We left Vanessa’s father’s house four hours later. There’d been no bloodshed at dinner, and I was surprised to find I’d actually enjoyed myself, aside from the discussion about Archer and the havoc he’d wreaked. I was done thinking about it, done dredging up the ghosts of my past. For the first time in my life, I had a future I couldn’t wait to experience.
When I’d opened the door of Vanessa’s car for her to get in, she’d shaken her head and said, “Nope. I’m riding with you.”
And she had, waving to her father from the back of my bike as we’d driven away. I think my pipes had rattled the windows of the neighborhood, but I didn’t care about anything but Vanessa’s arms wrapped around me.
I parked beneath the lake house and led her out to the pavilion.
“So we’re moving in together, huh?”
Vanessa’s eyes danced. “Yes, we are.”
“And if I said we’d be living above Voodoo?”
She laid her hand on my chest and looked up at me. “I don’t think you get it yet, Con. I’d live anywhere with you.”
“How do you feel about the apartment during the week and here on the weekends?”
“I told you, anywhere you are is where I want to be.”
I pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I still can’t believe you took me to your dad’s house.”
“It was long overdue.”
I glanced around and surveyed the houses on both sides of us. Dark.
I reached for the hem of my T-shirt and yanked it up and over my head.
“What are you doing?” Vanessa asked. “Not that I’m complaining about you shirtless.”
“Something else that’s long overdue.”
I spun her around and unzipped her dress. She didn’t protest, just craned her head to watch me unzip my jeans and tug them off.
“We’re going skinny dipping,” I elaborated.
Vanessa grinned and let her dress fall to the dock.
“I take it you’re game?” I asked, holding out my hand.
She reached around her back and unclasped her bra before tossing it onto the growing pile of clothes. Her underwear followed.
She took my hand.
“Hell yes, I’m game.”
We sprinted toward the end of the dock and jumped off the edge into a future neither of us could’ve predicted.
Not only did I get my second chance, I finally got the girl.
Shit. I went overboard again. I blew out a puff of air toward my forehead to push the stray hair off my face. It didn’t work. I jammed the knife in the strawberry jam and used the back of my wrist to smooth it away.
I surveyed the stainless steel surface in front of me. Well, you’d be able to tell it was stainless if it wasn’t completely covered with paper lunch bags filled with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, applesauce, granola bars, pudding cups, fruit, and homemade chocolate chip cookies.
The kitchen timer unleashed a series of beeps.
Crap. I spun, but felt a presence behind me as I reached for the oven mitts.
“Sit down, princess. Let me get those for you.”
Con pressed a kiss to my neck and snagged the oven mitts from the counter.
“I’m pregnant, not helpless, Con.”
But even with my protest, I stepped aside and took a seat at one of the giant dining tables. Con pulled open the massive oven and lifted two cookie sheets out and placed them on top of the stove.
He chuckled. “I can tell you’re not helpless. The hundred or so bags on that prep table clued me in to that. You were supposed to make—”
“I know. I know. And then I was supposed to come sit and watch. But I got—”
“Carried away. I know, baby. You always get carried away.” He slipped off the oven mitts and left them on the counter before moving to where I sat. Crouching in front of me, he reached up and smoothed his thumb across my temple. “How the hell did you manage to get jam on your face and in your hair?”
I shrugged. I could pretty much get jam anywhere. It was a talent of mine. “You didn’t complain when I put jam on your—”
Con crushed his lips to mine, silencing my next words.
“All right, all right. Enough with that shit, you two.” I pulled away from the kiss at the familiar voice. I jumped to my feet, knocking Con back on his ass.
He grumbled, but didn’t stop me as I waddled across the room. “Trey!” I looked back at Con, who was pushing up to his feet. “You didn’t tell me he was home!”
Trey reached out to hug me, but I held up my sticky hands. “I don’t want to get your uniform all messy. It looks so perfect.” He hauled me against his chest anyway.
“None of that, now, little mama. I’ll have it all back to rights in no time. And that sure won’t stop me from hugging you.”
Trey was devastating in his uniform—the gray-blue jacket with all those shiny brass buttons and black braid. In his final year at West Point, he rarely made it back to New Orleans. I loved that he hadn’t even bothered to change before coming to see us.