Kiss in the Dark (29 page)

Yet he was her hero—for enduring what he had endured so bravely and successfully, for being the man he was, for saving her from Steph’s poison. He’d even championed her that very night—saved her from who knows what at the hand of the drunken stranger!

The added emotion of intense gratitude only further spurred Boston’s desire for Vance, and her hands left his hair and neck and traveled down over his chest to slide under his arms and embrace him. This action seemed to ignite Vance somehow, and Boston gasped as he broke the seal of their lips to place a driven, moist kiss to her neck. He kissed her neck hard, several times in succession. She imagined he was trembling a little—surely she imagined it—a quivering about him—within him.

“I told you last week,” Boston said. “Remember?” She raised herself on her toes, put her lips to his ear, and said, “I love you, baby. Smile.”

He did kiss her then—deliciously kissed her until her knees were weak and her heart was sure—sure that it was forever safe in Vance Nathaniel’s loving possession.

Epilogue

“Anna! Belle!” Boston scolded tenderly. “I told you girls to have Daddy hose you off so you could come in for baths! We need to get everybody ready if we’re going to get to the hospital to see Auntie Danielle and Uncle Dempsey’s new baby.”

“Okay, Mommy,” Belle called from the mud hole in the backyard.

“But can we have three more minutes…or two?” Anna asked.

Vance chuckled and used the hose to squirt more water in the mud for the girls. Vance had been working on the landscaping in the backyard. As usual, however, he’d completely lost his focus, not to mention all sense of reason, when the twins had begged him to make one of his signature mud holes. Naturally, he’d caved, and the girls were now covered head to toe in “good, clean, harmless mud” (as Vance liked to call it).

“Okay, two more minutes,” Boston giggled. She glanced over her shoulder to Stevie. He seemed fine, still sitting in the highchair, happily rubbing sweet potatoes through his hair. She closed her eyes, imaging the mess cleaning up the kids would leave in the bathroom. Still, she shrugged. It would be a mess, but a mess borne of too much childhood fun—though she wondered if there could really be too much fun in childhood.

She sighed, delighted in watching the girls roll around in the mud hole their dad had created for them.

“One more minute,” Vance chuckled as Belle opened her mouth and caught hose water in it.

Boston laughed and wondered that her daughters still managed to be such little prissies most of the time. It seemed they were either dressing up as princesses and twirling about singing at the top of their lungs or rolling around in the mud with their daddy. There was no in between. She felt her smile fade just a little, imagining that Danielle and Annabelle must’ve been just the same. How she wished the accident had never happened—that Danielle and Vance had never lost their beloved sister. She thought then of the night she and Vance had first kissed in the light, of returning to the apartment afterward, of Vance explaining that the school dance pictures in the box Danielle’s mom had sent that day were really photos of Annabelle—not Danielle.

Boston felt tears welling in her eyes as they always did whenever she thought of Annabelle. She swallowed the lump in her throat and laughed as Vance called the girls to him and started hosing them off. They giggled with the pure, carefree joy of delight, and Boston giggled too.

“Now, run in and ask Mommy to start the shower for you,” Vance said.

“Thanks, Daddy!” Anna chimed, hugging Vance around the knees.

Boston covered her mouth to stifle her laughter as she heard Vance breathe, “Oof!” as Belle ran headlong at him, throwing her arms around his legs and hitting him squarely with her small shoulder where no man wanted to be hit.

“Well, we’ll just have to see,” Boston said. She smiled at her girls, awed by the very miracle of them. “Now you run on into the bathroom, and I’ll be right there.”

“If he’s old enough to walk and old enough to climb up in the cabinet and eat a whole roll of Rolaids, then he’s old enough to play in the hose,” Vance chuckled.

Boston shrugged. He had a point. Going to the highchair, she lifted Stevie down and said, “Go see Daddy, baby. He wants someone to play with.”

Boston watched as Vance gently hosed the smeared sweet potatoes off his son. He laughed as Stevie giggled with delight. Then he turned off the hose and took Stevie’s little hand, leading him back into the house.

“I brought your son home,” Vance said to Boston. He hunkered down to Stevie. “Go find your sisters, Stevie.”

Stevie toddled off toward the bathroom.

“You’ll never get that landscaping finished if you don’t quit making mud holes,” Boston told Vance as he wrapped her in his arms, kissing her soundly on the mouth.

