“Glad to hear you sounding so happy, honey,” Matt said quietly when I told him I had to go home and make dinner for Jonas.

“I’m glad to be so happy, honey,” I said quietly back then whispered, “Hope you find this, Matt.”

“Had it, Laurie, lost it,” Matt replied, also whispering.

Cut. Right to the quick.

“Matt –”

He cut me off. “Next year, Lauren.”

“Next year.”

“Later.”

“Bye.”

I hit the button to turn off my phone and then I stared at it. Then I sighed and pushed up from the couch to get my purse and head home.

* * * * *

Sitting beside Jim-Billy in his beat up truck I watched the dark landscape slide by.

It was early November and the May-December murderer still hadn’t been found. He also had not committed another act of violence since Neeta.

Neeta had been in the ground awhile and Jonas was beginning to move on from those frequent moments where his eyes would go lost or pained and I knew his thoughts had grown dark. They were still there, they’d probably always be there, but they were less frequent.

This was why I hadn’t told him, Tate or anyone about my birthday. Christmas was around the corner and we were going to Indiana for two weeks to celebrate it. That was soon enough for fun and laughter. If the pond froze, Jonas could skate on it. My mother would spoil him rotten and we’d all probably come back needing a new wardrobe because we’d gained so much weight from her cooking.

But right now, things didn’t need to be about me. They needed to be about Jonas.

Tate had even gone off that morning to hunt down a bad guy. It sucked that he wouldn’t be around for my birthday, even if he didn’t know it was my birthday. But, though we both kept close watch over Jonas, our lives were settling and I noticed he liked to work. He hadn’t been able to do it for awhile without a lot of stuff hanging over his head but with Jonas sorted, me in his house, the bar ticking over well and Neeta not making his life a misery (in the usual ways), he was able to do his job with more focus and I realized he liked doing it. He either got off on the hunt or he got off on making the world a little safer, or both. Therefore, I didn’t make excuses to try and keep him home when he said he had to go that morning. He arranged for Pop to take me to work and Jim-Billy to bring me home and I didn’t breathe a word.

I thought, when the dust had settled after Neeta’s funeral, that Tate would again go after Tonia and Neeta’s murderer.

He didn’t.

I asked him about this and he explained simply, “Feds got their job, cops got theirs. Mine is to keep my family safe.”

There was nothing to say to that so I didn’t say anything. That didn’t mean I didn’t do anything and what I did was kiss him, hard and long.

I noticed Jim-Billy’s truck stop and I saw we were in Tate’s drive. I also saw Stella’s car in the drive which wasn’t a surprise. She was tasked with bringing Jonas home after my shift. I’d called and told her I’d be a little late due to my phone call to Matt though I didn’t tell her about my phone call to Matt. Tate and I had settled but Tate was a badass alpha male. Brad wasn’t concerned in the slightest that I gabbed and laughed with my ex-boyfriend for an hour on my birthday. Tate, I didn’t think, would like that. And Stella, I’d learned, had a big mouth.

I turned to Jim-Billy. “Want to come in for dinner? I’m making roast chicken and mashed potatoes.”

Jim-Billy grinned at me. “Don’t mind if I do.”

I grinned back and jumped down from the truck. Jim-Billy followed me up the steps to the deck, along the deck and through the sliding glass door. The lights were off and the television wasn’t on, which surprised me. If he wasn’t doing his homework or playing video games in his room, Jonas was always camped out in front of the television. And with Stella there, and Jonas being a polite kid who liked company, I thought for sure he’d be camped out in front of the television.

I flipped on the lights, turned right and froze.

Then my mouth dropped open.

The battered countertops were gone. Fabulous, gleaming granite ones were in their place (except the butcher block island, that was just the same). The old fridge, stove and dishwasher were also gone. Where they once stood, there was a brand new, glossy, black fronted fridge, a matching dishwasher and a beautiful, stainless steel restaurant quality stove. Above the stove, the old microwave had been pulled out and a fancy new one matching the stove was there.

It looked fantastic.

I just knew Tate’s kitchen could be fabulous!

There was a beautiful, old-fashioned, pink glass cake stand sitting on the island, the edges of its top polka-dots of glass. On the stand was delicious looking cake with generous swirls of creamy, chocolate frosting and it was topped with an abundance of pink candles. A huge bouquet of balloons in every color of the rainbow festooned the middle of the island, their multi-colored strings held down under one of my heavy stoneware bowls.

“Happy birthday, Laurie!” I heard Jonas shout and my body jolted as I watched him run from the mudroom followed in a stream by Wendy, Tyler, Shambles, Sunny, Ned, Betty, Pop, Holly, Twyla, Amber, Krystal, Bubba, Dominic, Nadine, Steg, Wings, Stoney, Stella, Wood and, bringing up the rear, Tate.

Jonas’s body hit me, his arms going around me for a tight hug as I went back on a foot on impact.

His hug was fast and he let go, jumping back a step and announcing, “Dad and Uncle Wood spent all day putting in the counters. He ordered them forever ago! The guys who brought the fridge and stuff from the store just left, like, a second before you and Jim-Billy drove up. It was good you were late because Dad was freaking out! Totally pi… I mean mad as all get out because he didn’t think they’d be done before you got home. Uncle Wood had to hide Dad’s guns!”

I looked from Jonas’s smiling face to his father who was standing at the end of the counter, his hip to it, his arms crossed on his chest, his eyes on me.

Then I looked into the kitchen at the new countertops, the new appliances, the cake, the balloons and, most of all, my friends.

Then I burst out crying.

These were not delicate, quiet, ladylike tears. No. They were loud, out of control, eyes and nose streaming sobs.

I was in Tate’s arms in an instant and I heard through my bawling a muttered, “Jesus, Ace.”

I yanked back, succeeding in only moving my head and shoulders because his arms were tight, I focused on Tate through the wetness in my eyes and I yelled, “You’re supposed to be after a fugitive from justice!”