Epilogue
One Year Later
There’s something wildly unfair about dresses meant for “special occasions.” They’re beautiful, ethereal, stitched with beads and satin and dreams. And yet—clearly designed by someone who has never met a postpartum woman.
I tug at the bodice and glare at my reflection. “You’re mocking me, aren’t you?”
Brick leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, smirk firmly in place. Thirteen now, he’s all limbs and sarcasm. “Pretty sure it’s not the dress mocking you, Jazz. It’s your face.”
“Traitor.” I stick my tongue out at him.
He shrugs, pleased with himself. “Still prettier than Dad, though.”
That earns him a laugh. “Good save.”
The truth is, I’m glowing. My hair is pinned with flowers Riley insisted on weaving herself. My cheeks flush because the man waiting for me outside has a way of doing that without even trying. And okay—maybe the dress doesn’t fit exactly the way it should, but who cares?
Because here I am. Married. Mother. Still madly in love with Sheriff Asher Vaughn.
And today, our yard is filled with friends, family, nearly the entire sheriff team, and one very opinionated dog.
Ms. Rainbow chooses that moment to scratch at the bedroom door, her whine echoing through the wood.
“She knows it’s her turn to walk the aisle,” Brick says, deadpan.
I groan. “You didn’t.”
His smirk widens. “Puppies have bow ties, Jasmine. Bow ties.”
Of course they do.
I press my hands to my face and giggle, the absurdity of my life bubbling over.
A year ago, I said “yes” in a diner strung with lights and roses.
The wedding followed, again in my diner full of family members.
I was blessed that my mother was clear enough to come and give me away on my special day.
As I recall, the minister left with a large box of scones and lemon bars, a smile from ear to ear.
Today, we’re celebrating our first anniversary with a vow renewal—because Riley claimed one celebration wasn’t nearly enough and Mrs. O’Hara threatened mutiny if she wasn’t allowed to throw us a party.
Riley also insisted that Ms. Rainbow and her puppies would be part of the “wedding party.”
Asher pretends to be grumpy about it, but I caught him sneaking bacon to the puppies this morning. He’s as smitten as Brick.
“Go,” I tell Brick, shooing him with my hand. “Make sure your furry siblings are ready.”
He pauses at the door, his expression softening. “You look really happy, Jazz.”
I blink against the sudden prick of tears. “I am, Brick. I really am.”
He nods and disappears, and I take one last look at the mirror. Not perfect. But perfectly me.
The backyard of our new lakeside home—the one we bought together as a family—is strung with lights.
The late summer sun dips low, painting everything in gold.
Rows of matching white folding chairs stretch across the lawn, filled with the people who’ve become my family.
Riley sits near the front, camera in hand, already misty-eyed.
Mrs. O’Hara fans herself dramatically, no doubt ready to narrate every moment for the next fifty years.
And at the end of the aisle—there he is.
Asher Vaughn, in a suit that fits him like it was sewn for this exact day, hair with just a little silver at the temples, eyes locked on me like I’m the only one in existence. He smiles, slow and sure, and my knees nearly give out.
The music swells. And then—chaos.
Ms. Rainbow trots proudly down the aisle, tail wagging, a garland of daisies around her neck.
Behind her, six wriggling puppies waddle in uneven lines, each with a ridiculous satin bow tie.
The crowd erupts in laughter as one pup veers into the second row, showering guests with licks.
Another sprawls on the grass halfway down, rolling onto his back as if belly rubs are a constitutional right.
I cover my mouth, trying not to burst into hysterics.
Asher pinches the bridge of his nose, fighting a smile, then catches my eye. And that does it. We both laugh, loud and unrestrained, in front of everyone. The puppies eventually tumble into a wiggling heap near the altar, while Ms. Rainbow flops at Brick’s feet like she’s guarding him.
When it’s finally my turn to walk, I don’t see the crowd or the flowers. I see him. Just him. Every step closer, my heart steadies.
