Page 12 of A Very Grumpy Navy SEAL (Wolf Valley: Grumps #10)

Koa

Five Years Later…

Some days, I still can’t believe she said yes.

Not just to that first date or to me kissing her in a hotel bathroom while she was dripping wet and furious with me. Not just to the whirlwind proposal and our tiny courthouse wedding a few days later. But to this life. Our life. The messy, loud, beautiful chaos we’ve built together.

I step onto the back porch of our house in Wolf Valley, the early morning air crisp against my bare chest. One of the twins is already in the garden, talking to himself in that half-gibberish, half-bossy tone he uses when he’s trying to reason with his brother. It makes me smile.

Our house sits on five acres outside town, and the backyard is their kingdom.

From where I stand, I can see the tire swing I hung in the big oak tree and the pile of half-finished forts they insist are top-secret military bunkers.

Lula jokes that our kids are mini-SEALs in training, and damn if she’s not right.

I walk back inside quietly so I don’t wake anyone.

The house smells like lavender and pancakes.

Lula must’ve lit one of her candles again before bed.

She’s curled up on the couch with one of the boys tucked against her chest, her blonde hair a tangled halo around her face.

My heart aches every time I look at her.

God, I love this woman.

We split our time between Wolf Valley and base housing, just like we promised. Lula made our Wolf Valley house feel like home instantly. She still works for the bakery, which gives her the flexibility to travel with me or stay here when I deploy.

She’s built a life here, too. Friends. A garden. Community events. I think the whole town was at our wedding, even though we tried to keep it quiet. That’s the thing about Wolf Valley—it’s impossible to keep anything quiet for long.

“Morning,” she whispers without opening her eyes.

I lean down and kiss her forehead. “Morning, baby. You get any sleep?”

She groans. “What is sleep?”

I chuckle and gently scoop our son from her arms. He blinks up at me sleepily, then promptly drops his head against my shoulder.

“Leo?”

“Luca,” she corrects, smiling. “Leo’s the one outside arguing with the squirrels again.”

Our twin boys—Leo and Luca—are four and somehow identical yet completely different. Luca is quieter, more thoughtful. Leo is wild, bold, and stubborn. They both have Lula’s bright blue eyes and my inability to stay still for long.

I carry Luca to the kitchen and set him in his booster seat before starting a pot of coffee. Lula shuffles in behind me, barefoot and yawning, as she pulls things out for breakfast. We work around each other easily like we’ve been doing this forever.

“How’s your shoulder?” she asks, glancing up as I reach for the frying pan.

“Fine. You worry too much.”

She arches a brow. “You tried to wrestle a trampoline back into place during a windstorm. I feel like I’m allowed to worry.”

“Fair.”

The back door bangs open, and Leo rushes in, covered in grass and dirt and dragging a stick longer than he is. “Mom! I saved the base from squirrel invaders!”

Lula gasps, playing along. “My hero!”

He beams and climbs up beside his brother, already launching into an elaborate story involving tactical maneuvers, squirrel spies, and a dragon (for dramatic effect).

I cook breakfast and make mental notes—Lula keeps saying we should write down all their adventures, start a family journal. She’s probably right.

After breakfast, Lula gets the boys dressed while I clean up.

She’s taking them into town today to help Ledger set up for the town festival.

My best friend—now my brother-in-law—never did go back to San Francisco.

After a particularly rough deployment, he took a stateside position and moved to Wolf Valley permanently.

He teaches tactical training at a nearby base and is the best uncle our boys could ask for.

He and Lula are as close as ever. It’s still surreal sometimes, hearing them laughing in the next room, watching him sit cross-legged on the floor as he teaches Leo how to tie knots or lets Luca use his dog tags as a toy.

They lost so much when their parents died, but they never lost each other. I’d do anything to keep it that way.

I walk them out to the car, pressing kisses to each of their heads and giving Lula a lingering kiss on the lips.

“Try not to fall in love with any festival clowns while you’re gone,” I murmur against her mouth.

She smirks. “You’re the only overgrown child I’ve ever loved.”

“Damn right.”

They drive off in a cloud of dust, and I head back inside to shower and start on the repairs I promised I’d get to this week. The laundry room door still sticks, and the boys broke the screen on the porch last weekend during a spirited Nerf war.

By the time Lula and the boys return, the sun’s starting to set, and the scent of grilled vegetables and salmon fills the air. I started dinner after fixing the porch screen and mowing half the yard. Not bad for a day off.

“Something smells amazing,” Lula says as she walks in, cheeks flushed and hair full of glitter.

“Please tell me that’s not permanent,” I say, eyeing the sparkle trail.

“No promises.” She laughs.

The boys barrel into the kitchen, chattering about balloon animals and sack races. I let them help me plate dinner, and we all sit on the back deck, watching the sky turn pink and gold as we eat.

Later, after baths and bedtime stories and promises to check under the bed for monsters, Lula and I curl up on the porch swing. She fits against me perfectly, her head on my chest and our fingers laced together.

“Do you ever think about how fast it all happened?” she asks softly. “Five years ago, we didn’t even know each other.”

“I knew you,” I say. “The second I saw you. I knew you were it for me.”

She turns to look up at me, eyes shining. “I love you.”

“I love you more.”

We sit in silence for a while, listening to the crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. I think about the road that brought us here. About chance and fate and timing. About Ledger and how different everything would’ve been if he hadn’t sent me to Wolf Valley.

“Thank you,” I say quietly.

“For what?”

“For giving me a life I never knew I needed.”

She presses a kiss to my jaw and closes her eyes again. “Right back at you, Navy SEAL.”

I smile and tighten my hold on her, knowing without a doubt that no matter where the future takes us—whether we’re in Wolf Valley or halfway around the world—this is home.

She is home.