Mr. January Bonus Epilogue


Well, the honeymoon is over.

Don’t worry. Adam and I are still totally and completely and (in my case at least) hopelessly in love with each other.

We’ve been married two weeks now, and we just got back from a whirlwind trip around Europe. It was incredible, in every possible way. We had fish and chips in London. We feasted on fresh seafood and tapas in Barcelona. We ate macarons in Paris. We tasted wine in Alsace. We hiked in the Alps.

(Well, we hiked the short distance from the rental car to the lodge we stayed at in the  Alps, but close enough.)

We racked up quite a few stamps in our passports.

And not just the ones issued to us by the government. As a gag gift for our wedding, I made Adam a little passport of our own. It was a place where we could document all the places we made love on our honeymoon.

Not to brag, but we filled every page of that passport.

But no honeymoon lasts forever. While I would have loved nothing more than to eat rich foods and linger over each other for hours in bed, we had to come home.

Adam had to get back to attend a virtual conference for fire marshals and inspectors. While I’d argued he could attend it from anywhere, he’d pointed out that I needed to get back to California in time to set up my classroom for the new school year.

So here we are. He’s huddled up at his makeshift office in my living room. He moved in while we buy a house together. My tummy flutters at how exciting it will be to fix up a place and make it ours. We’re looking for a place with plenty of room.

It’s going to be equally exciting filling those rooms with babies.

While Adam appears riveted on the screen, I’m making about a million signs and decorations for my classroom. As he unmutes himself to answer a question, I can’t help but sigh.

I love being married to this man. But—and this could be the jet-lag talking—I really miss our honeymoon.

Adam is gesturing with his hands while he speaks—adorable—and accidentally knocks a few things off of the desk. He pulls a face, but I hold up a hand, silently letting him know I’ll take care of it.

Leaning over to pick up the papers, I neatly stack them together. I’m about to set them back on the desk when my homemade passport comes to mind.

Wanting a mental vacation, I flip through it and come to the last page. It’s blank. What a shame we didn’t finish it all the way.

Wait. Why can’t we finish it? Who says the honeymoon absolutely has to be over just because we’re back at our apartment? Neither of us has set foot in our respective workplaces just yet.

As far as I’m concerned, we’re still on honeymoon for another twenty-four hours.

Clapping my hands together, I flash a grin when Adam gives me a curious glance. He’ll see what I’m up to soon enough. I check the clock. By my calculations, the attendees are due for a fifteen-minute break.

And I know just how we can spend that time.

Body already tingling in anticipation, I race to our bedroom and throw open the closet door. Okay, so I don’t have much in the way of sexy gear. I could always throw on a pair of my short shorts—which Adam has always seemed to enjoy well enough.

I have some lingerie, which my friend Amelia gave me at my bridal shower. But he saw me in that a lot while we were on our European tour.

Then I see the trench coat. Living in Santa Barbara County, I haven’t ever had much of a need to wear it.

But maybe if I paired it with a pair of high heels—and nothing else—I could look like a femme fatale from one of those old detective movies.

That would certainly spice things up.

Grabbing the coat, I strip out of my clothes and pull it on. With a few minutes to spare, I pull my hair out of the bun I piled on top of my head. I spray the hell out of it with some fancy spray to give it more volume and va-va-voom fluff.

At the last minute, I swipe on a coat of dark red lipstick and pucker up.

Giving myself a quick study in the mirror, I nod. Not bad for a sultry, sexy look in under five minutes. Not bad at all.

Heart pounding a mile a minute, I step into a pair of bright red heels and strut toward the living room.

Adam glances up at me absently then does a double take. His eyes go wide and he shakes his head.

“What’s going on?”

“There’s still an empty page in your passport, Lieutenant.” I step up to the desk and hand it to him.

His eyes flicker between the passport and me. “I’m on a call.”

“You have a break coming up.”

“I should probably check in with the office . . .”

He trails off as I step back from the desk and slowly untie the belt around my waist. Then I start on the buttons. He swallows hard and glances back at the computer screen quickly before turning his attention to me.

“What are you doing?”

“Making you an offer you can’t refuse.” I flick the last button and pull the jacket open. “Interested?”

His eyes go a little glazed even as his cheeks turn red. He shifts in his seat.

“Baby, I’m on a call.” He swallows hard. “What if someone sees you?’

Sighing, I pull the jacket closed and tie the belt, a little disappointed by his lack of enthusiasm. “I was hoping you’d be a little more excited.”

“Believe me, I’m plenty excited.” He moistens his lips and shakes his head. “But I’m working.”

“Whatever.” I turn on my heel, tossing my hair as I do. “You can find me if you change your mind.”

With that parting note, I mosey to the laundry room. Fighting an ebb of disappointment, I open the dryer and pull the clothes into the basket.

It’s not like he flat-out turned me down. But I kind of hoped he’d get right on board the bone train.

Setting the basket aside, I move the clothes from the wash to the dryer. While he thinks it over, the least I can do is finish unpacking us from our trip.

Because I guess the honeymoon really is over.

The door to the laundry room flies open. I spin on my heel and find Adam there, arms folded across his chest. His gaze flickers to the deep ‘V’ left from the barely closed jacket.

“Can I help you?” I ask.

“I came to get a stamp on my passport.”

A jolt of delight flickers low in my belly. “I thought you wanted to call the office on your break.”

“Fuck the office.”

With that, he pushes the basket aside, lifts me up on top of the dryer, and earns the last stamp on his honeymoon passport.