Epilogue
brIAR
Six months later
I smile at Liam. “You ready for this?”
“As ready as I am every week,” he replies with a grin as he climbs off his bike.
I stow my helmet and do the same.
Stubborn man that my father is, he hasn’t yet agreed to remove the clause in our original contract that says I have to attend family dinner every Friday. And, unfortunately, they have been insisting that we actually stay for dinner lately.
When we arrived at Sterling Manor on the first Friday after the New Year’s party, my father had emerged by himself, in his pajamas, and shouted, “I know it was you!”
I nearly shouted it back, but Liam placed his hand on my arm and said, “Does that mean we can go?”
“Leave!” he’d shouted.
We had, happily.
A similar scenario had played out the following week, but then my father’s strategy shifted. The week after that, we started getting invited inside.
The first dinner we had with them in the new year was completely silent, although yellow crime scene tape had been adhered to the wall where the plaque of rules used to hang. I was reasonably sure my father had done that, not the police. The tape looked almost sulky.
The next week, my dad couldn’t help himself. He started bragging about the progress he was making with his new business—a shared office space for writers my mother had high-handedly named The Writers’ Salon.
“We’ll have a new James Joyce on our hands, you watch,” he’d said.
“Jesus, I hope not,” Liam had muttered.
My parents were basically insufferable, and they only got worse once Silver Star reopened and started doing well.
My father, of course, took credit for our success.
He said things like, “I always knew you’d blow it out of the park” and “Liam’s unconventional, and that’s good, because there’s nothing conventional about successful people.
” He’d say these things with a straight face, while serving up the most conventional dinner in the most conventional house.
Liam and I have formed a weekly tradition of following up the Friday dinners with a trip to the boxing gym.
For obvious reasons.
The truth is our brewery never would have survived January without our investors.
Dottie’s partner’s son is a trained contractor.
He handled the repairs for us at a bargain-basement price, but we were still closed for almost three weeks.
A brutal blow. We reopened with a huge party, though, and then had weekly release parties for the beers Liam had been working on in the interim.
February was a good month. March was a great month, and we were able to pay our investors back with interest by April.
But my father played zero role in it.
Liam and I have tried everything we can think of to get my parents to ban us from Friday dinners for good. We wear Halloween costumes. Sometimes, we study knock-knock jokes so we can annoy them all night. Always, we bring beer and refuse their wine. But my father has yet to set us free.
Liam grins at me, tapping his chest. “I think tonight’s gonna be our lucky night. I’m wearing a Mr. Miracle name tag. Strange and wonderful things happen when I wear these name tags.”
Liam enjoyed joking around with them so much Cormac had given him a thick stack of them as a birthday gift.
I layer my hand over his. “You should have saved it for tomorrow.”
We’ll be attending a wedding in the afternoon—Eugene and Nora’s mom are tying the knot at The Ginger Station.
Hannah is absolutely blissful that she was asked to be one of the groomsmen.
Nora is the maid of honor, Cormac is the best man, and Ollie gets to be a ring bearer.
It’s going to be a huge blowout. Garbage Fire will be playing, and the staff is serving one of our summer beers—Zephyr, named after my great-aunt, who helped us come up with the flavor profile.
Nora is currently out with Hannah, trying to find a last-minute date for the wedding after the guy she’d been seeing ghosted her.
She’s adamant about bringing someone, because even though the relationship was super casual, she’s been playing it up as something serious at work.
José’s long-time girlfriend is now his fiancée, and she’s gotten even weirder about the two of them working together.
I sigh, running my hand along Liam’s jaw. “Just think. We could be out with Hannah and Nora right now, trying to find Nora a wedding date.”
He grimaces. “Yes, I’m sure they would have welcomed my presence.”
“So you could have found Cormac a date.”
“Guys only play matchmaker when their women make them, and your closest friends are all taken.”
“Not Ann.”
