Epilogue
Yvette
Eighteen Months Later
Where do I even begin? The last eighteen months have been a whirl . A year after Papa Donovan passed, Ditra and her sisters inherited a kind of “magic” diary that led them all to the loves of their lives. I’m talking actual, fated soul mates. I was even skeptical at first, but the Diary, “Ms. Diary” as Ditra calls her, brought Ditra here, to Tennessee! She fell hard and fast for one of the firefighters on Ward’s shift, and now they’re engaged . They actually got engaged about six months ago—which means they got engaged like, right away after meeting and having a whirlwind crazy romance.
Ditra calls it “insta-love.” Ward has another word for it—insta cray-cray. He doesn’t tell people he still carries the hematite crystal I gave him on our first date. His walls are made of the real-deal, heavy-duty fortified stuff, but I’m not in the business of breaking them down. He’s got to chisel that stone on his own—and I’m just here, always for him.
We’re not engaged, we don’t live together and we don’t talk about kids or the future much, we just live in the moment and day by day. We have a cozy little life, full of sweet moments, amazing sex, delicious food and so much laughter. He accepts my crazy, and I cast all the spells to protect him from his. It comes with the territory of dating a fireman. I’m not risk averse, either…
I was chatting with Abra, the midwife who delivered baby Austin, the day he was born. ( Love her name by the way!) She was adamant she’d never date a firefighter. I think she lost someone important to her, but she didn’t outright say it, knowing I was seeing Ward. She didn’t want to freak me out. I get it. Abra is drop-dead gorgeous though, and with so many eligible, good-looking firefighters in Cinder County…hmm. I guess we’ll just see!
Sometimes I have feelings about things I can’t shake. I won’t say I’m always right about those. I just can’t remember a time when I was wrong.
“Knock knock.”
I turn around from the split-pea soup I’m cooking for Ward, excited to see him showing up early. And with flowers and a big grin on his face.
“What is this?” I speed-walk over to him and launch my arms around his neck.
“I don’t know how to make this a whole to-do, so I’m going to just do it.”
“Do what?”
He hands me the flowers, then says, “Wait, no,” and takes them back, setting them on the back of the couch.
“You’re being Weird Ward.” I crack a smile. I can’t help that the nickname has kind of stuck.
But this time, Ward doesn’t laugh or roll his eyes or anything. He looks me dead in the eye and steps toward me, closing the space. “Yvette, my spark, my light…I love you. I will love you forever. I know you. I feel you.”
“I feel you, Ward.” I crane my head to look all the way up into his face. “I love you, too.”
“Shh. This is my proposal, honey.”
“Proposal?” My heart soars, radiating warmth up my neck, spreading to my cheeks.
He bends to one knee in front of me, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a small ring box.
“Ward…” I choke up.
“If I have to shush you one more time,” he chides.
My eyes fill with happy tears, and I swallow the sob that’s tickling my throat. “Okay, okay.” I give a wobbly smile.
He opens the box to reveal a vintage-inspired, white gold ring with a diamond halo encircling what appears to be a round, hematite-blend stone in the center. “Yvette, my love, my light, my best friend and soul mate, will you be my wife?”
I nod several times fast, jutting out my left hand. I squeak out a “yes” as he slides it onto my ring finger. Ward holds my hand in both of his, and standing up, he kisses me.
“But what about your covenant?” I ask when we break away from the kiss.
He shakes his head solemnly. “I made that out of fear. Didn’t you tell me, you can’t set your intention based on fear?”
“I did tell you that. But if it’s not what you want —”
“I fucking want it more than anything, Spark.” He swipes some hair off the side of my cheek, cradling that part of my face in his warm, humongous palm. “It’s a fight every day not to have you, all of you, all of life with you. A marriage. Babies—”
“ Babies ?” I whisper-shriek.
“Mhm, I want babies, baby.” His eyes narrow as they zero in on mine. Oh he’s not kidding. “ Lots of them.”
“Two or three?”
“Four,” he says.
“Three?” I negotiate.
“Done.” He grins. We shake on it. “We should live together.” Ward picks up the flowers and hands them back to me. “This is nonsense, your house and my house. Houses . Our home should be home .”
“You’re not worried I’ll set our house on fire?” I cringe. It’s been 44 days fire-free. We have a whiteboard going.
“Oh, I’m worried,” he says dead-serious. “I’ve already got the plans drawn out. I’m fireproofing the shit out of that thing.”
“You’ve got plans? How long have you been…”
“Well that ring’s been burning a hole in my dresser for a year.”
A year? That’s so whimsically romantic and so…sad. My heart splinters for Ward, my fiancé. We’ve been solid as a rock, so I know it’s not us he’s doubted this whole time. It’s the time it took to break a space out of those walls.
I reach my free hand up to his face, just resting it there on his stubbly, tan cheek. “I’m so sorry you’ve been struggling with this. I hope you’re not worried about what Abra said.”
“She was right, though. It’s not just this job.” He looks down at his boots. “I have…”
“Utter disregard for your personal safety?”
His eyebrows lift. “I’m going to try to work on that.”
“I’ll work on not being an arsonist.”
“See? We got this. We’re good at this.” He pulls me in for the squishiest, warmest hug. Safest place on earth.
“Everything is good,” I remind him. “It is all good.”
It always is.