The vows are simple. No grand speeches, no rehearsed poetry. Just honesty.
“I thought my chance at love ended years ago,” Asher says, his voice low but carrying.
“I thought my life was already written. And then you walked in and rewrote everything. Jasmine, you make me laugh when I want to growl, you make me hope when I want to give up, and you make me believe I deserve more than just duty. I love you. I choose you. Always.”
My tears are shameless now.
I take his hands, strong and warm around mine.
“I never thought I’d trust anyone again.
But you—Sheriff Vaughn, Asher—you proved me wrong.
You’ve shown me that love can be safe and wild all at once.
You’ve given Brick the kind of steady love he deserves.
You’ve given me a wonderful son in him, a precious daughter, and a home I never thought I’d have.
I love you. And I’ll keep choosing you, too. ”
The kiss seals it. The crowd cheers. Brick whoops loud enough to scare the puppies.
The reception is chaos in the best way. Pies on every table.
Riley dancing barefoot in the grass, often with the new deputy just come to town.
Now that will deserve some conversations.
Brick attempting to teach Mrs. O’Hara how to floss (the dance, not dental hygiene); mom being supported by her besties, Heather and Eloise; and Asher holding me close under the string lights, whispering jokes that make me laugh so hard I nearly drop my slice of cherry pie
And then—her.
Clara Rebecca Vaughn. Pink, pudgy, swaddled in my arms as I sit on the porch swing later that night. Just two months old, and already the queen of our world. Brick sits beside me, his expression a mix of awe and fierce protectiveness.
“She smells weird,” he says, wrinkling his nose.
I laugh softly. “That’s the new-baby smell, Brick.”
He leans closer, studying her face. “She’s perfect. Like, really perfect. Can I hold her again?”
I pass Clara carefully into his arms. He cradles her like she’s made of glass, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Don’t worry, little sis. I’ve got you. Nobody’s messing with you. Ever.”
My throat tightens. I glance toward the yard where Asher is laughing with Riley, a puppy tucked under each arm.
This is it. The life I didn’t even dream of. A husband who loves me fiercely. A son who’s become my heart. A daughter who already has us wrapped around her tiny fingers. Friends, laughter, puppies, chaos, and love.
I lean my head against Brick’s shoulder. “She adores you already, you know.”
He grins, all boyish pride. “Course she does. I’m the best big brother in the world.”
I smile through tears. “You really are.”
***
Later, when the stars blanket the sky and the last guests have trickled away, Riley loads Ms. Rainbow and her puppy crew back into her car. Only one pup remains behind—Brick’s. The moment Riley offered, he looked at his dad and me with such pleading in his eyes that we couldn’t say no.
Brick has already named him Scout.
Asher finds me on the swing once the yard is quiet, Clara tucked against my chest, nursing to her little heart’s delight. He kneels in front of me, brushing his hand over her downy hair, then up to cup my cheek.
“Still think it couldn’t get better?” he murmurs.
I shake my head, too full to speak.
Because it has. It absolutely has.
***
The morning after the party is soft and slow, sunlight spilling across the kitchen like an uninvited guest that doesn’t mind the mess.
Empty cups and crumpled napkins wait on the counter, quiet witnesses to last night’s laughter.
My head still hums with fragments — music, clinking glasses, voices layered warm and easy.
For a moment I let it wash over me: the comfort of friends filling the house, the rare kind of happiness that doesn’t shout but settles deep. Best of all, Mom was there — smiling, talking, stronger than I’d dared hope, and the memory of her at the table makes everything feel lighter.
Now, with the baby finally down for her nap, the silence feels like a sigh after a long, full breath.
Clara’s tiny chest rises and falls against the pale yellow rabbit blanket, when headlights sweep across the yard.
Scout perks up from his bed by the back door, yipping once like he knows he’s the new guardian now.
Asher’s cruiser pulls in, gravel crunching. The driver’s side door opens and out steps my husband, shaking his head like he’s seen it all—and then some. He’s still in uniform, but his tie’s loosened and his hair is more rumpled than when he left eight hours ago. It’s out of character for him.
