Total pages in book: 21
Estimated words: 19885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19885 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 99(@200wpm)___ 80(@250wpm)___ 66(@300wpm)
Poppy and Moonpie officially moved into my apartment the next day. The merge went as smoothly as a controlled demolition, which is to say: everything was chaos, but nothing important was lost.
Moonpie asserted dominance over the velvet princess bed within twelve hours, and Pepper retaliated by peeing on the new cat tower. It took a few days, but the two animals finally declared a ceasefire and started sharing the princess bed.
When Poppy finally graduated from college, she looked at me over her fourth celebratory margarita and said, “Let’s buy a house.” She didn’t mean a starter home or something sensible near the precinct. She meant a two-story Craftsman on the outer rim of Worthington Hills, with a wraparound porch and a huge yard. We bought it within a month.
That was four years ago, and every single day since, I’ve woken up to the sounds of my wife, my animals, and my own disbelief that this is real.
Now, as the sun climbs over the Worthington Hills horizon and throws lazy stripes of gold through the kitchen, I sip my coffee and watch Poppy at the table, all messy hair and wild ambition. She’s doing payroll for her cleaning company. Vale’s Cleaning now has six vans, fifteen full-time employees, and a wait-list a mile long.
She doesn’t look up from her spreadsheet, but I know she senses me watching. “You’re staring again, Detective Vale,” she says without turning around.
I walk over and rest my chin on top of her head and inhale her sweet scent. She always smells like sugar and vanilla, no matter what time of day or how hard she’s worked. “I’m just thinking how fucking perfect you are,” I say, and I mean every fucking word.
She wiggles against me, and I know what’s coming. “You’re such a sweet talker.”
“Shush.” I smile against her soft lips. “That’s our little secret.” I slide my hands into her wild curls and claim her mouth, slow at first, just because I fucking can. Her lips part on a gasp, and I swallow the sound. The taste of her knocks me sideways every single time. Sweet, addictive. I’ll never get enough.
Poppy twists in her chair and drags me closer. I deepen the kiss, tongue sweeping in to tease and take, and her body melts against my chest. She makes this tiny sound, high and desperate, that gets me hard in two seconds flat. My pulse slams through my veins. I want her so bad, my fingers tremble where they cradle her jaw. I pull back and lay my forehead against hers. “I love you, Mrs. Vale.”
Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she says, "I love you, too." The terrible two choose that minute to barrel through the room like furry torpedoes. Pepper, all twenty-eight pounds of solid muscle and snorting determination, hip-checks Moonpie so hard the cat's paws skid across the hardwood. The Frenchie's stubby legs thump-thump-thump across the kitchen before she squeezes her barrel chest through the doggie door with a triumphant grunt. Moonpie's tail puffs to twice its size as she streaks after her, a flash of black vengeance.
"Regret signing up for all this chaos?" I ask, my thumb tracing the soft curve of her cheek, knowing the answer but needing to hear it like I need my next breath.
She leans into my touch, morning sunlight catching the gold flecks in her brown eyes. "Not for one single, solitary second."
She pulls me in for another kiss, the kind that makes me want to pull her up onto the counter and remind her exactly what she signed up for. Instead, I reach down and swat her ass. Hard. She yelps, then laughs. “You keep that up, and you’re getting lucky in the laundry room.”
“Promise?”
“It’s a date, Captain Vale.” A lot has changed in my career, too. Two years ago, I made Captain. The day they pinned the bars on my collar, I thought it would feel like winning the damn lottery. No more getting called out at midnight to investigate dead bodies found behind convenience stores and working twenty-hour days until the perp is arrested. Now, I sit behind a desk and give the orders.
Instead of chasing killers, I chase paperwork. Endless stacks of reports, budget requests, and attitude from every cop who thinks they can do my job better. Half my day is spent herding grown-ass adults who act like they have their heads planted squarely in their asses. The other half? Counting the hours until I can go home to my girl.
I wouldn’t fucking trade this for anything. But every time I walk into the house and see Poppy curled up on the sofa, Moonpie on her lap, and Pepper sprawled at her feet, I know I’m one lucky motherfucker. The luckiest.