Epilogue
WynnThree Months Later
A door rattled open and a blond tween boy shouted, “Uncle Lorran! Mom says put on some clothes and come have breakfast.”
“I am wearing clothes,” Lorran replied, his face serene and upturned to the sun. He continued his routine, his body flowing through the motions and poses.
“Nuh-uh. Booty shorts don’t count.” The door slammed shut.
Wyn laughed, her focus gone. “Michael has a point. Put on pants.”
“Pants are tyrannical,” Lorran said, even as he gracefully rose to his feet. Maybe it was the morning light or the spring air or just her angle, but damn. He was all lean muscle, a popping ass and he moved with suppleness. More than that, he was just good. Fundamentally good and full of an optimism so bright that when he smiled, it was hard to resist joining