Brick bounds out before Asher even makes it up the walk. “What was it this time?” Asher sighs, glancing between us, then pinches the bridge of his nose. “Goats again.”
I blink. “Excuse me?”
“Goats,” he repeats, dead serious. “Five of them. Loose on Maple Street, knocking over garbage cans and climbing on top of Mrs. O’Hara’s Buick.
Whole neighborhood out there filming on their phones instead of helping.
Call came in just before noon. Took every deputy we’ve got just to keep traffic moving. ”
Brick cackles. “Please tell me you chased them.”
“Chased, tackled, negotiated,” Asher says dryly. “One of them apparently only responds to the name Princess Buttercup.”
I nearly wake the baby with my laughter. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”
“I wish.” He unclips his badge and sets it on the porch railing like it weighs ten pounds more than it did yesterday. “The whole town will be talking about Sheriff Vaughn versus the Goats of Maple Street for weeks.”
Brick is doubled over now. “Did anyone get video?”
“Unfortunately,” Asher mutters. “Riley already texted me a GIF.”
I press my hand over my mouth, shoulders shaking. “Well, look on the bright side. At least you’re not boring.”
He climbs the steps and bends to kiss me. His lips linger against mine, soft and sure, before he pulls back with a sigh. “You three survive without me?”
“Barely,” I tease. “Brick’s been spoiling Clara rotten. I think she already prefers him.”
Brick puffs his chest. “Obviously. I’m the fun one.”
Asher shoots him a look. “Don’t get used to it, kid. I change more diapers than you do.”
“That’s because you’re faster,” Brick retorts, deadpan.
***
Later, after Brick is upstairs pretending to sleep and Scout has finally worn himself out in a heap on the rug, Asher and I curl up on the porch swing. The night air is cool, cicadas buzzing, Clara snug in her bassinet at our feet.
“You ever think about how far we’ve come?” I ask quietly.
He leans his head back, eyes drifting toward the stars. “Every day.”
There’s a long pause, filled with the kind of comfortable silence only we’ve earned.
“I mean…” I gesture vaguely toward the house, the baby, the dog curled in the doorway. “Goats on Maple Street. Puppies in bow ties. Brick turning into a sarcastic teenager right in front of us. Did you ever imagine this would be your life?”
He chuckles, low and warm. “Not in a million years. But I wouldn’t trade it. Not for anything.”
I lean into him, pressing my face into his shoulder. “Good. Because you’re stuck with us.”
His arm tightens around me. “That’s the plan, Mrs. Vaughn.”
The door creaks open, and Brick pokes his head out, trying for casual but failing. “She awake?”
“No,” I whisper. “Why?”
He pads over anyway and crouches by the bassinet, watching Clara with the same mix of pride and awe he’s worn since the day she came home. He strokes her tiny fist with one finger.
“She smiled at me today,” he says softly. “Not like gas or anything. A real smile.”
My throat tightens. “She loves you, Brick.”
He beams, and for a moment he looks younger again, our sarcastic boy softened by the weight of love he doesn’t quite know what to do with.
Asher ruffles his hair. “You’ll always be her protector.”
Brick looks up at him, solemn now. “I know. And I won’t mess it up.”
Asher’s eyes meet mine over his head, full of pride.
When Brick finally heads back inside, muttering something about school tomorrow, Asher and I stay out on the porch under a nearly full moon.
“You realize,” I murmur, “that one day she’s going to bring home some boy and Brick’s going to scare him so badly he never comes back.”
Asher grins in the dark. “Good. Saves me the trouble.”
I swat at his chest, laughing. “You’re incorrigible.”
“I’m realistic,” he counters. Then his hand slides into mine, warm and steady. “But whatever comes, we’ll handle it. Together.”
The porch swing creaks, the stars wheel above.
Forever stopped feeling like a risk.
With Asher beside me, it feels like a promise.