The Trouble With Valentine's Day

Epilogue

Kate Sutter raised a hot buttered rum to her lips and took a long drink. Valentine's Day, she decided, was freakin' fabulous. On the "things that are freakin' fabulous" scale, it ranked somewhere between her husband's naked butt and the four-carat Tiffany diamond on her finger.

Kate looked around the Duchin Lounge, at the shiny heart garlands, roses, and flickering candles. Red and pink hearts were taped up behind the bar and on the big windows looking out at snow-covered pines, groomed runs, arid night skiers. She'd been married a total of six hours and was looking forward to the rest of her life.

She and Rob had said their vows at the little church in Gospel, and after the reception, they'd set out for their honeymoon. First Stop, the Duchin Lounge.

Since the end of summer, her grandfather had retired and handed the M &S over to Kate to run. The day he and Grace had driven off in a new Winnebago, Kate had ordered a new cash register that kept track of purchases at the point of sale. Her homemade bread sold out every day, although the jalapeno jelly was still a tough sell.

"Sun Valley Ale," a masculine voice next to her ordered.

"Draft or bottle," the bartender asked.

"Bottle's fine."

Kate ran her gaze up worn Levi's and a blue flannel shirt to a pair of green eyes. "Wanna see my tattoo?" she asked.

The bartender put the beer on the bar, and Rob raised it to his lips. "Are you propositioning me?"

"Yep." She stood and set down her mug. "We have nine hundred and twenty fantasies we have to get started on."

He took a drink, then lowered the bottle. "Nine hundred and nineteen," he said through a purely lascivious grin. He grabbed her hand and walked with her from the lounge as fast as his boots would carry him. "But who's counting?"