“I know,” he said. “But kids don’t stay little forever. If I don’t get that landscaping finished, it’ll still be there. But I won’t always have two little girls who want to roll around in the mud.”

“That’s very true,” Boston said. She reached up, running her fingers through Vance’s soft, dark hair.

“I love you, you know,” Boston said. “Even though you can’t resist making a mess just before we’re supposed to be somewhere important.”

Stevie came tearing around the corner then, bumping into Belle and knocking her over. Before Boston knew it, she and Vance were tumbling to the floor in a heap with the children.

Vance chuckled, rolling onto his back and pulling Boston’s head to his once more. He kissed her—the same way he’d kissed her that night under the streetlight. Well, perhaps not exactly the same way, but Boston felt the same love—an even deeper love in his kiss.

“That’s it, Daddy! More kissing! More kissing!” the girls chimed in unison. “Kiss him, Mommy! Kiss him!”

Boston giggled, took Vance’s face between her hands, and kissed her husband passionately on the mouth. The girls squealed, took hold of their brother’s tiny hands, and led him back toward the bathroom.

Author’s Note

If you know me, you know how nervous I get anytime a new book or e-book is released. Allowing the public to read your work can be very much like using an X-Acto knife to fillet your chest open, then letting people dig around inside. At least, that’s how it sometimes feels to me, and it’s especially true with this story.

It took me the first thirty-five years of my life to learn the lesson Boston learns concerning what I term “poisonous friends.” Thirty-five years! I did learn the lesson—though it took me another five or so years to learn how to regulate or avoid poisonous relationships. In my insatiable desire to “sift sugar all over the world” and make glad the hearts of others, I’ve had to learn to see the red flags—the warning signs of poisonous relationships—to balance my associations with people who expected or demanded that I put their wants, needs, and desires ahead of not only my own but those of my family, my physical and mental health, and so on.

Thus, Boston is a true soul mate to me! Even as she realizes the necessity of removing Steph from her life, she still feels bad. She’ll always feel bad, haunted by feelings of guilt and failure. Though, thanks to Vance, she began to recognize the earmarks of poisonous friendships, she’ll struggle with what she perceives as being “mean” for the rest of her life. Still, I’m just glad she learned the lesson early in life.

A friend said this to me as she was reading
Kiss in the Dark
: “Please! Please tell me this Stephanie character isn’t based on your real-life experience!”

Oh, but she is! Not necessarily on one specific person (though I did have an enraged soon-to-be ex-roommate throw a quart jar at my head the day I moved out of an apartment at college) but more on the lessons I’ve learned about self-preservation, self-advocacy (which I still fail miserably at on nearly a daily basis), and recognizing when you really can’t help someone without losing yourself—or can’t help them at all, at least at that time in their life.

I also struggle with tolerating human hypocrisy. An admitted hypocrite myself (because I don’t think any of us can be born and live our lives without fighting some measure of our own hypocrisy), nothing vexes me more than watching someone embezzle money from the business they work for, as they sit in self-righteous judgment of the guy who’s changing a pregnant lady’s tire because he’s smoking a cigarette. Do you know what I mean? Sometimes it’s our imperfections and struggles that end up aiding us with the most personal growth. Furthermore, as far as I’m aware, there was only ever one perfect being to walk the face of the earth—and He is yet the pure example of ultimate humility.

So, as you can see, I’ve filleted my chest open with this one, at least in my mind. Someone
will
reprimand me concerning Vance’s two or three swear words—someone will lecture about how Stephanie was just a poor soul who needed a friend (which is actually true, and Boston knew it—she tried to help her). It’s the hard, no-fun part of being an author, of sharing glimpses of your soul with others. A famous vocalist was once quoted as saying (I’m way, way paraphrasing), “Fame is really hard to deal with. Once you’re famous, people think they can say anything to you. They seem to think you’re made out of Teflon.” Still, 99.999 percent of my readers and friends share my feelings, dreams, and struggles—they know I’m not made of Teflon and that I’m as imperfect as the next guy. They are the sugar sprinkles who enrich my life, teach me, humble me, lift me, and make me a better person. (Ahh! I feel a chili-dog-fest coming on.)

Yeck—that’s all so serious and thinky! Let’s move on, shall we? Now, just for fun, I’ll answer a few other questions I’ve received in regard to this story.