Chapter 27
Beckett
It’s the kind of afternoon that makes you believe in second chances—blue sky, soft sun, the sort of warmth that promises a perfect bonfire later. Twenty minutes ago, Dom shoved a coffee into my hands, attached Fig to the other, and banished me from the kitchen.
We’ve been playing fetch. Well, trying. The ball rolls to a stop by Fig’s paw, he grumbles, stretches… and does not move.
“You’re just gonna nap mid-game?” I nudge the ball with my toe. “That was… wow. Incredible hustle. Ten out of ten for the attempt you almost made… Good boy. You just lie there.”
“I see he has you trained,” Dom says, walking out of the house carrying another cup of coffee that he hands to me.
I arch a brow. “What game are you playing at… sir?” The word purrs out of me. Heat flares in his eyes. Bullseye. After six months, I know how to spark that flame. Give that man something to control, in the sweetest sense of course, and he’s putty in my hands.
“I’ve never done water sports before, but I’m down if…”
“Jesus Christ,” Dom mutters under his breath, and I have to bite my lip just to keep from laughing. “That’s a hard no,” he says, holding up his hand. “Wait… did you just say…”
I shrug. “I’m always down to try new things.” Okay, this one is also a hard no for me, but it’s too fun not to tease him…
“I—” He clears his throat. “I kicked you out so you wouldn’t snoop. I’m being a good boyf—boyfriend.” The word trips, and he flushes.
He’s never done that before. Why is he getting all shy about the word suddenly?
“Everyone’s going to be here soon,” he adds. “You’re supposed to stay outside until it’s ready. I didn’t want you getting thirsty and coming in.”
“I still wish someone would tell me what’s going on,” I grumble. “It’s my party.”
Release day. The Family We Make: a cookbook by Beckett is real.
There are boxes of it on our kitchen table, my name on the spine.
It’s full of love and healing and the stubborn hope that family can be chosen and still count.
I’m proud. I’m terrified. I’m so happy it feels like my chest might explode.
The moment I came back and stepped into this family, something in me shifted. I didn’t know Spencer all that well, yet he hired me to run his kitchen without a second thought. Like he had faith in me first, doubt in me last. All the while, he was taking his own big gamble with the café.
I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for them.
Dom takes my cup and sets it on the drink ledge of the bench he built—which yes, is endlessly handy—and slides his arms around my waist. “Little mouse,” he murmurs. God, I love when he calls me that. “It’s your party. We just wanted to do something special.”
We both jump when a blur of fur rockets through the open door and across the yard.
“Chester! You cannot just barge in like that!” Alex calls, appearing on the patio. Fig lurches from his dramatic faint and bolts to greet his best friend with joyful barks. “What if Fig was busy?”
“He’s fine. Aren’t ya, OGB?” I call. Original Good Boy is, in fact, fine. He and Chester immediately invent a wrestling league.
“Okay, but if he’s too much, I can run him home,” Alex says as we all turn to see Fig sitting on Chester. If Chester had balls, this would be a very different friendship.
“They’re fine,” I assure him, laughing. I swivel back to Dom and narrow my eyes. “Apparently, I’m just out here drinking coffee.”
He holds up both hands. “I’m following orders. We both know who actually runs this show.”
The slider opens again, and Mazie bursts out on toddler legs, Spencer and Finn in hot pursuit.
“Mazie, get back here! I appreciate your commitment to feminism, but you cannot open doors like you own the place,” Spencer calls, already resigned.
She beelines past us straight for the two mutts playing in the yard.
“Puppies!” Mazie shrieks. Both dogs pause, conferring politely, then trot to her and smother her in kisses.
“Hi… Sorry,” Spencer says, following after her.
“All right, little chica, I have to finish getting things ready,” Spencer says, giving me the side-eye. Has anyone ever mentioned that this group is horrible at being stealthy?
“I can watch her while you all… do whatever it is you’re doing.”
“Are you sure?” Spencer asks.
“Yes, shoo.” I wave them inside.
Dom steals a quick kiss, murmurs, “Yell if you need me,” and disappears after them, unconvinced I can wrangle two dogs and a toddler alone.
I go sit on the bench that Dom made. We’ve spent quite a few mornings and evenings sitting out here, enjoying each other’s company, taking a moment to slow down.
