The Off Season (35 page)

EPILOGUE

Floating against the sapphire sky, the white gulls seemed to laugh at them, as well they might, having knocked the cone of french fries from the little girl’s hand and scattered them across the sun-bleached boards, where the food vanished in a flurry of brazenness and feathers.

Sending up a howl of protest, Lilly began crying, until Jacob took her by the hand and led her from the mayhem, saying, “It’s okay, Lilly. I’ll share mine with you.”

As Christina, who had been moving to placate her daughter as best she could, watched in amazement, Lilly stopped midsob and gave the curly-haired four-year-old an angelic smile before she threw her arms around the boy she proudly called Big Brudder.

“Those have to be the cutest kids in the free world,” said Harris, looking at ease on a rare off day in late June in his worn cargo shorts, an old-school Springsteen T-shirt, and the kind of tan that made her wish they were alone so she could check out its borders . . .

Not that she didn’t know every inch of him by now, six months beyond her harrowing off season. But fine as it was, it hadn’t been his body that had convinced her to put the brakes on her stubborn—and oft-repeated—plan to return to Dallas once she finally had things settled. It had been his steadfast help with everything she needed—from the painful packing away of so many memories at her mother’s house, to his refusal to leave her side even on those days when she was at her very worst—that had finally convinced her he’d meant it when he’d told her he wanted nothing more than to make a life with her.

And thanks to his insistence that she see a licensed professional to talk through her doubts and fears and self-recrimination, she had come to trust herself again—and believe that she—that
they
—deserved this chance at happiness.

A warm wind ruffled her hair as they stepped out of the flow of tourists strolling toward the entertainment pier, with all its rides and games and carnival music set to the soothing cadence of the breaking surf. This late in the afternoon, most of the sun worshippers were packing up their blankets, totes, and coolers and abandoning the white-gold sands. She caught the warm scent of tanning lotion, along with a hint of something—maybe gyro meat or pork roll—that had her forgetting she’d just put away a big chocolate-and-vanilla frozen custard cone.

But the shore, this season, and the man at her side were all about allowing herself to give in to temptation. Allowing herself to believe that she—that both of them—deserved to.

As they sat down on a bench, they watched Jacob lead Lilly to the railing and hold their cone of fries while she settled in beside him so they could dangle their bare legs over the sand.

“I’m so glad Gentleman Jake’s going to be staying for the summer,” Christina sighed. “Maybe some of his good manners will rub off on Lilly before he has to go back to start preschool.”

“What’re you talking about?” Harris said. “My girl’s just a little spirited, that’s all.”

“
Your
girl?” Christina asked. “And what are you, her official apologist these days?”

She grinned, knowing that even before they’d moved in together, Lilly had wrapped Seaside Creek’s police chief around her finger—from the moment she’d conned him into allowing her to paint his nails and watch the latest princess movie with her for the umpteenth time.

“My girl . . . yeah, about that,” he said. “I have something else to ask you. Something serious.”

“I’m not sure you could top last night’s question,” Christina said, extending her hand to admire her beautiful new ring. Though the diamond wasn’t as large as the one she’d put aside to someday give to her daughter, she couldn’t stop smiling every time she looked at its sparkling facets—smiles that eased the sting of her still-healing heart. “But if your bad knee’s up for more kneeling—”

“It’s not quite that kind of question.” He pushed his aviator sunglasses on top his head to look at her with serious hazel eyes. “I’m not asking because I think I can erase Doug or take his place, or that I want anything to do with Lilly’s trust fund. But after everything your daughter’s gone through, I think she’s going to need a father. A dad and a family that she really feels a part of.”

“And we’ll have that—I know we will.”

“What if we made it official?” he asked before a rare look of uncertainty troubled his handsome features. “After the wedding, I was wondering—and feel free to say no if you in any way feel weird about this—but I’d like to adopt Lilly so she and Jacob and you and I can all be a family forever.”

Blinking away tears, Christina looked at the two preschoolers on the boards’ edge, giggling over nothing with their chubby elbows resting on the bottom railing. Her gaze moved beyond them to the blue-gray expanse of the sun-warmed Atlantic, and then back to the man whose words, whose love, and whose healing had finally brought her spirit home.

Instead of answering, she kissed him, a sweet kiss full of everything she was feeling. Because at this moment, words were nothing . . .

And not even ten eternities could ever be enough.

AUTHOR’S NOTE AND ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

Growing up near the southern New Jersey shore, I came to love the small beach towns, with their wonderful old houses, lively boardwalks, and sandy beaches. But I have to admit, I especially loved the quiet and cold of the off season, where the seaside neighborhoods stood eerily empty, and the deserted beaches were perfect for long walks in warm coats . . . perhaps with hot chocolates in hand, if we were lucky enough to find someplace open.

Seaside Creek is a fictional community, inspired by places such as Wildwood, Ocean City, and, of course, Cape May, New Jersey. The lighthouse at Willet’s Point, too, is an imaginary locale, though some might notice that it bears a strong resemblance to the conical red-and-black light at Miah Maull Shoal in nearby Delaware Bay.

I’d like to take time to thank my first readers, talented authors Barbara Taylor Sissel, Kim O’Brien, and Joy Preble. Your insights and encouragement greatly helped to shape the story.

Agent Nalini Akolekar of Spencerhill Associates has championed
The Off Season
since its inception. Thanks as always for being there—and for putting the proposal in the hands of acquisition editor Alison Dasho of Montlake. Her thoughtful fine-tuning, along with the brilliant work of developmental editor David Downing, have helped the long journey from manuscript to book. Thanks, too, to the rest of the Amazon team, including the amazing Jessica Poore for everything I know you do—and all the stuff I haven’t figured out yet.

Closer to home, I want to end with a special shout-out to my husband, Mike, who’s always been incredibly supportive of my work—along with my tendency to adopt sweet-but-needy dogs from pounds and rescues, including a couple of retired racing greyhounds, whose cherished memories inspired the creation of Max in
The Off Season
. Thanks, Mike, for understanding when I text you all those grocery lists from my deadline cave!

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

RITA Award–nominated author Colleen Thompson cut her teeth writing historical romances under the pseudonym Gwyneth Atlee. But she couldn’t resist the draw of intrigue, and neither could her readers. Together they’ve traveled the twists and turns of her many tales of romantic suspense. A native of New Jersey, Thompson now calls Texas home. When she’s not out and about exploring the Lone Star State with her husband, she’s at home writing, or playing with her two rescue dogs.