Epilogue
APRIL
Five months later
I’m a romance writer who hates weddings. Go figure.
Some might infer it’s because I never had one of my own, despite being a mom. And fine, some might be a little right. A teensy, teensy amount of right. A minuscule amount.
Really, the biggest reason I hate weddings is because they require me to get dressed up. And for someone who is the poster child for women who wear yoga pants but don’t do yoga, dresses are a veritable form of torture.
But for one of my besties, I will make an exception. I’m sacrificial like that.
The timer on my phone goes off, and I swipe the reminder upward. Sighing, I close my computer and lean back against the headboard of Elisse’s queen-sized bed. No inspiration’s coming anyway, not today, not surrounded by the chaos brewing outside on the Loveland family’s vineyard grounds. After a long day of mimosas, nails, hair, makeup, photos, and more tulle than a person should have to endure in a single lifetime, the sun’s finally setting.
I can hear the strings of the quartet Chloe and Elisse arranged to play at Marilee and Jordan’s second—but first and only real —wedding, and I know the little bit of writing time I had available to me today is over and done. At least until the ceremony is finished and my services as bridesmaid are no longer required.
So much for my looming deadline. So much for the writer’s block keeping the story just on the other side of the clouds. I can see it like a hazy silhouette, and I think it’s laughing at me.
But between parenting, working at the bookstore, and spending the last several Saturdays I’ve had off at bridal showers, baby showers, and dress fittings, the only time available has been the quiet of the evenings. After Dad’s shut off his baseball games, and Mom’s turned in for the night after an evening of quilting, and Scar’s well into dreamland…
And it seems to be at night when my brain likes to retreat to the past. To the what-if s.
Also, it’s hard to write romance when you haven’t been so much as kissed in nine years. So, you know. I feel a bit justified at the paltry word count on my computer.
Not that Cynthia will care…
My phone buzzes again, and this time, I shut off the alarm and stand from the bed, smoothing the front of my strapless, tea-length gown. Moving to Elisse’s floor-length mirror, I examine myself from side to side, making sure my dress isn’t tucked up into my underwear or some other such romcom faux pas . I give the top of my dress a tug, and it goes…exactly nowhere. With no real boobs or curves or height to speak of, the thing kind of just hangs on me like a drape, but at least Marilee put me in one of the green dresses (along with Kelsey and Jordan’s sister Claire). With my auburn hair and pale skin, the red dresses worn by Chloe, Elisse, and a very pregnant Lucy as part of the bride’s Christmas in July-themed wedding would totally wash me out.
Elisse flounces into her bedroom. Her short hair parted on the side and done in waves would soften her were it not for the look of pure exasperation on her face. “What are you doing back here, April? We needed you five minutes ago for some last-minute photos on the deck.”
“Sheesh, sorry. I was trying to get some writing in.”
“Write on your own time, girl.” Elisse snatches a little box off her white dresser and shoves it at me.
Opening it, I find a pair of Christmas tree earrings inside. I smile. So very Marilee.
“Let’s go, let’s go.” Hands clapping, Elisse leaves just the way she came.
I salute her back with a “Sir, yes, Sir,” then stick the earrings in before snatching up my computer and whisking outside to the home’s back deck overlooking the hills and valleys in the distance. The chatter of guests drifts over from the ceremony site, where white chairs sit on the cleared lawn beside the vines.
All of my friends, including the groomsmen, are clustered around a grinning Jordan and a gorgeous Marilee. Her long brown hair is gathered over one shoulder in curls. A simple tiara adorns her head, simple heels on her feet. The real star of the day is her mother’s wedding dress, altered to fit her to perfection.
She really is the most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen, and after all she’s been through, the most deserving of happiness too.
“Sorry, guys,” I say as I ferret my computer away on an out-of-the-way side table. “Got distracted by the electric glow of my computer screen and the fictional world found within.”
“Hey, no worries.” Marilee smiles softly from where she stands tucked against Jordan, the photographer pushing wisps of hair from her face as she positions the rest of the wedding party around where the happy couple stands on the steps. “Chloe just wanted one more shot of us all on the deck right before sunset.”
Jordan whispers something in her ear, and her cheeks go red as she scrunches her nose and only half suppresses a goofy grin.
Watching the two of them earlier across the vineyard as they did a private reveal ahead of group photos—and watching them, anytime, really—is proof that true love does exist.
Even if it doesn’t exist for me .
I don’t know how they still manage to look that giddy, that in love, after being technically married for six months and living together again for the last few months after “dating” and then getting “engaged for real” in May. It’s all very confusing, but it works for them, and I couldn’t be happier for my friends.
I feel a squeeze on my hand and glance up at Kelsey, my closest friend. “You get any words written?” she whispers. She’s the only one who knows my secret. My current stress.
Claire peeks her blonde head out the door, her perfectly plucked eyebrows raised. “You guys ready for the kiddos?”
“Yes, bring them out,” Chloe says, a clipboard in hand. The woman looks like a freaking model with her long hair in curls down her shoulders and back, heels the length of a football field on her feet, and curves that wind up and down her whole body. We each chose our own style of dress—Mare only cared about the colors—so Chloe’s picked a sleek halter gown with a slit that reaches mid-thigh.
