Epilogue - Emmett
One year later
Serendipity opens at seven, but the place is already three-quarters full by the time I arrive, and Georgia is three coffees deep into her shift.
I think it might be my favorite version of her.
Boss Lady Georgia. But still my little peach.
The windows catch the January sunlight and spill it onto the exposed brick like liquid gold, highlighting every tiny imperfection.
There are potted ferns strung up with nautical rope, a few mismatched lamps, and an entire corner devoted to an old upright piano that no one can play but which, according to rumor, once belonged to Elton John’s third cousin.
Did I start that rumor to get people talking? Maybe.
Georgia stands at the espresso machine, wearing a blue apron covered in flour and a navy bandana to keep her hair out of her face.
She’s orchestrating the chaos like the boss that she is, alternating between making lattes, fielding questions from the staff, and correcting Miles’s attempts to help by reorganizing the biscotti display.
I raise my camera, framing the shot through a cluster of hanging plants, and snap just as she throws her head back and laughs. There’s a fleck of cinnamon on her nose. I get a second one, this time zooming on her hands—how she cradles the mug like it’s a living thing.
If I were a better person, I’d probably ask before immortalizing her in forty-two megapixels, but goddamn, she’s beautiful.
The bell above the door dings three times in a row, and I pivot to see what’s going on. It’s Robert, standing in the entry looking like he might turn back around and walk out. He’s clutching a manila envelope and a battered cardboard box, and I wonder what the hell that’s about.
Georgia spots him, and her face changes immediately. She nods, then gestures to the counter, not hostile but definitely guarded. “Hey, Dad. You want a coffee?”
He hesitates. “To go, please.”
She wipes her hands on a towel and meets him by the register, lowering her voice. “Is that for me?” She gestures at the box.
He sets it down on the counter. “Some old mail came to the house for some reason. Figured you’d want it.”
“Thanks,” she says, tone neutral, and they do this little dance where neither one quite looks at the other. Georgia pops the lid and peeks inside. “You could’ve thrown these out,” she says, holding up a sheaf of glossy alumni magazines.
Robert shrugs. “Didn’t want to assume. I try not assume too much of anything about you these days.”
She glances at me, and I think she might pop off with a sassy remark. Instead, she just says, “Thanks. I’m glad you stopped by.”
Robert looks around the café, eyes landing on the wall with art she’s selling for different local artists. “Place looks good,” he says, still not meeting her gaze.
“Thanks,” she repeats. “It’s getting there.”
He nods stiffly and then turns as if he’s about to leave. But Georgia reaches out and catches his sleeve. “Hey, Dad?”
He pauses, waiting.
She hesitates. “Do you want to try a cinnamon roll? It’s… I think it’s the best thing on the menu.”
Robert looks down at his hands, and for a second, I think he’ll refuse. But then he nods, wordless, and takes the plate Georgia offers. “You made this?”
She smiles. “Yep. All me.”
He takes a bite, chews slowly, and his eyes actually close for a second, like he’s really enjoying it. “Not bad,” he says.
Georgia’s entire face lights up. “Culinary school paid off,” she says, and Robert almost smiles.
He looks around one last time. “You did good, Georgie.”
Then he’s gone, out the door before anyone can turn it into a Hallmark moment. Georgia watches him go, and for a moment, she’s a kid again, half-hopeful, half-scared about his reaction.
She catches me taking more pictures of her and flips me off, then immediately motions me over to the counter. “Don’t you dare use that in one of your projects,” she warns.
“Already uploaded to the cloud,” I grin, sliding onto the stool at the end of the bar.
She rolls her eyes, but she’s grinning. “You here to document my inevitable nervous breakdown?”
I shake my head. “Just the highlights. You’re killing it, girl.”
She leans in, elbows on the counter. “Yeah, well. It’s still early. Wait until some Yelper accuses us of serving ‘moist’ scones again. Ew.”
“You do good work here, Blake.”