I bring the coffee cup to my lips and chuckle before taking a sip. I’m gonna have to pee soon, so they better get their butts moving. Laughter filters through an open kitchen window, and I smile to myself. I’m so fucking lucky.
I should probably pay attention to the toddler trying to mount the dog.
“Mazie, no horseback riding on Fig.”
“Horsey!” she declares, attempting a graceful mount that is neither graceful nor successful. Chester obligingly pretends to be a stepstool. “And you… stop helping,” I tell him. His tail wags, unbothered.
A throat clears behind me. “If Spencer walked out right now, you’d be so fired from uncle duty.”
“Good thing I sleep with the man who knows all my secrets,” I say smugly.
“Always and forever,” Dom says, kissing me just behind my ear. “Come on, everyone’s ready.”
We wrangle Mazie into her highchair and herd the dogs to their beds. Dom pulls out the head chair for me at the big backyard table. Once I’m seated, he taps his glass.
“Little mouse,” he says, eyes bright. “I’m so proud of you. You didn’t let one theft take your love of cooking. You pivoted. You built something. You’re an important part of this family—and mine. You showed me I’m allowed to dream beyond the next day.”
My laugh wobbles. He smiles.
“I wanted to do something special for the release of The Family We Make: a cookbook by Beckett,” Dom says, and I smirk as he rolls his eyes. “Yes, you’re too cool for a last name.”
“Hurry up out there!” Jasper yells through the window, and we both laugh.
“Okay, without further ado, I present to you… The Family We Make: a cookbook by Beckett.” I clap because I can’t tell if they’re putting on a play or what?
The door slides open, and out walks Spencer.
Mazie yells, “Daddy!”
“Hi, baby girl!” Spencer waves before redirecting his attention to me.
“Good evening. Tonight, for your tasting pleasure, I would like to start you off with a Maine tradition… clam chowder. When my mother got sick, she lived on soups, and this was her favorite,” he says, setting a bowl down in front of me.
“My mother was a firm believer in the love of a found family. When she asked Jaxon to look out for me, I was so irritated at first,” he says, one eyebrow crooked in my direction.
“Okay, but he was not stealthy about it,” I complain.
“Yeah, well, we never said the big man was graceful. But… that simple gesture she gave became the stepping stone for the love we have in our lives today. If there’s one thing about this group, it’s that everything has always revolved around food.
I believe part of the reason is that we were always supposed to end up here. ”
A squeal slices the moment. Spencer softens instantly at Mazie’s face. “And on that note, we proceed. Next up, your uncle from another mother… Jaxon.”
Jaxon arrives with a tray of stuffed mushrooms. He sets them down and clears his throat. “Not a big speech guy, but… okay… the story I gave you? Half true. When your dad and I first hung out, we watched the game on Sundays.”
“I remember,” I say. “I hated football.”
“Your dad did too. He liked the food. Especially these.” He nudges the tray. “They’re his. I made him write the recipe down the first time I tasted them.”
It hits me like a wave I forgot to brace for. I stare at the mushrooms, at the neat little caps waiting to be devoured, at the years I spent chasing a jacket instead of a feeling. “I can’t believe I forgot,” I whisper.
Jaxon pulls me into a quick, back-slapping hug. “He’d be proud of you, kid.”
“Okay, let’s move this show on the road. The little lady is hungry,” Spencer says, looking at Mazie, who’s trying to get her sticky hands all over the stuffed mushrooms.
“Next, we have the man I get to sleep with every night!” Spencer says, and Finn winks at him. Christ.
“I know LA didn’t end the way you wanted it to, but I would like to think a couple of good things came out of your time there, starting with meeting me. I’m so grateful for our friendship; it’s saved my life. You saved my life.”
I shake my head. “No, you saved yourself. I just made a phone call.”
“Thank you for knowing how to use a phone,” Finn jokes. “Anyway, I thought I would bring a little bit of California here with California pizza.”
“Hurry up, it’s my turn,” Jasper yells from inside the house.
Finn steps to the side, and Spencer continues. “Next, we have Jasper. Someone who has no patience.” He gives the house—and I’m assuming its occupants—a side-eye. “And taught us it’s okay to be a little silly.”
