Epilogue
Six months later
Garrett
I lean against the porch railing of what was once my temporary cabin, watching the summer chaos unfold. Rachel’s vision of an artist colony has transformed this mountain retreat into something I never could have imagined when I first arrived to install that fateful piece at the gallery. Now easels dot the landscape like modern-day wildflowers, their occupants chasing the perfect morning light with oils and watercolors.
My brother-in-law Ryder, here for his monthly “inspection,” is currently entertaining a group of painters by striking ridiculous poses. “Like one of your French girls,” he announces, sprawling across a rock. I catch Jake rolling his eyes from his perch on the neighboring cabin’s steps.
Rachel emerges from our cabin—the same one where I proposed that memorable morning—and hands me a coffee mug. Her ring catches the sunlight, the worked steel still as meaningful as the day I shaped it from that installation piece.
The crunch of tires on gravel makes us all turn. The purple Hearts & Grinds delivery van pulls up, and I watch my normally confident brother-in-law practically fall off his rock.
Dana steps out, looking flustered as she balances a large box. She’s everyone’s favorite with her experimental recipes and genuine warmth. Her dark curls are dusted with flour, baker’s cap slightly askew. “Morning! I brought some test batches. Elise said I could share them since they’re not quite right for the menu yet.”
“I’m sure they’re perfect,” Ryder blurts, then immediately looks like he wants to die. “I mean... food is... good?”
Rachel presses her face into my shoulder to muffle her laughter. I’ve never seen my brother-in-law this tongue-tied.
“Oh!” Dana brightens when she sees him. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. I tried making those apple turnovers you mentioned last time. I probably messed them up, but...” She bites her lip, suddenly shy. “Would you mind trying one?”
The look on Ryder’s face is priceless—like someone just offered him the moon. “You remembered that?”
“Of course I did,” she says softly, then quickly adds, “I mean, I remember all the regulars’ favorites. For... customer service purposes.”
She pulls out a turnover and holds it up. A spot of caramel sauce drips onto her hand, and without thinking, Ryder catches her wrist to stop it from falling. They both freeze at the contact.
“Well?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
“Marry me,” he breathes, then immediately turns the color of a fire engine when he realizes what he’s said.
Dana’s eyes go wide, a blush spreading across her cheeks. She lets out a nervous laugh. “I... um... maybe we could start with coffee? When I’m not covered in flour?”
“Yes!” Ryder says too loudly, making several painters jump. “I mean, if you want to. Coffee. With me. When do you... when are you...”
“I finish at seven,” she offers, tucking a loose curl behind her ear. “Most days. Not that you asked. I just... thought you might want to know. For coffee purposes.”
“Seven,” he repeats, like it’s the most important number he’s ever heard.
She starts backing toward her van, nearly tripping over nothing. “I should go. More deliveries. But the turnovers—keep them. Let me know if they’re okay? For the bakery, I mean. Not for... marriage proposals.” Her laugh is nervous but genuine.
As her van disappears down the drive, Ryder stands frozen, pastry in hand, looking shell-shocked. The artists have long abandoned any pretense of painting, thoroughly invested in the show.
“Well,” Rachel says, grinning. “That was...”
“Perfect,” I finish for her, remembering our own awkward beginning.
“I need a shower,” Ryder announces suddenly. “And a shirt that doesn’t have paint on it. And maybe a haircut. Do I need a haircut? What time is it? How many hours until seven?”
“Breathe, buddy,” Jake calls out, laughing.
A breeze carries the scent of apple and caramel across the morning air, and I pull Rachel closer, watching her brother panic about his upcoming coffee date.
“Hey,” Ryder calls out desperately. “Does anyone know a good florist?”
Rachel laughs. “For coffee?”
“Right,” he mutters. “Too much? It’s too much. But what if—”
“Just be yourself,” I advise, remembering how well that worked with Rachel. “She already likes you enough to remember your favorite pastry.”
Watching Ryder simultaneously beam and panic at this observation, I can’t help but think how these mountains have become my home, and there’s no where else I’d rather be than standing here with Rachel at my side.
∞∞∞