If You Give a CEO a Chance (Aspen Grove #3)

Epilogue

ONE YEAR LATER

I draw in a shaky breath as I take in the finished restaurant. Large, black-framed windows span across the front, flower boxes nestled below. A golden glow spills from inside, illuminating the brick exterior.

The cold air nips at my nose as I wrap my arms around myself, reflecting on how far I’ve come. The journey here was long, marked by construction delays, sleepless nights, and countless hours perfecting the menu. Without Harrison, Walter, and the Staffords, I wouldn’t have made it through. I’m grateful for them believing in me and cheering me on when I needed it most.

My heart swells seeing the vintage sign hanging above the entrance, Catherine’s Table .

“We did it, Mom,” I murmur softly.

She inspired this restaurant, and I like to think she played a significant part in guiding me here. As a gentle breeze stirs around me, I close my eyes, picturing my parents standing beside me, sharing this achievement with me. Their proud smiles are vivid in my mind, as if they were still here cheering me on.

Every struggle and triumph I’ve faced has played an important role in shaping who I am, leading me to this defining day, where all my hard work has paid off in more ways than one.

“Fallon?” My eyes flutter open at the sound of Harrison’s voice.

He steps out of the restaurant and joins me on the sidewalk. He’s dressed in his signature three-piece suit with a cobalt tie, the smell of his woodsy cologne reaching me before he does.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks.

“I wanted some fresh air and to take it all in.” I smile softly, gesturing to the building.

Harrison takes my hand in his, intertwining our fingers. “It’s remarkable, Fallon.” His voice is filled with admiration. “These are for you.”

He extends his other hand, revealing a bouquet of white tulips.

“Thank you,” I say, bringing them to my nose and inhaling their sweet scent. “They’re beautiful.”

“You left the apartment early this morning, and I haven’t had a chance to congratulate you properly today.” He winds his arm around my waist, drawing me flush to his chest. “I’m proud of you, trouble.” He tips my chin, his lips meeting mine in a kiss. “I love you so damn much.”

I run a finger along the stubble on his chin. “I love you too, hotshot. This is your night as much as it is mine. Thank you for being there from beginning. I couldn’t have done this without you.”

We’ve come a long way—what started as a whirlwind weekend together, followed by mutual disdain, has blossomed into being head over heels in love. The past year has been pure bliss, and I thank my lucky stars for getting to wake up with him by my side. Even after a year, my love for him grows stronger by the day.

Harrison has hired several executives at Stafford Holdings, giving him more time at home. Our nights and weekends are spent in the kitchen, curled up on the couch with Cat at our feet, and enjoying walks through Central Park when the weather is nice. Our life together might not be filled with grand adventures, but it’s proof that lasting love can be simple and still be extraordinary, and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.

“Why don’t we go inside?” Harrison suggests. “My family wants to see you before you go back to the kitchen.”

“I’d like that. Lead the way,” I say as I follow him inside.

Hand in hand, we step into the restaurant, immediately enveloped by the warmth. The air is filled with fresh basil and rosemary, with the subtle fragrance of mint from the plants around us.

Tables crafted from reclaimed wood are set up throughout the room, each paired with leather-upholstered chairs. Across the room, a bar stretches along the wall filled with top-shelf liquor, where the bartender mixes drinks with precision. Low wooden trays along the wall hold small clusters of herbs that we incorporate into the dishes.

I wave at Julie, the hostess, as we walk past. “You’re doing great tonight,” I commend.

“Thank you, Chef.” She beams.

The place is packed with family and friends of the staff. Tonight, we’re doing a soft opening to fine-tune the menu and service ahead of the grand opening next week. Lila and Brooks are coming to town for it, and I’m counting down the days. It’s been too long, and I have a list of places to take Lila while she’s in town.

The Staffords are at a large table in the corner, enjoying a sampler of appetizers, including stuffed mushrooms, sweet potato wedges, and smoked salmon cucumber bites.

As soon as Johanna sees us, she gets out of her chair and comes over to pull me into a hug.

“Sweetheart, this place is amazing,” she praises, pulling back to look at me. “And the food is flawless as always. Mike and I couldn’t be more proud of you.”

Tears well in my eyes at her tenderness. “Thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you.”

I mean it. Since Harrison and I made our relationship official, Johanna has embraced me like her own daughter. She calls me every day, visits New York at least once a month, and is always available when I want to share a new recipe or simply talk. No one will ever replace my mom, but Johanna has become a close second, offering the guidance, love, and comfort that have helped me heal in ways I never thought were possible.

