Page 38 of Just Desserts in Pelican Point
We stay like that for a moment—our breaths ragged, our bodies still trembling, limbs tangled, chests heaving, sweat cooling on our skin.
She strokes my back. “That was… intense.”
I nod, breathless. “Yeah. That’s one word for it.”
She smiles. “Are you still scared?”
I press a kiss on her shoulder. “Terrified. But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”
“Good answer,” she whispers, tugging the throw blanket over us. “If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here for you, Marcus.”
I think about her offer, “In a few days if that’s okay with you. I’d prefer to wait to have that entire discussion after Mrs. Waverly’s funeral.”
She nods, “Okay,” she hesitates. “Will you go with me tomorrow?”
“There is absolutely zero chance you were going to the funeral without me… even if you were still mad at me. I was hellbent on being by your side tomorrow.”
The strength in my voice doesn’t even come close to how strongly I feel about that. I know how she feels about Mrs. Waverly, and I’m not about to let her go through that alone… even if I have to stand on the opposite side of the church, I plan on being there for her.
“Good.”
Our kiss is gentle this time, a promise rather than a demand. But as our lips part, I feel her words settle in my chest. I’m not sure what the future holds, but in this moment, with Julie’s body pressed against mine, her breath mingling with mine, I know one thing for certain – I’m not ready to let her go.
The couch creaks again as we shift, our bodies still entwined, our hearts still racing. Outside, the world continues, oblivious to the storm that has just passed between us. But inside, in the quiet of the living room, Julie and I have found ourselves suspended in a moment that feels both fleeting and eternal.
Epilogue
Julie
It’s officially been three weeks since we buried Mrs. Waverly, and yet somehow, I still catch myself glancing toward the flower shop expecting to see her tiny frame wrestling with a watering can or yelling at the mayor’s wife over improperly clipped petunias.
Instead, there’s scaffolding. And the sound of a nail gun.
“Careful!” a man yells from above as a shower of sawdust flutters down like gritty snow. I duck back into the doorway of Seaside Sweets just in time to avoid a face full of cedar shavings.
Marcus stands beside me, holding two cups of coffee and watching the construction with narrowed eyes. “That ladder isn’t OSHA compliant,” he mutters into his cup.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “I’m pretty sure your idea of ‘compliant’ is making everyone sign a waiver before breathing.”
He sips, unbothered. “Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”
The front ofWaverly Bloomsis unrecognizable. The old weather-worn shutters are gone, replaced with sleek matte-black ones. New flower beds line the base of the windows, prepped for planting. There’s a sleek, modern sign resting against the porch rail with elegant calligraphy that readsWaverly Blooms & Botanicals.
Candace, bless her type-A heart, has thrown her entire developer soul into reviving the shop, and rumor has it the new owner is… intense.
“She’s supposed to be some kind of botanical consultant from Savannah,” I murmur, still peeking out the door. “Hotshot. Big reputation. People say she’s all business and allergic to small talk.”
Marcus smirks. “Sounds like someone I know.”
“I like small talk,” I say innocently.
“No, you like caffeine-fueled tangents and emotionally charged cupcake metaphors.”
“And you love it,” I shoot back.
He doesn’t deny it. Just leans over and presses a kiss to the top of my head like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
My chest warms.
