Coffeehouse Confessions (The Alphabet Sweethearts #3)

Epilogue

Maggie

Juniper Falls, one year later…

"You realize this is a little on the nose, right?" I adjust the display of Ethan's soon-to-be-released novel in Novel Sips' front window. The cover art shows a coffee cup with galaxies swirling in its steam, and the advance reviews are calling it "a deftly woven tale of love, time, and the courage to choose happiness."

"Says the woman who said yes in the sci-fi section." Ethan wraps his arms around me from behind, and my engagement ring catches the morning light.

I turn in his embrace. "In my defense, you did hide the ring in a hollowed-out copy of The Time Traveler's Wife."

"Seemed appropriate." He kisses me softly. "Besides, this place is our story."

His freelance articles have been doing well—turns out all those journalism contacts came in handy—and between that and his book advance, he's found his balance. Some days he writes at his corner table, other days he works from home. But he always brings me coffee just the way I like it, and he still reads me every new chapter first.

I catch him watching me sometimes, when he thinks I'm busy with customers or inventory, like he can't quite believe we're here. Like he's memorizing every moment for another story. Those are the times I'll bring him a fresh coffee, brush my fingers through his hair, and remind him that some love stories don't need time travel to find their happy ending.

"The signing event next week is almost full," I tell him, straightening a stack of advance reader copies. "Gloria's got the whole writing group coming."

"And Hazel's bringing cookies," he adds, "though she says we're not allowed to know what kind until the day of. Something about maintaining an air of mystery."

"Speaking of mysteries..." I nod toward Andrew, who's teaching a new barista the intricacies of our ancient espresso machine. He's more relaxed these days, now that we've settled into our partnership. Turns out my brother's a lot easier to deal with when he's not trying to manage my personal life.

The bell above the door chimes. A woman walks in, holding the hand of a little boy who looks about four. My brother looks up, and the coffee cup he's holding crashes to the floor.

"Hello, Andrew," the woman says.

The little boy peers around his mother's legs, curious eyes taking in the shop.

Time seems to stand still in Novel Sips, the way it does when a new story is about to begin.

I squeeze Ethan's hand, and he whispers in my ear, "I think your brother might need his own chapter now."

Looking at Andrew's shell-shocked expression, I have to agree. After all, the best love stories often start in coffee shops.

Even the ones that take a few years to find their way home.

Thanks for reading Coffeehouse Confessions.