Epilogue
Sunny
“A toast,” Foxfire says.
“To what?” Tank sets down the heaping platter on the picnic table. Titus is cleaning the grill, prepping to cook a mountain of meat.
“To love.” I grin up at Titus. He’s wearing a May I Suggest the Sausage apron with an arrow pointing downwards. I bought it for him at a farmer’s market and he swore he wouldn’t wear it… until I spent a few nights sampling his meat. Foxfire threatened to blind herself when he came out wearing it.
“Love? Too cheesy,” Foxfire complains.
“No wonder I don’t have grandbabies.”
“Sunny!” She glares at me, then at Titus, and averts her eyes to the sky. “Why me? What have I done to deserve this?”
“Stop being so dramatic. Titus and I are adults with healthy, normal libidos—”
“Do not ever mention your libido to me again.”
