Page 27 of Desired By Diesel
For the first time since I've known her, she's not afraid.
And I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be.
EPILOGUE
SIX MONTHS LATER
We're in the cereal aisle when Amelia makes her move.
"Can we get the one with the marshmallows?"
I look down at her, and she's giving me the exact look she knows I can't say no to. Big brown eyes, hopeful smile, hands clasped together like she's praying.
"Your mom's gonna kill me."
The eyes get bigger. The smile wobbles.
I last about three seconds.
"Fine." I grab the box and toss it in the cart. Amelia pumps her fist in victory, and I'm aware — painfully aware — that I'm a forty-two-year-old man who just got played by a seven-year-old.
Don't care. That smile's worth it.
We're at the SaveMart off Route 10, loading up on supplies for Gracie's chili. It's become a thing — every couple of weeks, she takes over the clubhouse kitchen and feeds the whole club. The brothers act like it's no big deal, but I've seen grown men rearrange their schedules to make sure they're there on chili night.
"Do we need more beans?" Amelia asks, peering at the list Gracie gave us.
"We always need more beans. Rogue eats like he's got a hollow leg."
She giggles and runs ahead to the canned goods aisle. I follow with the cart, watching her weave between shoppers, completely at ease.
She's settled here now. New friends at school, a bedroom she's decorated with posters and fairy lights, and a routine that doesn't involve waiting to see if her dad's going to show up and ruin everything.
We check out and load the bags into my truck. Amelia chatters the whole drive to the clubhouse, telling me about her new friend at school, about the book she's reading, about how her teacher said she has "excellent penmanship."
I listen to all of it. File it away. This kid wandered into my life seven months ago and somehow became the center of it.
Her and her mom both.
The clubhouse kitchen is already chaos when we walk in.
Gracie's at the stove, stirring a massive pot, her hair piled up in a clip and one of my old t-shirts hanging off her shoulder. She's got that look she gets when she's in command — focused, a little fierce, completely in her element.
"More cumin," Rogue says, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed.
"It doesn't need more cumin."
"It absolutely needs more cumin. Last time?—"
"Last time was perfect, and you ate three bowls, so I don't want to hear it."
Lock appears in the doorway, sniffs the air, and grunts. "Needs more heat."
"It does not need more heat. Ghost nearly died last time."
From somewhere in the main room, Ghost's voice drifts in: "I didn't nearly die. I just couldn't feel my tongue for two days."
"Exactly." Gracie points her wooden spoon at Lock. "No more heat."
