Page 82 of Small Town Firsts

With tears streaming down my face, I nod and launch myself into his arms. “God, yes. Always yes. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou.”

“Love you too, darlin’. Both of you. Now and forever.”

EPILOGUE

CASH

I’ll never forget the way I felt watching Myla Rose walk down the aisle toward me. Time stood still. I was frozen, with my heart in my throat. Myla is beautiful seven days a week, but on our wedding day . . . she was fuckingradiant.I’m talking a halo of light and aHallelujahchorus surrounding her as she walked down the rose petal-strewn walkway.

I took my time, raking my eyes down her body from head to foot. Her red hair was spun up in a loose bun, and her lips were a juicy shade of peach. I couldn’t wait to find out if they tasted as good as they looked.

Her dress was off-white because she said she couldn’t wear white with her skin-tone, but what-the-fuck-ever—she’d look perfect in a paper sack. Either way, I just wanted her with my last name. Not gonna lie, though, it was the fit of the dress that had me feeling like I was gonna die, right there at the altar. The chiffon material clung to her ample chest and floated down her body, swooping over the bump that carriedourson.

Our vows were filled with promises of love and trust and patience and to always put the other first, though we spoke them quietly, because they weren’t for everyone else. No, they were forus, and only us. Once we exchanged rings and were pronounced husband and wife, I gathered her up in my arms and kissed her like never before.

Our kiss was searing, branding, a promise of forever in and of itself.

When Myla Rose pulled back and looked at me with tears in her eyes and a smile on her lips, my heart felt like it was boomeranging around in my chest. She was just so damn beautiful. In that moment, I thought,life will surely never be better than this.

Well, I was wrong.

Because the birth of our son? Yeah, that’s right on up there with our wedding day. Brody Michael Carson—named Brody because Myla said he looked like one, and Michael so that he and I shared a middle name—came kicking and screaming into this world at eight A.M. on a Wednesday morning in late September. He weighed in at seven pounds, seven ounces and measured twenty-one inches long.

The first time I held him, my heart cracked. Not because it was broken, but because it was growing. That tiny baby boy became our whole world—I’m talking pure fucking perfection, swaddled in blue.

I don’t know what our future holds, but one thing I’m more than sure of is with Myla Rose and baby Brody by my side, anything is possible, and everything is coming up roses.

CHAPTER 1

AJ

No.

Such an amazing little word. Magical, really. Just two little letters, but when put together they pack so much power.

“No, I will not share my food with you.” I say that one every time I go out with Stacia, my best and only true friend, but she doesn’t ever listen.

“No, you may not use my study guide.” This one goes out to all the jocks in my classes. Seriously, taking notes isn’t that hard—it requires nothing more than a pen, a piece of paper, and half a brain.

“No, you may not have my number.” Might as well tattoo that one to my forehead, and at this point, what’s one more piece of ink?

“No, I don’t want to meet for drinks.” Not now, not ever, stop asking, I typically add on silently…unless you’re tall, dark, and handsome and know how to use the tools the good Lord gave you.

“No, I don’t want to tell you about my tattoo. And no, you sure as shit can’t touch it.” That’s right up there with feeling up baby bumps and bald heads.

And, now, I’m using my favorite two-letter word to tell my British Literature professor, “No, I will not tutor some jock so he can maintain his eligibility.”

“I’m not asking, AJ,” Professor Doss informs me, staring at me over the rim of her turquoise cat-eye glasses.

“What do you mean you’re not asking?”

“I’m telling. He needs the help, and you have the knowledge. You should know, more than anyone, not to judge a book by its cover.”Cue imaginary eye roll. Yeah, yeah, with my vibrant tattoos, cotton candy colored hair, and overall bad attitude, I really shouldn’t judge others. But, an athlete?No thanks. I think I’d rather get my next tattoo in some dude’s kitchen.

“Telling? Why?” I ask, my patience wearing thin.

“Telling because we both know you have the time, and if you want a recommendation letter from me, this is what it’s going to take to acquire one. Take it or leave it, your call.”

Professor Doss’s words cause me to wince, because dammit, she’s got my arm twisted behind my back—metaphorically, of course. I don’t just want her letter; Ineedit if I want a real shot at getting an internship with Booking Out—a not-for-profit childhood literacy program. Though really, it’s so much more. Booking Out not only teaches kids to read and write, the program also makes sure the kids in their program feel cared for—and to me, the combination of the two is invaluable. They are actively working to help today’s youth better their brains and their souls. And Professor Doss, was a project kickstarter for them, and her opinion carries weight.

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