It’s a stark contrast to the relationship I had with my grandmother. I haven’t heard from her since she showed up at the apartment building last year, and I’m okay with that. I’m sure I’ll have to face her again someday, but she no longer holds any weight in my life. What matters now is that I’m surrounded by people who lift me up and care about me unconditionally.

“Yes, the food is excellent. You’ve really outdone yourself,” Mike says enthusiastically from his seat before popping a stuffed mushroom into his mouth.

“Fallon, when is the balloon maker coming?” Lola shouts from the other side of the table, sitting between Dylan and Marlow.

With so many kids here tonight, I wanted to make it special so a balloon artist seemed like the perfect choice to bring a little extra fun to the mix.

I glance at my watch. “He’ll be here by the time you finish your dinner.”

“Oh, goodie. This is the best day ever,” she exclaims through a mouthful of potato wedges. “I want him to make me a unicorn.”

Marlow leans in, softly touching her arm. “Lolabug, remember what I mentioned earlier—talking with your mouth full isn’t polite.”

“Sorry,” she says through a mouthful of food.

Marlow shakes her head, smiling softly as she leans back in her chair, resting her hand on her swollen stomach. She and Dylan are expecting a baby girl, and Lola is over the moon about becoming a big sister, telling anyone who will listen.

I hear a soft coo and glance over at Cash and Everly, who are next to Dylan, each cradling one of their twin boys, Teddy and Harry, in their arms. They flew in from London to be here and are staying at our penthouse. The last few days have been filled with cuddles, baby giggles, and tiny hands reaching for everything. It makes me excited for the future and the day I have my own kids. Harrison will be a great father, and our kids will have lots of cousins to play with, something I never had growing up.

“Fallon, this truffle aioli sauce is to die for,” Presley gushes. “I think the touch of smoked paprika gives it the perfect kick.”

Jack pulls her to his chest, kissing her forehead.

“I’m so happy you like it,” I say, my voice brimming with excitement.

Over the past few months, she’s visited the restaurant once a week for lunch, and I’ve made her a range of dishes to test out for the menu. We’ve grown close, and it’s great having her and Jack in the city. They join us often for Mavericks games and occasionally come over on movie night. Harrison takes the flowers from my hands, setting them on the table. He’s been incredibly patient and attentive tonight, allowing me to enjoy every moment without feeling overwhelmed. I’m the luckiest girl in the world to call him mine.

He leans in to whisper in my ear, “I can’t wait until we’re alone tonight. We’re taking home some of that homemade whipped cream I spotted in the kitchen earlier.”

A shiver dances down my spine at the promise in his voice. “As long as we don’t make as big of a mess as last time, I’m in,” I say, my tone sultry.

I clear my throat when I remember we’re surrounded by family.

“I better get to the kitchen before we start plating entrées. I appreciate you all coming,” I say to the Staffords with a broad grin.

A chorus of thank yous echo in unison, and Lola frantically waves goodbye, her cheeks puffed with a mouthful of food.

Harrison leans in to kiss my temple. “I’ll come find you when our family leaves.”

“Sounds good.”

I weave my way around servers and tables, the chaotic energy feeding my soul. As I pass the bar, I come to a stop when I find Walter folding cloth napkins. He came to dinner with a few volunteers from the animal shelter, and the last thing I expected was him to be helping out tonight.

“What are you doing? You should be enjoying your appetizers,” I tell him.

He glances up, giving me a warm smile. “Your staff got busy and I noticed you were running low on napkins and I figured I could lend a hand.”

I wrap my arm around him and rest my head on his shoulder. “That’s so sweet, thank you.”

He leans his head against mine. “Always, Miss Fallon,” he vows.

No matter how many times I ask him to drop the “Miss,” he just nods along but continues to ignore my request.

The sound of a dish shattering makes me snap my head toward the kitchen.

“You better get back there.” Walter gestures at the back of the restaurant.

“You’re right.” I lean in to kiss him on the cheek. “Thanks for everything, Walt.”

Over the past year, he’s become like a grandfather to me, and giving him a nickname only felt right. He’s one of the most important people in my life, and I think it means as much to him as it does to me.

I give him a quick hug before walking off. As soon as I step into the kitchen, I shift into work mode, ready to help with platting entrées and dessert prep.

Theo played a key role in helping me assemble a reliable team that I can count on to keep things running smoothly, even when I’m not around. He’s flying in for the grand opening, and we’ve already begun serious discussions about opening a Catherine’s Table in London next year. I’ve also been in talks with several publishers about my cookbook focused on allergy-friendly foods. It’s another dream come true, but with all that’s on my plate, I’ll need as much help as I can get.

I never could have imagined that this would be my reality—my own restaurant named after my mom, a man who I thought I lost forever but has now become my everything, and a family who’s given me nothing but love and support.