seven-year-old Emma as she launched herself off her stool and raced from the kitchen out onto the tiled marble that led to the front door.
“Daddy, Daddy!” echoed Evie as she raced her older sister toward her father’s knees, her sturdy, stocking-clad legs churning fast beneath tiers of red and pink ruffles.
Colette grinned, wiped her hands on her apron, and strode, albeit a bit more slowly than her daughters, to welcome Stephen home. Seeing him at the door, his arms filled with giggling girls and snow dusted over the shoulders of his dark wool coat, she felt a rush of longing and love for the man who’d turned their imposing East Hampton mansion into a home.
Despite all her worries, despite all her fears, she and Stephen had found a way to merge their two visions of what a family and home should be. The warmth and trust between them had transformed the giant colonial house into a happy place full of love and security, where their children could grow, laugh, learn and thrive.
“Daddy, you’re cold!” the girls squealed, squirming and shrieking with laughter as Stephen pretended to feast on their necks.
Catching sight of Colette over their daughters’ heads, he bent to release the little hellions and they scampered off to the kitchen, calling over their shoulders, “Come and see what we made with Momma!”
“Hey,” he said as he slowly straightened, his blue eyes filled with tenderness and love as he leaned to brush a kiss against her cheek. The scent of winter clung to him, a sure sign that autumn had finally relinquished its hold on New York, and the tip of his nose was cold where he nuzzled beneath her ear. “You smell good.”
She shivered and arched back with a breathless laugh, pressing her splayed hands against his chest. “And the girls were right. You’re cold.”
“Care to warm me up?” he asked with a wicked grin, hauling her close enough to bump the hard mound of her belly against his.
“Mmm. That sounds good,” she said, threading her arms beneath his coat and around his warm ribs. “Do you think the girls will notice if we disappear for a little while?”
“You know they’d start looking before we got halfway up the stairs.”
She snuggled closer. “Parenthood does have its drawbacks, doesn’t it?”
The low rumble of his laugh shook his chest beneath her cheek, and she heard the promise of later, after the girls were asleep, in his voice. “How was work today?”
“Perfect,” she said, leaning back within his arms and beaming up at him. “The girls and I created a lovely new recipe for chocolate pecan squares that Henri is sure to love. And we made enough to send to your mother’s family, too.”
“Did you, now?” he said with a smile, lifting a hand to brush a stray curl behind her ear.
At the gentle touch, another thread of hope and longing wound itself around her heart, tugging deep within her chest. It amazed her how her reaction to him never seemed to lessen, how her love for him never seemed to dim. “I think they’ll like them. I used a splash of Irish Crème in the batter.”
“You missed your calling,” Stephen murmured, his blue eyes going soft as he stared at her from beneath a fan of black lashes. “With those desserts of yours, you could broker peace for the entire world.”
“Oh, I don’t know. The girls do far more for peace than my pastries ever could,” she said, remembering their first Christmas in London last year.
Their blue-eyed angels had helped ease the transition back into Stephen’s maternal family and they hadn’t looked back once. The tribe of loud, robust, grudge-holding O’Fallons had been cool and distant—until they’d caught sight of Emma and Evie. One look at their Maggie’s adorable grandchildren and the broken bridges and regrets over the past had been set aside forever.
“Those two can melt even the most reluctant of Irish hearts.”
“Only because they inherited their mother’s beauty.”
“I suspect it has far more to do with their father’s charm.”
“I know better than to argue with a pregnant woman,” he teased. The corners of his eyes crinkled as his hands dropped to rest against the burgeoning swell of her belly, idly tracing the ample evidence of her seven-month pregnancy. “How’s this little one treating you?”
“He’s been kicking up a storm, but I’m holding strong.” She placed her hands atop his and waited until he met her eyes again. “He reminds me a bit of his father, you know.”
“Me?”
“Mmm hmm,” she said with a slow smile. “He has no qualms about letting me know what he wants, when he wants it. I suspect he’s going to be a holy terror.”
Stephen’s mouth hitched in a grin. “Somehow I think you’ll be able to handle whatever he throws at you.”
“You sound so confident.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, pulling her back into the warm circle of his arms. “You handle me.”
“I do, don’t I?” she teased, tipping her head back and staring up into his smiling blue eyes.
“Oh, yes, you most definitely do,” he said, before he bent to catch her mouth in the homecoming kiss she’d been waiting all day to receive.