Page 254 of What We Become

Amy holds her glass out to the side as Sage reaches her.

“To my best friend,” she says, her voice muffled against Sage’s shoulder. “And her extremely distracting husbands.”

I lift my drink, but a movement farther down the table catches my eye.

Eli wipes beneath one eye with his thumb.

Milo sees it too.

“Got him,” he whispers.

“Drink your fucking champagne,” Eli says.

Micah kisses his cheek.

The night keeps going. Milo takes over the DJ booth. Eli groans. Micah laughs. Dennis and Gene teach Loki a card game he wins instantly and teaches back with modifications that are either genius or criminal. Thor leans over Loki’s shoulder to study his cards. Odin tells them that if they’re going to cheat, they could at least have the courtesy to be subtle. Ray is at the bar, nursing a beer, saying nothing.

Mars wakes up to eat cake off the ground, then passes out again.

I find Sage at the drinks table. I come up behind her. Slide both hands around her waist. Pull her back against my chest.

“Hello again,” she says.

I kiss her neck. The spot above the choker I locked into place the day she opened her birthday gifts, and that she only takes off to shower or sleep.

“Do you want to know a secret?” she asks, leaning into me.

“Always.”

She turns in my arms and leans up, lips against my ear. “Knox won the bowls, so he goes first. But I’m saving something special for last place. I have plans for you, Detective.”

My grip tightens on her waist.

“What kind of plans?”

“The kind that require your handcuffs and your full attention.”

I have never wanted to leave a party more in my life. And I’ve left a lot of parties. Usually because I wasn’t having fun. This time because I’m having too much of it and the fun is making promises to my body that I want to collect on immediately.

Sage pats my chest. “Patience.”

“I don’t have patience.”

“You’re a detective. Patience is literally your job.”

“Not tonight it isn’t.”

She laughs. Kisses my jaw. Slips away toward Amy, who is dancing with both twins in a way that suggests none of them have any idea what rhythm is but are committed to finding it through sheer enthusiasm.

I watch her go.

My wife. In a wedding dress with champagne on the bodice and grass stains on the hem, walking barefoot across a yard full of people who show up. In a world that has no business being this good to people like us.

“You’re staring at our wife’s ass,” Eli says, appearing beside me with two bourbons.

I take the bourbon he offers. “Your point?”

“No point.” He clinks his glass against mine. “Just coming over to join in.”