Page 34 of One Night with the Werewolf
I nod rapidly. “All yours,” I echo, and he howls.
EPILOGUE
ROSCOE
Soon it’s December, and Emelia’s lease has run out. She’s been slowly packing up her things, but that night, Harry, Arin, and I work together to carry all of her boxes of mementos, books, and mysteriously, her favorite college papers, across town to my house. Then we buy everyone pizza.
I enjoy standing in the doorway while Emelia places each of her books on my bookshelf, making sure they’re all in the proper order. She sets right away to putting pots of flowers around the house without telling me, so they just appear one day on the front step—bright pops of color that bring a new life to my little home by the railroad tracks. She even buys Salem a new cat bed he probably doesn’t need.
Thankfully, Emelia’s morning sickness abates after a few more weeks. She gets wild cravings, and it’s always an interesting challenge heading to the store after work so I can best figure out how to utilize pickled peppers.
Tentatively, I reach out to Jason to make holiday plans. We always get together for Christmas if he doesn’t fly to Illinois tosee his mother. I’m also testing the waters to see if he’s cooled off enough that we can talk.
I’m surprised when I get an answer right away.
Is she living there?
I wonder if he heard from someone Emelia knows, or if it’s just his intuition.
Yep. Do you want to meet up and talk?
Again, the reply is quick and sharp.
The chophouse at nine.
I sigh and put my phone away, telling Emelia the news.
Jason’s there already when I arrive right at nine, drinking a beer and eating wings while watching the TV. He doesn’t even look at me as I slide into the booth.
“I can’t believe you fucked my girlfriend.” He barely turns his head when he glances at me. “And knocked her up.”
Cold open.
“I’d say I was sorry, but I’m not.”
Jason chuckles dryly. “You certainly don’t seem sorry. You’re grinning like an idiot.”
“My coworkers say that, too.”
Finally, Jason turns in his seat to face me and cleans his hands on a napkin. At least I taught him some manners.
“And what? You two are gonna raise that kid together?”
“That’s the plan.”
He sighs and drops his head into his hands. “Damn it, Dad. I’m trying to be pissed at you.”
“You’re the one who picked up the phone that night in a room full of other women,” I remind him.
“Yeah, but myfatherisn’t supposed to be the one picking up the dropped ball.”
I sigh. “If all you can do is compare a woman to a football, then maybe you should work on yourself some more before you criticize me.”
His eyebrows jump. “Damn. You have changed.” He tilts his head, studying me. “I guess it kind of makes sense. She was too nice for me.”
I nod, because this is true.
“You’re supposed to disagree,” Jason says with a grunt.
