Page 116 of Campfires & Canines
"And it's got three bedrooms. So we could have an office or whatever you wanted."
"Or an art studio?" I murmur. It's too dim to see if he blushes, but I can feel his pleasure through our bond.
"Do you want to?" I ask.
"Yeah, I think we should work on making it our own. We can stay in our trailer until we're happy with it. I'll fix it up however you like."
"I'm sure it'll be perfect. I can't wait to see it."
"Tomorrow," he promises.
I answer by him leaning in to brush my lips against his. It's not a soft goodnight kiss, because I'm not done with him yet. My tiredness fades away as he tangles his hands into my hair and kisses me like I'm his oxygen.
"I hope you weren't hoping for a good night's sleep," he rasps, making the air on my arms stand on end.
20. Epilogue
Hazel
We tumble back into our trailer, hands all over each other. We have sawdust in our hair and we're smudged with wood glue and stain.
We've developed a routine in the last few months. After Slate leads the morning patrols and I spend a few hours shadowing Heath, we grab lunch and head to his family's cabin. Currently, we’re refinishing the wood floors.
I fell in love with the cabin the first time I saw it. The walls and ceilings are all wood planked, and multi-pane windows span the kitchen. We plan to order new appliances soon.
The closet hides a stack of original art by Slate's father, Clay, and by Slate as a teenager. I'm looking forward to finding a place for them.
The cozy living room still held an antique rug, now safely rolled up, and some beautiful brass lights. Two little bedrooms and a bathroom are tucked under the stairs. Slate's childhood room will be a guest room for now and the extra room will become an art studio for him.
Up the stairs is our private space. Slate has been installing floor-to-ceiling shelving along one wall for all of our books. Our bed will face the small balcony. I love the view of the foliage and all the birds who fill those branches.
The tiny bathroom holds a claw-foot tub and more brass fixtures. I'm grateful his dad never got around to updating the cabin because the vintage style is perfect.
We work until the light starts to fade and then we close up the cabin and head home.
I am deliriously happy. Slate made good on his promise to christen every surface in our trailer, and I’m looking forward to moving into our new home and repeating the process.
We shower together with a few kisses sprinkled in. It's too easy to miss dinner if we let ourselves get too lost in each other.
He traces his fingertips over my second tattoo, one he gave me two weeks ago. It's a trailing design of curling fern leaves, tiny mushrooms, sprigs of blackberries, and a wolf's paw print down my left arm. It's his paw print to be exact. My paw print is inked on his ribs to match.
I pull on fleece-lined pants and a thicker coat. Slate tosses on a hoodie and follows me out, his damp hair falling over his forehead. I toss my shoulder-length brunette hair into a messy bun. I was able to chop off the remaining blonde within a few weeks of my first shift.My hair still grows insanely fast and I understand why Slate’s hair always looks a bit shaggy.
"You cold, baby?" He gently teases.
"Duh! It’s colder than a penguin’s ballsack." I say, earning a laugh from my mate. Even with my warmer shifter body, I still haven't acclimated to this cold. And it hasn't even snowed yet.
Everyone is busy eating already. We grab our dinner and slide onto the benches of a picnic table with our friends.
Marigold and Onyx bicker over some game, and Cedar is explaining to Jasper how he is sprouting the plants for spring in his little greenhouse.
"Hey, guys." Onyx grins.
"How's the house coming along?" Jasper asks.
"Good. I need to start picking out curtains," I joke.
Marigold gasps. "Can I help with the decorating?"
