Epilogue - Charli
Iknow he threw the game.
Sawyer Gallo is many things—billionaire, broody, brilliant—but subtle? Not so much. I saw the way he “accidentally” tripped over second base. The way his pitch mysteriously flew three feet to the left during the final inning. The way he winked at me just before Sunni kicked the winning run in.
Did the Walking Ladies immediately erupt into cheers and start waving glittery pom-poms they’d mysteriously pulled out of nowhere? Yes.
Did Sunni and I leap into each other’s arms like we’d just won Olympic gold in dramatic flair? Also yes.
And did Sawyer smile like he’d just scored the real win just by watching me laugh?
Hell yes.
I should question it. Demand a rematch. Call him out for sweetly sabotaging his team in the name of love. But you know what? A win is a win, and I'm not about to give it back.
Especially not when our victory means the Good News Guys have to show up at Hooplas tonight wearing costumes picked by yours truly and the Bad News Babes.
And let me tell you—we did not go easy on them.
The Silver Willow is coming along beautifully.
Sawyer spared no expense, but he’s also let me make every creative call, from the kitchen layout to the herb garden on the patio.
It’s ours now, not just mine. And that makes every new beam, every brick, every steel appliance humming to life feel like a second chance I never thought I’d ever get.
Opening day is less than a month away and I couldn’t be more excited.
I’ve already reached out to every former employee I could track down.
Most of them cried when I called. A few screamed.
One offered to name her next child after me.
We’ve been rebuilding together—sanding tables, testing menus, painting trim, while Ghost supervises like she’s got a clipboard and a union badge.
The fire, though—that still lingers like smoke in the background.
It was ruled arson. Captain Morgan and Investigator Chance Carter say they’re still working the case, but the way they avoid eye contact when I ask about leads tells me either they don’t have any…
or they do and they’re not ready to share.
I’m betting on the latter. But I’ll wait.
In the meantime, I’ve got a fire extinguisher behind every stove and Ghost trained to bark if anyone even thinks about suspicious behavior.
She’s very proud of this job, by the way.
Tonight, Hooplas is packed in anticipation of the show.
The Walking Ladies are in rare form—Florence is wearing flamingo earrings that light up in sync with her margarita sips again, Gladys is taking side bets on how many shots Kane can down before he tries to line dance with a speaker, and Betty has declared herself the official judge of the costume contest despite no one asking her to.
Joan is sitting front and center with her camera at the ready.
“Where are those men?” Betty asks, craning her neck toward the door. “I didn’t put on leopard print Spanx for nothing!”
“They’re coming,” I say, sipping my cocktail. “And I hope your heart’s ready.”
And then they arrive.
In full regalia.
The door swings open and in march the Good News Guys… dressed as various Disney princesses.
Hudson is Elsa, wig and all. Ian is both confused and committed as Belle, complete with yellow ballgown and combat boots.
Garrett is rocking a mermaid tail that squeaks when he walks, and Trevor—dear God—is Cinderella with a beer can in place of a glass slipper.
The others are all in some sort of princess gown, tiara and all.
Sawyer?
Sawyer is Prince Charming.
Naturally.
He even bows.
The bar explodes in laughter, cheers, and way too many camera flashes. The Walking Ladies nearly collapse from glee.
“I’m never recovering,” Gladys wheezes between cackles. “This is going on the Christmas card.”
I can barely breathe. Sawyer makes a grand show of coming over to me, dropping to one knee like he’s about to apologize for everything wrong every man has ever done throughout history.
But then…
He stays on one knee.
And pulls a box from the inside of his ridiculous velvet jacket.
And suddenly everything goes still.
“Charli Whitmore,” he says, voice steady even as his smile turns soft and reverent, “I’ve fought for a lot of things in my life—money, legacy, control.
But I’ve never fought harder, or wanted more, than the life we’re building together.
You, me, Ghost… a place to belong, and someone to share it with.
I don’t care where we live, how big the house is, or if we spend the rest of our lives curled up in the back of your van. I just want you. Will you marry me?”
The bar goes silent.
My throat tightens, my eyes fill, and my heart… my heart soars.
I nod.
Then throw my arms around him and whisper, “Yes.”
The place erupts in chaos again—cheers, applause, one of the Walking Ladies sobbing into her drink and yelling “I LOVE LOVE!”
Sawyer kisses me like I’m the only person in the world.
And for the first time, maybe ever, I believe this kind of joy was always meant to be mine.
We might be a little broken. A little burned. A little messy.
But we’re building something beautiful, anyway.
Together. Forever.
And that’s the best win of all.