“Ann’s only single because she’s enjoying that Golden app Otis got her hooked on.”
I shrug. “So you could have stayed home with Travis, invited the rest of the guys over, and jammed.”
He nods and flicks the Mr. Miracle name tag with his middle finger. “You raise a good point. That does sound a lot fucking better than this. So much for miracles.”
I shove him playfully, and he sweeps me off my feet, carrying me up the path in his arms. “We make our own fun,” he says.
I press my cheek to his chest, feeling impossibly lucky. Yes, we still have to spend an hour or so a week with my insufferable parents, but it’s so much easier with him. It’s almost enjoyable, exchanging glances over the table. Thinking of new ways to hopefully get released from the agreement.
It’s not that I never want to see my parents again. I don’t know if I have it in me to say words like “never” and mean them, which is probably evidence of that soft heart my father holds in such disdain. But I don’t want to be compelled to be here.
When we reach the door, Liam sets me down. “My turn,” he says with a grin. “I’m deeply motivated today. I’ve got plans for us, and they don’t involve sitting around and being talked at for hours.”
Meaning it’s his turn to try to end dinner before it begins.
He knocks. “The madman and madwoman are here!”
I lean against him, and he wraps his arm around me. He’s obviously in good spirits, despite what’s sure to be another aggravating conversation.
The door opens, and my father appears. Much to my mother’s horror, my dad has started wearing more casual clothes for our family dinners.
Tonight, he’s wearing a shirt with the logo for our local minor league baseball team, the Asheville Tourists, paired with athletic shorts.
There’s no sign of my mother, which means she’s probably already drinking a martini to drown her sorrows about my dad’s new wardrobe.
I think it’s part of a strategy he’s formed to bond with Liam so he can then use Liam to influence me.
It’s not going to work, of course, but I’ve come to realize this is as close to caring as my father gets.
“Lovely to see you both,” he says. “Come on. We got some beautiful steaks tonight. Biggest steaks you’ve ever seen.”
“Oh, too bad.” Liam snaps his fingers. “Maybe we should reconnect next week. I just became a vegan. It was those fake chicken nuggets your old company makes, sir. I tried them once, and now it’s an addiction.”
My father glances at Liam’s thick biceps. “There’s no way you can maintain your physique on a vegan diet, son.”
“Oh, sure I can. I just need about ten avocados and a pound or two of potatoes, and I’ll be good as gold. I can help Alicia prepare them. There’s a specific method.”
My dad glances over his shoulder. “Well, I did want to talk to you kids about a pretty big opportunity for our little brewery, but I’m not sure Alicia will—”
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to put her out,” Liam says. “No problem at all. I can bring my own dinner next week.”
My father flinches. My mother would hate it if a guest brought their own food, and we all know it. “No need for that. Just send…maybe send an example of what you can eat.”
“You got it, Dad,” he says. “Coming right up. We’ll see you next week.”
Before my father can say anything else, Liam sweeps me back into his arms and struts toward his bike.
“I can walk,” I say, trying not to laugh as he hurries down the path. I can hear the front door closing.
“No time for walking. We don’t want to give them a chance to figure out a workaround.” He sets me down next to the bike. “How’d I do?”
“I think it’s a record,” I say with a grin.
“Good, because we’ve got plans.”
“Are we getting steak?”
“Even better,” he says as he puts my helmet on me and buckles it.
Several minutes later, he pulls up in front of the boxing gym.
“It’s open,” I tell him, almost scandalized.
“You see, businesses have to stay open for a certain number of hours a day to stay successful, Briar.”
I raise my eyebrows. “This place is almost never open.”
He unclasps my helmet. “Because Mick is lazy, and we usually come after hours. I like to take full advantage of the privacy.”
I lean in and kiss him before climbing off the bike. My pulse is racing, because I sense he’s up to something, and I don’t know what it means yet.
He joins me on the sidewalk, and we walk in together, hand in hand.