“Not as good as your photography, apparently,” she shoots back, and tilts her head. “Ever since you got that new camera, you’ve become obsessed with it.”
“But you love it so much when I take pictures of you. Especially when I do when you’re not aware of it.”
I glance up at one of my prints hanging on the wall—a shot of Miles, pre-dawn, reading briefs over a mug of coffee.
Next to it is Brody, hands in his jacket pockets, staring out at the river, jaw set in that classic Brody way.
And then there’s Georgia, the star of the show, arms folded, apron dusted with flour, grinning at the camera like she knows just how fucking special she is.
“People keep asking about the pictures,” she says. “Especially the one of Brody. Are you trying to launch his modeling career?”
I smirk. “If the tech thing falls through, he’s got a future in catalog work. Clearly.”
She laughs but then her voice drops. “He’s happier, you know. Since all of this.”
I nod. “I can tell. He’s the happiest he’s ever been.”
She watches the staff for a moment. “Miles is, too. He’s, like, relaxed? Sometimes he even wears sweatpants—and doesn’t tuck his T-shirt in.”
“That’s just because you outlawed ties,” I tease.
“For good reason,” she says, then glances at the notebook open on the counter, pages stained with coffee and annotated in four colors of pen. “I’m working on the cookbook,” she confides, tapping the page. “Don’t tell anyone, but I think it’s going to be really good.”
“I won’t breathe a word,” I say, teasing. “But in exchange for my silence, you need to tell me what we’re going to talk about later regarding our commitment ceremony.”
“Nope. Saving that for the meeting in an hour.” She closes the notebook and straightens up, voice all bossy again. “You want a refill?”
I glance at my cup, three-quarters full but cooling fast, and I nod. She pours carefully, then slides it over with a smile.
I sip the coffee. “You know, you’re killing it. In every way.”
Georgia flushes, then turns away to field a question from one of the servers. I watch her as she moves through the space, making an espresso, talking to customers, laughing at someone’s joke.
I love her so much.
I snap another photo of her and she catches me, rolls her eyes, and then grins.
God, she’s fucking perfect.
About an hour later, the four of us are seated at a back table at Serendipity—the restaurant, not the boat.
“Okay, question for the table,” Georgia says, eating the last bite of her muffin. “Commitment ceremony. Should we have it indoors, outdoors, or in a haunted bowling alley?”
Brody chokes a little on his coffee. “You’re not serious.”
She grins, wiggling her brows at me. “I’m always serious about haunted bowling alleys.”
Miles adjusts his glasses, voice dry. “Outdoors is nice, but you get the weather issue.”
I nod. “What if we did it in the park? Simple, low-key. Less likely to involve ghost-related gastrointestinal distress, you know, like haunted bowling alleys.”
Georgia beams. “I like it. We could do picnic food. I could make little baskets for everyone.”
Brody, now fully invested, leans in. “You really want to cater your own party?”
“I don’t trust anyone else,” she retorts. “And I think Emmett should do the cocktails.”
“I will personally craft a signature drink for each of us,” I promise.
“The Miles, vodka and a single lime wedge. The Brody, bourbon, neat, garnished with a tiny American flag. The Georgia, literally anything with caffeine and sugar. And for me, just straight orange juice, so I can remember all the blackmail material for later.”
Everyone laughs, and I make a mental note that I totally need to do this.
Brody sets down his phone, face suddenly all business. “Property update, by the way. The Long Island place closed on Tuesday. It’s ours.”
Miles nods, taking a sip of his mimosa. “Perfect. Did the seller leave the espresso machine?”
“Even better,” Brody says. “They left the fully-stocked wine cellar.”
Georgia makes a squeaky, excited sound. “This is officially the best day of my life. Weekend retreats with wine and cheese parties. What’s better than that?”
I raise my glass. “To Long Island, and all the hangovers it will bring.”
