Dirty Delivery (Bound & Delivered #1)

Epilogue

Savannah

One Year Later

Life? Oh, it’s a wild ride these days—like I blinked and the universe decided to turn my life from "average sitcom" to "award-winning rom-com." In the past year, I’ve somehow managed to write and publish two books (yes, I’m still pinching myself) and both landed on the New York Times Best Seller List. One of them—a contemporary romance inspired by my love story with Rylan—has people everywhere swooning. No big deal or anything, right?

But it hasn’t all been smooth sailing. Healing from the trauma and chaos of the past has been its own kind of journey. Therapy has become a lifeline, helping me untangle the mess in my head and learn to breathe through the anxiety that creeps in at the worst times. I’ve taken up journaling, pouring out the thoughts I can’t always say aloud, and even on my darkest days, I remind myself of the progress I’ve made. Some scars run deep, but I’m learning that they don’t define me. And through it all, Rylan has been my rock, steady and unwavering, reminding me that it’s okay to lean on him when the weight feels like too much. Slowly but surely, I’m finding my way back to myself.

To keep myself grounded (and to avoid full hermit mode), I spend a few nights a week working at Declan’s pub. It’s the perfect place to soak up the chaotic energy of Dublin nights and escape the oh-so-glamorous solitude of writing. Plus, the pub gives me a front-row seat to humanity in all its glorious messiness—prime inspiration for book three, naturally.

Speaking of grounding, my bond with Sarah has become unshakable. Our wine nights? Iconic. They’re part therapy, part comedy show, and 100% the reason I haven’t lost my mind. When I finally told her everything— everything —that had happened, we cried until we looked like raccoons. It was the kind of cry that leaves you lighter and freer. Now, we laugh harder, hug tighter, and never let a wine bottle go unfinished.

Today, the house smells like cinnamon and warm apples, thanks to Noreen and her apple pie mission. We’re in the kitchen, teasing each other like sisters, while attempting to bake (read: she bakes, I provide questionable moral support). It’s the kind of moment I never thought I’d have again—a house filled with laughter, the air thick with joy, not dread.

The front door creaks open, and I hear Rylan’s voice, smooth as ever. “I’m home, mo stóirín.”

“In here!” I call, already grinning.

He steps into the kitchen, looking unfairly attractive with his sleeves rolled up and that cocky-yet-sweet smile that makes my knees weak. Rylan’s shifted from occasional “deliveries” with Declan to being my literary manager and self-proclaimed social media guru. (Yes, he knows my passwords. No, I don’t know if that’s smart or terrifying.)

“You still haven’t told me what that means,” I say, side-eyeing his pet name for me.

He smirks, closing the distance between us. “And after all this time, you still haven’t Googled it?”

“I wanted to hear it from you,” I say, tilting my head like a proper curious kitten.

His arms wrap around me, pulling me close, and I’m a goner. “It means ‘my darling’ in Irish,” he murmurs, his voice soft and full of warmth. “It’s what my da used to call my ma. They were madly in love, and even as a kid, I knew that’s what I wanted one day.”

Cue my heart practically bursting out of my chest. I reach up, tracing the familiar lines of his face, and wonder for the millionth time how I got so lucky. Falling more in love with him every day feels impossible, yet here I am, doing just that.

Rylan

“Let’s go out to dinner tonight.” I lean casually against the counter, trying not to look as nervous as I feel. “I want to take you to La Belle étoile.”

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “The place with the months-long waiting list? That La Belle étoile?”

I grin and wink. “Let’s just say the owner owes me a favor.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “You’re full of surprises, Rylan. What should I wear?”

“That red dress. You know which one. The one that makes me forget my own name.”

That evening, I pull on a dress shirt and slacks, feeling more like a knight heading into battle than a man going out to dinner. I’ve faced life-threatening situations—hell, I’ve stared death in the face more times than I can count—but nothing has ever made my palms sweat like this moment.

On the drive to the restaurant, I grip the steering wheel tighter than necessary, glancing over at Savannah every chance I get. She’s glowing, her hair cascading over her shoulders, and that red dress? It’s criminal how good it looks on her.

When we arrive, I hop out and circle to open her door, ever the gentleman tonight. Her smile is soft and curious, as if she knows something’s up.

Inside, the hostess greets us with a smile that’s a little too knowing for my liking. “Right this way, Mr. Doyle.” She leads us to a private table by the window, lit with flickering candles.

We sit, order wine, and dive into the menu. Savannah debates between two desserts, completely oblivious to the fact that I’m about to change both of our lives. My heart pounds harder than it ever has—harder than it did the first time I held a gun.

I slip my hand into my pocket, fingers brushing the small velvet box. Showtime.

She lowers the dessert menu, catching sight of me as I push back my chair and drop to one knee. Her eyes widen, her hand flies to her mouth.

“Mo stóirín, you’ve turned my world upside down in the best possible way. You’ve made me laugh when I wanted to scream, believe in a future I thought I’d lost, and love in a way I didn’t think I could. You are my home, my heart, and my reason for everything. Will you marry me?”

Tears stream down her cheeks, but her smile is so bright it could outshine the candles. “Yes. Yes, of course, I’ll marry you.”

Relief and joy crash into me like a tidal wave. Sliding the ring onto her finger, I stand and pull her into my arms, spinning her around as laughter and tears blur together.

The restaurant erupts into cheers and applause, but for me, there’s only Savannah. She’s the only thing in the room, the only thing in the world, and I can’t wait to spend forever proving to her that she’s my everything.