Page 113 of The Hitman’s Final Job

I hang back as Silas overfills his plate until he has to balance it carefully on the table before he spills everything.

If anyone had told me a few months ago this would be the life I was about to gain, I’d have laughed.

The food is extraordinary. We’d planned to eat at the big table, but there isn’t enough space for everyone, so most of us end up standing in small clusters of conversations divided by topic.

Clayton shares his research for next year’s pumpkin as we eat.

“There are cultivation techniques I haven’t tried. And Vaughn, I know you have all the fancy knowledge, but Silas has the raw talent.”

Silas, who’s in a group with Atlas and Kai, perks up. “You got it, Clay.”

There’s a brief discussion about naming rights for this new pumpkin that’s still a good six months from germination, and then Dante, the eternal bartender, pours wine for whomever needs it.

Later, when our bellies are full and the dishes are mostly dealt with, we move outside to the firepit.

Since the last time Atlas and Kai joined us, I’ve bought new chairs. They’re Adirondack-style, in a dark wood that will weather well. I have a feeling they’ll be used a lot.

The fire is burning strong. Clayton took charge of it, and everyone has arranged themselves to avoid getting faces full of smoke. Tess has somehow provided blankets, and Dante has produced more wine.

I sit in one of the new chairs. Silas proceeds to ignore the one next to mine and makes himself comfortable on my lap instead.

This is the kind of geographic arrangement I’m on board with, so I get my arms around him, and he leans back against me as we gaze at the valley together in the firelight.

The mountains are dark against a sky spattered with stars and a brilliant moon. This is the most peaceful place I’ve ever been in. Maybe because it has always felt like home, even before I allowed myself to be claimed by it. And now with Silas here, it couldn’t be better.

“I love you,” I say against his ear.

He looks at me with those big dark eyes, his smile framed by the short beard. He’s so beautiful.

“Kiss me,” I whisper, and he does. It’s soft, unhurried, and filled with the words he doesn’t need to say out loud.

If there’s one thing we’re good at, it’s communication—apart from that one time.

Life is too short to let what you want escape through your fingers.

He breaks the kiss and turns back to gaze at the fire.

I keep my arms around him.

The fire crackles.

The sky is bright with stars.

And this right here—the people and the fire and the mountains and the man I love on my lap—is the life I have now.

I couldn’t be happier.

I didn’t know this was possible.

Here it is anyway.