“Lor Lor,” Seth sobs.
“Do you have to make it so sad?” Matt snaps. He bolts upstairs before I can roll my eyes. Nap time: a Sky family tragedy.
Two hours later, Seth is sleeping soundly and I have just finished reading a client’s manuscript. It’s good, which makes me proud. My stomach grumbles and I glance at the clock on the mantel. It’s past lunchtime. I should prepare something for myself and Matt, whose eating habits are still woeful.
Still. I smile.
Not much has changed, if I think about it, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I find my husband upstairs in his office, which is spacious and light. He looks like a prince in there, surrounded by his books and artwork, and I am quietly grateful for our home. At last, I understand why a small house would never work: because a soul like his needs room for its roaming and passion.
I knock gently on the door frame and walk to his desk.
He is writing in a notebook. His hand stills and he smiles at me.
“Chapter thirty-two,” he says.
My throat tightens. It took half a year for Matt to pick up the pen and resume our story, and now we are in the thick of it, describing his depression after Seth died. My chapters are lucid and filled with concern. His chapters are fragmented, lost.
“We’re getting close to the end,” I say.
“Are we?” He frowns.
“It has to end somewhere. Why not here?” I touch the frame on his desk, which holds a picture of Matt and me on our wedding night.
“Ah. You want a happy ending.”
“I do.” I smile. “You want a sad one?”
“I don’t want any ending.” His hand tightens around the pen.
“Come downstairs. Let’s make some lunch.”
He remains seated, immobile.
“Life is out here,” I whisper.
“My life is in here.” He spreads his hand on the page.
Oh, Matt. I slip around the desk and extract the pen from his fingers. He watches me with a bemused expression.
“I know you don’t know how to say good-bye. I’ll do it for you, sweet man.” I flip to the final page. There, under his steady gaze, I write: I met a man online; he called himself a night owl. We played a wicked game in the last light of day. We were married in October, after dark.
I place a gentle kiss on his lips. He pushes away from the desk.
“It’s a good story, Matt. It’s an even better life.”
Acknowledgments
Warmest thanks to my agent, Betsy Lerner, for The Forest for the Trees and for believing in me, and to my editor, Jennifer Weis, for incisive suggestions and incredible patience.
Thanks likewise to Sylvan Creekmore and my team at SMP for bearing with me and for pushing the Night Owl Trilogy to be the best version of itself.
Thanks to the following book blogs for invaluable support: Maryse’s Book Blog, Aestas Book Blog, Totally Booked, The Rock Stars of Romance, True Story Book Blog, Smut Book Club, Talk Supe, Shh Mom’s Reading, Love Between the Sheets, It’s Andrea’s Book Blog, SMI Book Club, The Book Bellas, Dirty Laundry Review, MRBOD, Literary Gossip, and so many others.
Thanks to Aimee, the original bird, and to Anna, with great affection. Thanks to Naomi for writing opposite Cal; you know what makes a good story.
Thanks to Jennifer Tice for tireless support, friendship, and administrative work in the Night Owl Facebook Group. Thanks to Lisa Jones Maurer for much-needed advice and friendship. Many thanks to Michele for encouragement and friendship, and to Angie, Chrissy, Cristiane, Deb, Jaime, Jen, Kayti, Kris, Kyleigh, Laurelin, Lex, Mel, Paula, Sheri, and Tarah.
For counsel and friendship, thanks to Alan and Michael.
And thanks to you, my reader, for doing the very best thing: reading.
About the Author
M. Pierce is the pen name of a bestselling author living in Colorado. Follow the series on mpiercefiction.com or at facebook.com/MPierceAuthor, or sign up for email updates here.