The slider flings open, and Jasper struts out in his white-feathered boa jacket and black leather pants, bearing crab tacos like a prize. “Because sometimes tacos point you toward a safe harbor,” he declares, bowing, and sets the dish on the table.
Mira follows with a bowl. “Cabbage and apple slaw. Also, thank you for making Dom not so moody. It was getting unbearable.”
“I was charming,” Dom protests. Everyone ignores him.
“Alex,” Spencer announces.
“Ahh, I’m not much for speeches, so my grandmother used to make pot roast on Sundays, and it was one of my favorite meals.” Alex gives a nod of his head and moves to stand by Jaxon, who wraps his arms around him.
“Jules,” Spencer says, gesturing like Vanna White.
Jules sets down scalloped potatoes. “I like scalloped potatoes,” she says. Iconic.
I give a little laugh as she moves to stand by everyone else.
“Next, a dish that has changed all our lives. Olly.”
He comes out carrying a single vanilla cupcake and clears his throat.
“I picked Matthew’s Vanilla Cupcake. I never knew how much my heart could break for someone I’ve never met, but it did for Matthew.
We are lucky, though, because he left us something great behind.
” He glances Jasper’s way, and I have to wipe away a tear.
“Matthew House. A place where kids get a fair shot, and learn the importance of a found family.”
I wish Marcus and Jacob could be here tonight, but they had a banquet to attend, and Lucas is mysteriously busy.
Olly slides the cupcake to me. “Save room,” he orders. “There’s one more course.”
The slider opens again, and the man I love steps through, carrying a pan that smells like garlic and cream and a future you can actually imagine.
“I wanted this to be perfect,” Dom says. “You deserve to be celebrated. So I asked Aunt Sofia for help and told everyone to bring their recipes from the book. And I… brought this.”
He sets the dish in front of me. All the air leaves my lungs. My heart tries to punch through my ribs.
“Dom,” I whisper. “That’s not your lasagna.”
“No,” he says. “It’s Marry Me Chicken.”
My head snaps up, his eyes already locked on mine.
He’s down on one knee—
Holy sweet mother of Fuck a Duck.
“Beckett,” Dom says, one hand shaking and not caring. “Will you—”
“Yes!” I blurt, launching out of my chair and tackling him to the ground. We land with an oof and a chorus of whoops.
“Cover your eyes, Mazie. Uncle Beckett and Uncle Dom are about to play tonsil hockey,” Spencer says above all the cheers.
I grab Dom’s face, put my forehead to his. “One million times yes,” I say, and kiss him like it’s the first and last page of the book.
“Ring!” Jules squeaks.
“Oh, right,” Dom laughs, breathless, and slides a ring onto my finger. It’s a simple black band, and it’s perfect, mine. He looks up at me like he just got everything he never thought he could ask for. I know that look. I’m wearing it too.
Around us, our family dissolves into happy chaos—Jaxon ugly-crying into Alex’s shoulder, Mira recording and threatening to go live, Olly and Jasper trying to slice the cupcake ceremoniously, and Finn and Spencer swaying with Mazie between them.
Chester chooses that moment to sit on Fig. Fig sighs, long-suffering, but that doesn’t take away his giant puppy grin, like even he knows this is big.
I look at the table—clam chowder, stuffed mushrooms, pizza, tacos, slaw, pot roast, potatoes, a single vanilla cupcake, and a pan of Marry Me Chicken—and it feels like a map of how we got here. Every dish a breadcrumb. Every person a hand on my back.
“Hey,” Dom says, voice low for me alone. “This is our life.”
“It is,” I say, and my voice cracks around how true it is. “And I’m keeping it.”
He grins that soft, wrecked grin. “Me too. Does this mean you’ll tell me the secret to your bacon?”
I throw my head back in laughter. “There is no secret. It’s just straight-up bacon from Anthony down at the butcher shop.”
He looks at me in disbelief. “But you add something, right?”
“Nope,” I laugh. “Just plain old bacon.”
“Unbelievable,” he mutters.
I slide back into my chair—our chair, our table—and tug Dom beside me. Fig parks at my feet. Chester sprawls like a rug. Mazie steals a mushroom, and Spencer pretends not to see. Plates make their way around with more hands than seem strictly possible.
This is the family we made. This is the book I was trying to write. And this… this ridiculous, tender, loud back yard, is the epilogue I didn’t know I was allowed to have.
The End