Page 17

One Year Later

It wasn't hard to live up to a promise of nothing could ever be more perfect in a year of love and adoration, of story-telling and sharing the lives they'd lived apart as they settled into the life they were now living together. But Sam had made another promise, one he was fairly certain Lola had forgotten, and he intended to live up to that one, too.

It started with breakfast in bed on their anniversary, a special treat that both Cook and the housekeeper firmly told him he'd better not get used to: breakfast was served in the breakfast nook, not in bed, where crumbs got into the sheets. Just this once , they both agreed, but never again. Sam swore he wouldn't push his luck a second time, and both the women exchanged a look that said they knew perfectly well he'd do the same thing next year.

Although in his defense, he really didn't intend to. This was a special occasion. French toast, which was Lola's favorite, and fresh orange juice, and most importantly, a ring box settled behind the juice glass, which she didn't pick up for an agitatingly long time. For a seventy year old man, Sam was impressed with how squirming and impatient he could be, and relief swept him when Lola finally did reach for the juice.

Her fine feathery eyebrows rose as she saw the box, and just to torment him—Sam was pretty sure of that—she took a nice long sip of the juice before putting the glass aside and murmuring, "Now what on earth could this be?" as she picked up the box. Sam jittered, and Lola glanced at him with a quiet laugh. "Really, Sam, what is it? I don't need anniversary gifts. Thank you, though."

She opened the box as she spoke, and the last words faded into astonished silence before she whispered, " Sam ."

"I told you," he said, surprisingly nervously. "I told you I'd get you a better ring for our anniversary."

The ring in the box was both delicate and intricate. Rose gold, with a rose-shaped setting for a pale pink stone with golden under-hues, and diamonds set around the band, which was in turn surrounded with two other bands that made up a leaf-like setting for the central rose. Lola, ever so softly, said, " Sam ," again, and lifted her gaze to him in astonishment. "It's incredibly beautiful."

He reached out to not quite touch the central band, whispering, "Engagement ring," and then touching first the bottom ring, then the upper. "Wedding ring. And fiftieth anniversary ring. I know it doesn't quite count?—"

"Oh!" Lola threw herself into his arms, knocking over the entire breakfast tray as she did so and thus proving both Cook and the housekeeper right: breakfast in bed was a terrible plan. But as Sam gathered his wife and mate in his arms, he thought they would probably forgive him, just this once. "It counts," Lola promised, her voice muffled in his shoulder. "It counts. Oh, Sam, how perfect. How beautiful. Thank you so much." She untangled enough to remove the ring and offer it to him so he could put it on her finger, then beamed joyfully as it glittered there. "But I didn't get you one."

"Well." Sam snaked an arm across the bed and pulled another ring box out from his bedside table. "I thought you might worry about that, so I got you one to get me."

"Of course you did. Oh, my , what good taste I have." The ring in his box was heavier, but also of rose gold with a central stone of morganite, with an etched roses-and-leaves motif around the small diamonds that spanned out from the larger stone. Lola, beaming, put it on his finger, then lifted his hand to kiss his knuckles. "I assume you admire my excellent taste."

"I must, since you had the good taste to marry me." He leaned in to kiss her, then, apologetically, mumbled, "I'd better clean up the sheets before the orange juice sets and stains. I'll never hear the end of it."

"I'll help." Lola got up, still admiring her ring, and they stripped the bed with efficiency, although a piece of french toast did go flying. "So we're going downstairs for second breakfast?"

"I think we'd better," Sam admitted sheepishly. "After I've put all of this in the wash so Mrs O'Connor doesn't murder me."

"That would spoil my whole day, yes, so let's avoid that." Lola smiled at him as they bundled the sheets and comforters up, and together went downstairs with Sam muttering about how he needed to install a laundry chute. "And a dumbwaiter for laundry coming back up again," Lola suggested. "So no one has to carry it up the stairs, either."

"Genius. I should have thought of this decades ago." They got the laundry going, and had just about finished a second attempt at breakfast when Sam's phone rang. He picked it up, sliding the bar to answer a video call, and nearly dropped it again. "Lola. Lola!"

"What? What?! Oh! " She leaped up and ran around the table to see what he was looking at, then sat down hard next to him as Chase, utterly beaming in frame with an absolutely exhausted-looking Jacinda, tilted the phone a little to show them the tiny bundle of wrinkly, red-faced baby in Jacinda's arms.

"Congratulations, Grandma, Grandpa," Chase said in a voice so full of love and pride that he could hardly get the words out. "I'd like you to meet Regina Charlotte Todd."

Lola said, " Chase, " and burst into tears as Sam, every bit as overwhelmed, put his arm around her shoulders.

"Congratulations," he whispered. "I thought you weren't due for another couple of weeks, Jaci."

"Apparently this little one was in a hurry to arrive," Jacinda said with weary pride. "I suppose she wanted to be an anniversary present."

"I was wrong last year," Lola said, wiping her eyes. " This is the most perfect day of all. When can we come visit?"

"I intend to sleep as soon as we're done calling our families," Jacinda said firmly. "Tomorrow is good."

"Tomorrow is perfect," Sam promised.

And it, and every day after, was.

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