When we enter the reception area, we find Mick sitting behind the desk, his legs propped up. He’s a big guy, like Liam, with dark hair cut short and a scar across his jaw. He’s a bit rough around the edges, but he’s always been nice to me.
“Aw, fuck,” he says, glancing at his watch. “You’re, like, two hours early, man.”
“We got out of dinner.” Liam raises his eyebrows. “I told you I was going to try to get out of dinner.”
“It was the Mr. Miracle name tag,” I feel compelled to add. “We think it has magical properties.”
“Hello, Briar,” Mick says with bemusement. “Well, all right.”
He gets to his feet, then strolls into the gym, cupping his hands to his mouth. “Everyone out. It’s an emergency. Something to do with the electrical system. We’ll be open tomorrow. Out you go.”
Mick’s orders are met with a few groans from the guys working out. Still, everyone starts to pack up and clear the gym.
I give Liam a confused look and whisper, “Why are we kicking these people out?”
Mick pats Liam on the back. “That’s for hooking me up with the band. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Liam gives him a brusque nod as he walks off.
Once he’s gone, Liam leans in close. “Be patient, Princess. We just got at least an hour of our lives handed back to us. We can afford a few minutes.”
But my racing heart tells me otherwise. What does he have planned?
The few guys who ducked into the changing room to get their stuff filter out and exit the gym, and then “Eye of the Tiger” starts streaming over the loudspeaker.
I laugh with delight, pulling away from Liam. “Are we going to act out a training montage?”
“Something like that,” he says as he reaches into his backpack.
“Are you giving me a beer?”
“If you want one. But I thought I’d give you these.” He hands me my slightly scuffed gloves.
“I’m not sure I feel like boxing right now. Maybe after a drink.”
“Come on, Briar. Just a couple of rounds.”
There’s something urgent in his tone. Almost…nervous.
Frowning at him, I put on one glove. I try to put on the other one, but there’s something inside of it.
A gasp escapes me as I pull out the little black box.
“Liam,” I say, my voice shaking. “The other glove. Help me get it off.”
He smiles as he pulls it off, and then he lowers to one knee.
My whole body trembles as I open the box. The ring is gorgeous. It’s antique, white gold, with a princess-cut light-blue stone.
Tears flood my eyes as I look at him.
His smile is warm and so full of love. “Great-Aunt Sky and Dottie helped me pick it out. Dottie said this particular stone has better resonance than a diamond. I don’t know what that means, but I figure she’s right about an awful lot of things.”
I weave my hand into his hair, because he’s still down on one knee, and I need to touch him.
“Briar…this was where I first took notice of you. Obviously, I’d noticed you before.
It would be impossible not to, but the joy you felt when you made that first punch…
it was like watching a fire light inside of you.
I fell a little in love with you, and now I’m so deeply in love with you it makes me sick of myself.
” He reaches up to wipe the tears off my cheek.
“So, please, will you do me the honor of being my wife?”
I slide the ring on and tackle him back onto the mats. He takes the fall easy, letting me sprawl on top of him, my arms around his neck.
“Yes, yes, yes,” I cry out.
“Thank God,” he says, grinning as he kisses me. “That name tag really is something.”
I lay a path of kisses down his face. “You definitely should have saved the name tag for the wedding tomorrow, because you wasted its power. You could have written anything on there, and I would have said yes. I love you so much.”
“I love you too,” he says with a broad grin.
“And I’m relieved. It would have been really embarrassing if Mick had kicked everyone out and you’d said no.
Would you like that beer now? I made a new one for you.
Dottie told me the meaning of all the herbs.
It probably tastes like shit, but it’s heavily symbolic. ”
I laugh, so full of joy I feel like I could float away, but I’m anchored by the very large man I’m wrapped around. “That sounds delightful, but there’s something else I’d like to do first.”
Because everyone knows the first step toward happily ever after is enjoying your man in a boxing gym.