Next to her, I look like a child playing dress-up.
Maybe I can finagle it so I’m standing on the exact opposite end of the bridesmaids’ line from her… Though, honestly, all of these women are beautiful in their own right, even my poor cousin, who needs both Frederick and Blake to help her off the couch where she’s been lounging, a mostly empty bag of potato chips on her round stomach. But even with swollen ankles and more filled-in cheeks, Lucy’s got the pregnancy glow working for her.
“April.” Kelsey squeezes again.
I shake myself from the distractions of my mind—the hazards of being a writer. “Not many words written at all. Like two.”
“Two thousand?” Her face brightens as she fiddles with the straps of her corset-tiered, ruffled gown, which I happen to know she designed and put together herself.
“Nope. Literally two.”
“Oh. Well?—”
“Kels!” her sister barks at her from a spot at the steps next to Landon. She points and widens her eyes in a look that communicates something to her twin I’m not privy to.
“Sorry,” Kelsey mutters. She gives my hand a final squeeze before letting go. “You’ll get there. I believe in you.”
“Thanks.” I sigh and wait my turn to be positioned.
Claire brings Scarlett to my side, and she spins her little white flower girl dress with a hearty laugh. I have to stop her from throwing flowers in the air right here and from chasing a tuxedo-wearing Ryder (the cutest ring bearer ever) around the little yard as we wait for the photographer to make up her mind about how best to place our huge wedding party.
Watching my daughter, with flowers in her hair and a gap-toothed grin that sparks joy in anyone she meets, is both a blessing and a curse. She looks so much like her father sometimes, especially when she’s wearing a mischievous grin or when she states something so matter-of-factly, with otherworldly confidence. Then there are her eyes. When she looks at me, it’s like looking back at him.
And I remember.
Those eyes, his eyes, used to drink me in, make me feel like the most beautiful girl in the room. From the moment we first connected to the last moment we breathed the same air, Ethan was my whole world.
And even though he didn’t want to be part of our lives anymore, at least he gave me a new world—the one that starts and ends with Scarlett. Unfortunately, even when I want to, I can’t escape him. Can’t go to a bar during hockey season without seeing his jaw-droppingly handsome face splashed on the screen, making heart-shaped gestures over his chest and grinning like a man without a care in the world. Without a regret.
And maybe he truly doesn’t have any.
I both want to smack him and kiss him—and that’s just not okay. I wish my stupid heart would just forget.
But then, there’s Scarlett, and I know I never will.
Finally, the photos are done and the music lilts through the air, and we walk down the simple grassy aisle toward the holly-wrapped arch flanked by classically lit Christmas trees. And Jordan and Marilee promise each other forever—this time, for real—and their kiss sets the tone for romance as couples in the audience give each other pecks as well, and the couples among our ranks make eyes at each other across the aisle.
When the ceremony’s done and we make our way to the reception area—expertly bedecked by Chloe’s team at Something Blue, with lights weaving overhead, silver-draped round tables covered in glittering snowflakes, and a cake table featuring a three-tiered Christmas-themed delight that Marilee made and decorated herself as part of Holly Cakes, the new cake decorating business she started while staying on part time at the bakery instead of buying it—we all find seats at the head table facing the rest of the crowd, which is made up of most of the town regulars.
We laugh at best man Blake’s stories of a threatening game of pool he and Jordan played months ago, and at matron of honor Lucy’s tales of how she knew before anyone that Jordan and Marilee would be a forever kind of couple.
Scarlett sits between me and Claire, but she keeps darting off to sit with my parents. I watch her dance with Papa Burt, and there’s a tiny ache inside me knowing she will never have a daddy-daughter dance with her own father. Never have anyone but me to walk her down the aisle. Then again, Marilee’s father is gone, but she still asked Jordan’s dad to give her away, and the man—who you’d hardly recognize since he started attending AA meetings and getting sober—said he’d be honored. Marilee seemed content with that, so maybe there’s hope for Scarlett.
Amid the scrape of forks against porcelain, the raucous laughter of the “Cupid Shuffle,” and the sparkling cider toasts (because ironically enough, Jordan and Marilee chose a dry wedding at the vineyard), I eat and laugh and raise my glass with everyone else.
But my mind is a million miles away.
It’s back with my characters, Emmett and Ava, with the fundamental problems between them. It’s wondering how there can ever be a happy ending with the disastrous past creating a chasm in the middle of their love story.
And I just can’t see it.
But when dinner’s finally over and all of my friends are up dancing, I sneak away to the deck, pop open my laptop, and settle in on the couch with a piece of cake to do my darnedest to figure this story out.
Because whether I know where it’s going or not, whether I feel inspired or not, this deadline is rapidly approaching.
And the next Abigail Fox novel isn’t going to write itself.
* * *
Ahhhhh. Jordan and Marilee. Alllll the heart eyes.
Can you tell I’ve loved this couple since the first time they stepped onto the page? (And sweet little Ryder too!) I know many of you have felt the same way and have been so patiently waiting for this story. I’m sorry it took so long to get here, but I hope you feel I’ve done it justice.
And now, it’s time for April’s story. Oh, April, our spunky single mom with a loaded past…and some very juicy secrets! Want to read a second-chance romance sure to make you swoon?