We all clink, even Georgia with her coffee. She takes a sip, then sets the cup down. I watch her for a beat, noticing a jitter under the surface, a charge that isn’t just caffeine.
Miles is the first to say something. “You okay, baby?”
She nods, but her eyes widen a little. “I’m great. Really great.” She glances at the three of us, then down at her hands. “Just, um, enjoying the moment.”
Brody leans in, concern flickering across his face. “Is something wrong?”
Georgia shakes her head, then laughs. “Nope. Not a thing.” She looks at me, and there’s something in her eyes, but she looks away before I can decode it.
What are you hiding from us?
Before I can ask what she’s up to, she turns the spotlight back on me. “Emmett, did you tell them about the gallery thing?”
I roll my eyes, but secretly I love it when she brags on me. “It’s nothing, just a show at a pop-up space in Dumbo. A bunch of pretentious types standing around pretending they’re not there for the free wine and cheese cubes.”
“Yeah, but it’s your show,” she presses, nudging my shin under the table.
Miles tilts his head. “What’s the focus?”
I grin. “Portraits of local weirdos. I’ve already started shooting. You know, just the odd side of people.”
Brody chuckles. “That’s awesome. I think.”
Georgia bounces a little in her chair. “They’re going to be amazing. I want to see everything before it goes up.”
“You’ll be my beta test,” I promise. “You can even help with captions. I don’t want to mess up the vibe.”
Miles pours himself a second mimosa and then pauses, offering his glass to Georgia. “You want some?”
She purses her lips, eyeing us, and then shakes her head. “I think I’ll pass today.”
Brody narrows his eyes. “You’re not drinking?”
She shrugs, tucking her hair behind her ear, like she’s suddenly shy. “Not today.”
Miles jumps in. “Since when do you turn down mimosas?”
“You love them,” Brody adds, turning to face her fully. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
He knows something I don’t. He has to.
Because I feel totally clueless right now…
Until Georgia’s hand comes to rest on her stomach, light and unthinking, like she’s done it a thousand times before. Her eyes go soft, and for a second, she looks so vulnerable.
No way. There’s no way.
She looks at all three of us, then lets out a nervous giggle. “I’m fine. Really. I just can’t drink for a while.”
The words hang in the air.
Miles, always the fastest on the uptake, sets down his fork, glasses sliding down his nose. “Wait.”
Brody’s jaw drops. “Are you…?”
I feel my heart trip over itself. “Georgia?”
She nods and then says it with a heavy breath. “I’m pregnant.”
The world blanks for a second, and my head spins.
She’s pregnant. She’s having a baby. We are going to be fathers.
Miles is the first to recover. He takes off his glasses, wipes them, then puts them back on and blinks hard. “How long have you known?”
“A week,” Georgia says. “Maybe less. I wanted to be sure.”
Brody reaches across the table, gripping her hand. “Are you… are you happy?”
She laughs, a little teary, but radiant. “I’m really happy, actually.”
I just stare at her, brain going a million miles a minute, and then I start to laugh, because if I don’t, I’ll cry from sheer happiness.
“Who’s the…?” Miles starts, then trails off, realizing the stupidity of the question.
Georgia just grins. “It doesn’t matter. It’s us. All of us.”
We stare, the three of us, and then I start clapping, slow and dramatic, and it breaks the tension. Georgia laughs, and Brody joins in, and even Miles cracks a smile, shaking his head at my silliness.
“We’re going to be dads,” Brody says, voice reverent.
Miles smiles, eyes shining. “Fuck yeah, we are.”
I reach for Georgia’s hand, and she squeezes tight, as emotion floods my chest. “You’re going to be the best mom in the entire world.”
She leans in, kissing each of us in turn, and for a minute, we’re just a mess of sappy grins and watery eyes.
“Are you guys really ready for this?” she asks, just as I thumb a tear from her cheek. “Because we have to raise a baby in this mess of us.”
We nod in unison.
Because abso-fucking-lutely we are.