Epilogue
“This heartwarming paean to forgiveness and found family wrapped in a delightful romp and romance is, in many ways, the perfect
rom-com. Meet Me Under the Bridge is a triumph.”
—#1 NYT bestselling author Anne Sanderworth
“Shall I take your bags, madam?”
“Stop it. You’re creeping me out.” I blow out a frosty breath as I hold my suitcase while bouncing on my toes.
“Madam would quietly prefer I take the bags.” Penny reaches for the handle.
“No. I’ve got it,” I say, holding firm.
“Madam says no, but really she is begging me to relieve her arm of the luggage to protect her delicate writing hands.”
Penny is tugging at my bags.
“Jack, stop her. People are going to think I’m a horrible person,” I say to him, who watches, bemused, while we stand at the
entrance doors to the tour bus, waiting for them to open. People are loitering around, cameras out.
“They already know about the two of you,” he says casually, ignoring the flash of cameras all around. “The posts will say
‘Bryony Page and Penny Matthews at It Again.’”
The day Penny lost her mind and highlighted all over Amelia’s blouse during the outrageous stunt, I hired her. Well, technically
Jack did. He said, and I quote, “Penny Matthews is going to be the best PA of your life.”
And he was right.
Honestly, half the time I go to autograph books, people want her to sign it too. With a highlighter.
In addition to being the world’s best assistant, Penny has become one of my closest friends. And turns out, her calligraphy
skills are absolutely to die for.
Honestly, next to my chicken-scratch signature (the same one my students ridicule me about still), her loopy y ’s and crossed t ’s are works of art.
She addresses all the invitations to both book events and fundraisers for The Bridge. Of which there are many.
I’ve dropped down to half time at The Bridge—it was a difficult decision, but in the end, one for which I was immediately
grateful once the tour schedule was in place. Tuesday and Thursday mornings to noon at The Bridge, usually followed up with
a lunch date with Gran and Gloria. And the rest of the week, I write. And tour. And just, in general, do whatever I want.
Most of the time with Jack.
And I love it.
I love it all.
“So sorry, I got hung up!” Gloria races across the parking lot, one massive suitcase sliding against the pavement in each
hand.
I nudge Jack. “C’mon. Go help her, will you?”
But he nods to a space behind her. “Why? She’s got him .”
And sure enough, my face breaks into a wide smile as I glimpse Albrecht closing the trunk of the car, lugging another four
various articles in his arms.
Albrecht, my quirky German student, came after all. The two fell for each other several months ago, after Gloria had enough
of him trailing after her, stalking her every time she went to her car after bowling, and said, “What is wrong with you?” And he announced, “You walk haphazardly and you are like a squirrel. Easily distracted. I must make sure you’re
safe.”
She said, “Do you hate me?”
To which he replied, “You talk a lot. Almost too much. We should get you coffee to protect your voice. It is... too pretty to lose.”
They’ve been together ever since.
I grin madly, about as madly as I have been ever since my entire life flipped on its head seven months ago. Never in my life
did I think I would be going on tour. And yet... life has a funny way of surprising you. Sometimes in ways you never dreamed
possible.
“Back for round two!” The doors open and Trina is sitting on her seat, grinning down at us.
“Only riding with the best!” I step on board and give her a hug.
It’s been only a few weeks since we traveled down the East Coast for Meet Me Under the Bridge . Now, according to Mona, it’s time to head west. And frankly, I can think of no happier circumstances than road tripping
to see the mountains, and a few bookstores, with this crew to share the adventure of it all.
Jack, for his part, has kept most of his clients. He was fired from the agency, of course—with plenty of threats of suing
he has masterfully averted like a skilled cat burglar—but almost all of his authors parted to stick with him. Turns out, more
people in the publishing industry were impressed by his “ingenious” stunt than anyone could have anticipated. That, plus the
fact that I had underestimated exactly how much dislike everyone unanimously had for Amelia Benedict and all she stood for.
It’s hard to know, sometimes, exactly how people feel when they’re too afraid of the consequences to show it.
So Jack formed his own agency.
Sterling Literary.
And given both his clientele and his fascinating publicity stunt, Sterling Literary has become one of the most exclusive and
sought-after agencies for authors of all time.
Just yesterday he hired on two more of my former students to help with translation in foreign rights.
“You ready?” Jack asks. “What?” he says when he sees my face.
“Oh, I was just thinking,” I say, shaking my head with a smile.
“About...”
“About the first time we met. Did you think it would shake out like this?” I ask, not really because I don’t know the answer.
More like I just want to hear him say it. Again.
And he knows this.
His eyes soften as the busyness around us swirls to slow motion, and with all the intensity and sweetness of his golden green
eyes, he steps forward, kissing me softly with one foot on the stairs.
“I wouldn’t have been found on West 74th Street in that bowling shop, wandering around for a bowling bag, if I wasn’t hoping,
desperately, for things to turn out exactly as they have.”
We kiss again, at least until Gloria starts to whistle and nudges Jack’s back while complaining, “C ’mon , you two bowling bag–hauling cuties. It’s freezing.”
And the rest of the day we laugh and drink our coffee and huddle around our computers and papers and games and interweaving
existence—all of us squeezing into the little dinette booth as the bus carries us down the interstate. And cars pull up to
our sides and slow down as the people inside press camera phones to the windows. Taking pictures. Photos to share with others.
A great big graphic of the cover of Meet Me Under the Bridge spans multiple windows, along with dozens of students and former students smiling with me in front of The Bridge.
And in bold black lettering above it are the words:
brYONY PAGE’S #1 NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLING NOVEL,
MEET ME UNDER THE brIDGE , NOW AVAILABLE.
EVERYWHERE.