35. EPILOGUE
TWO WEEKS LATER
TATI
The smell of garlic and tomato sauce fills the air, mixing with the faint tang of basil as warm laughter echoes from the kitchen. My parents’ house is buzzing with energy—the kind that comes with full bellies and wine glasses that have been refilled one too many times. I’m seated between Ashton and Ryder at the long wooden dining table, both of them taking up way too much space and acting like they own the place. Which, let’s be honest, they kind of do now.
Ashton’s hand is on my neck again, his thumb rubbing slow, lazy circles just below my ear—right over the bonding mark he put there last week. And it’s driving me insane. Every brush sends tingles straight down my spine and into places that are wildly inappropriate considering my father is twenty feet away.
I shoot Ashton a glare, my eyes narrowing. “Stop it,” I hiss under my breath. I’m still pissed at him for putting it there. At least Ryder put it on my shoulder, right beside Carleen’s.
Ashton smirks, those long lashes fluttering as he tilts his head and leans closer. “Stop what, little doe? I’m just enjoying myself.”
Before I can respond, Ryder clears his throat. The sound cuts through whatever ridiculousness Ashton and I are tangled in. His blue eyes flick between us, narrowed, and he says absolutely nothing, but the look is clear: Behave.
I sit back in my chair with a dramatic sigh, crossing my arms over my chest. Ashton just grins, unbothered, like he’s won this little round of our ongoing war.
The faint murmur of conversation drifts in from the kitchen where my mother is undoubtedly grilling Carleen over recipes or techniques or some other culinary nonsense.
“Tati.”
I glance up to see my dad walking in from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel slung over his shoulder. He’s wearing an old apron with Kiss the Cook written in faded letters across the front. He stops just in front of my chair, one brow lifted, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“You look happy, baby girl.” His voice is warm, thick with emotion that makes me into a little puddle. “Happier than I’ve seen you in a long time.”
I swallow the sudden lump in my throat and nod. “I am happy.”
His eyes flick briefly to Ashton, who sits there looking all smug and golden in the candlelight. Then his gaze shifts to Ryder, who’s sitting like a mountain carved out of stone, watching quietly like he’s waiting for something to pounce on.
“Well,” my dad says, turning back to me, “I guess this is the troublemaker.” He juts his chin toward Ashton with a teasing smile.
Ashton raises both hands like he’s surrendering. “Guilty as charged, sir.”
My dad laughs—a deep, rumbling sound that makes me grin—and then pats Ashton on the shoulder before heading back to the kitchen, the towel still clutched in his hand. The moment he’s gone, Ashton leans toward me again, his lips brushing right against my ear.
“You are happy though, right, Tati?” His voice is low, his breath warm as it skates over the sensitive skin.
A shiver runs through me and I have to bite back a moan as I press my thighs together. My nails dig into my palm as I whisper, “I swear to the goddess, Ashton, I’m going to have your ass when we get home.”
He chuckles, lips grazing my ear again. “My ass, sweetheart? That’s reserved for Ryder. Maybe Carleen.”
Before I can hiss back a response, a loud clink pulls our attention to the head of the table. Carleen emerges from the kitchen, carrying a massive pot of spaghetti that smells like it was blessed by some kind of food deity. Her curls have gotten a little long, now tied back, little wisps escaping and curling around her face as she sets the pot down with a flourish.
“What’s maybe only for Carleen?” she asks, one brow raised as she stares between Ashton and me.
My mouth opens, then closes, and then opens again because I was absolutely not prepared for Ashton’s response. Ashton, the menace, just grins and leans back in his chair, utterly shameless.
I point at him. “Ashton said his ass is only for Ryder. And maybe you.”
Carleen freezes for a fraction of a second before tilting her head, her lips twitching like she’s trying not to smile. “Did he now?”
Ashton shrugs one shoulder, still wearing that damn smirk. “What can I say? Gotta keep my options open.”
Carleen gives him a long, unimpressed look before shaking her head and turning back toward the kitchen. “You’re all ridiculous . Behave before one of Tati’s parents overhears and decides we’re not good enough for their daughter.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ashton says with a mock salute, but I don’t miss the way his eyes linger on her as she disappears around the corner. Ryder catches my gaze from across the table, his mouth twitching into what might almost be considered a smile. It’s fleeting, but it’s there, and it makes something warm and gooey settle deep in my chest. Ashton catches me staring and reaches over to squeeze my shoulder, his thumb rubbing little circles that feel dangerously close to the mark on my ear again.
“Stop it,” I hiss, swatting his hand away.
“Never,” he replies, his grin sharp and far too pleased with himself.
Carleen and my parents finally make it to the table, everyone doling out heaping plates of artisan spaghetti. She scoots Ryder off, taking the spot next to me, right where she belongs. This feels like home. Safe. Perfect. Even with Ashton trying to make me melt into a puddle in front of my parents.
My mom is mid-story, waving her fork in the air for emphasis while my dad shakes his head, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. Ashton’s grinning beside me, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place, while Ryder listens quietly, his lips twitching every now and then when Mama gets particularly animated.
And then there’s Carleen.
She’s next to me, her shoulder pressed against mine, her glass of wine cradled between her fingers as she listens with that quiet, observant gaze of hers. Her pixie curls are a little wild from being in the kitchen earlier, a faint flush still lingering across her cheeks. And goddess, if I’m not completely gone for her.
I don’t even remember what my mom’s talking about because Carleen’s hand slides onto my thigh, her fingers curling just slightly as she gives me a gentle squeeze. “I love you,” she mutters under her breath, soft enough that no one else at the table could possibly hear over my dad’s booming laugh.
It’s not the first time she’s said it. We said it a few weeks ago when everything was still raw, still new. But it feels different now. Like she’s had time to think about it and decided, yeah, she still means it.
A slow grin spreads across my face as I turn to look at her fully. “I love you too,” I whisper back, my voice a little shaky but full of every ounce of warmth I can muster. “So much, Carleen. Thank you… for coming back to me.”
Her lips twitch up into a small smile, and for a moment, it feels like it’s just the two of us. The noise of the dinner fades away, the chatter and clinking silverware nothing but background static as I fall into her gaze. But then Ashton clears his throat loudly. “Are we interrupting something over there?”
Carleen startles slightly, pulling her hand back from my thigh, her cheeks turning pink as she stammers, “Shut up, Ashton.”
I shoot him a glare. “Mind your business, Alpha. ”
He grins, showing just a flash of teeth. “Oh, I love it when you call me that, little doe.”
Ryder, sitting across from us, just shakes his head, though there’s a hint of amusement in his blue eyes.
“Enough,” my mom interjects, waving her fork at Ashton like she’s about to poke him with it. “No flirting at the dinner table, please. ”
Dinner stretches on in this easy, familiar way. Plates are passed back and forth, bread torn apart and dipped in sauce, wine glasses refilled until my mom starts giving everyone that look . My dad tells a story about how he once tried to fix the sink and ended up flooding the entire kitchen and Ryder actually chuckles—like, full-on chuckles . I think my mom might have fallen a little in love with him right then and there.
At one point, Ashton leans over and steals a bite of spaghetti straight from my plate and I nearly stab him with my fork. Carleen snorts, wine nearly spilling from her glass, and Ryder just stares at Ashton like he’s personally offended on my behalf.
By the time dessert rolls around—some kind of ridiculously decadent tiramisu that my mom keeps insisting she made herself (she absolutely did not)—I’m leaning into Carleen’s side, warm and content. Because while this might not be everyone’s traditional happy ending, it’s definitely mine— ours.
Love may come in all shapes, sizes, and flavors.
But this flavor?
This is the flavor of us.