Epilogue.
ASH
The Ember’s Kiss fits.
It fits on the corner of Paradise’s newly constructed main street, right beside a pet groomer, like it was always meant to be here.
The glass awning catches the morning light and throws it back at dog walkers and retirees in fleece vests.
Our tables spill onto the sidewalk with mismatched metal chairs painted in Kael’s leftover colors.
It fits the building too. When we come down from our flat, the smells of dark roast and caramelized sugar always greet us first. When I throw open the rear garage door, the foggy light pours in over steam and black-and-white tiles.
Kael paints in that light. I run the shop. His canvases claim every inch of wall with the wildfire series on one side and the Paradise portraits on the other. Sharon cried when she saw hers at our grand opening.
Upstairs, he’s still asleep. Knowing he’s warm and here is the best part of every day.
The old brass register is mostly decoration, but I love the heavy thunk of the drawer.
Beside it, the closing checklist has every box ticked, though my magnifying glass is still sitting where I left it.
Cassie definitely skipped crumb patrol again.
She’ll roll her eyes and call me anal when I bring it up, but I don't mind.
It’s good to have something to fuss over that isn’t a net worth spreadsheet. Inventory, payroll, marketing, reviews—there’s a lot to learn. Coffee shops fail more often than not, but I thrive on that kind of pressure.
I prop the front door open.
Ting-a-ling.
Cool air rushes in with the scent of wildflowers and pine. I lean against the frame and just breathe. There was a version of my life where I woke up alone in a glass condo, drank burned office coffee, and spent my days optimizing someone else’s life while waiting for mine to start.
A hand slides over my shoulder. Another snakes around my waist.
“Mmm. Good morning,” Kael mumbles against my neck.
“What are you doing up?” I turn into his arms. His hoodie smells like linseed oil and our detergent, like home.
We kiss long enough to say I love you, which is longer than a peck but shorter than what happened last night.
“I’ll make you a coffee,” I say, ducking behind the counter. “You know you don’t have to get up with me. What’ll it be?”
Kael drops into the window seat, tucking one leg under him, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands. The early light makes a halo of the blond hair he’s letting grow out.
“Surprise me,” he says, as usual. “It’s a special day.”
“Oh, yeah?” I start the shot and the steam wand’s hissing.
“Two years ago today, a lost artist and a sad tech bro met at a finance retreat north of here.”
The pitch of the steam dips as I wince. “Shit. That’s today?”
“Thought we could drive up, do a loop around Philbrook. For old times’ sake.”
“I’m sorry. I took the morning shift. I’ll call Cassie—”
Ting-a-ling.
The door swings open, and the cold morning air isn’t the only thing that rushes in.
Kael’s whole face lights up. “Thank God. You’re early!”
Jamal blinks against the light. “Thank her. I slept the whole way.”
“And I caught up on Small Town Horror.” Jenny drops her overnight bag with a heavy thud. “Surprise, bestie!”
“What are you doing here?” I hand Kael his coffee and pull them both into a lopsided hug.
“Bestie weekend,” Jenny announces while reaching for an apron. “In exchange for running the shop all day. Early retirement is boring, and I need something to manage.”
“The real gift is me waking up at the crack of dawn,” Jamal mutters, squinting at the counter. “Is that a Beanie Baby in your tip jar?”
“Told you he’d notice,” Kael says, sipping his drink. “Ooh, this is good.” He hands it to Jamal. “Try it. What is this?”
“Lavender honey latte,” I say.
Jamal sniffs it, and his eyes widen. “One more, please. Extra shot.”
“Make that two,” Jenny says. “And then both of you get out of here. Go be nostalgic.”
“Are you sure you—?”
Jenny’s eyebrows shoot up. She’s practically my co-manager now, the one I call for everything from tax advice to espresso machine meltdowns. Wyatt and Ben love it up here, and now that they’ve hit FIRE, I see them more than I ever did.
“I think I can handle scones and lattes for a few hours.” She jerks a thumb at Jamal. “He’s here for atmosphere.”
“I’ll manage the playlist,” he says. “You’re welcome.”
Kael leans in to bump my shoulder with his. “I packed us a picnic.”
“You surprised me,” I say, grinning.
“Kind of the point.”
“I mean, you always surprise me.” I kiss his cheek. “Thank you.”
Jenny claps. “Go on. Before you can think of a million things to do before you leave.”
By the time the morning fog lifts, we’re winding up Philbrook Road with the windows down, passing all the burn scars where fresh green pushes through the black.
At the empty parking lot, the lakeside air smells like a clean start.
“You check the battery?” Kael asks, right when I twist the key off.
“No. You told me—” I stop myself, seeing his overly wide grin. “Very funny.”
“You’re too easy. Come on. Race you.” He sprints, picnic basket in hand, for the same lake trail we’ve looped a dozen times now, the one that started this whole unlikely life.
I jog behind, still not any good at cardio, and he waits at the trailhead with a big dimpled smile that pulls me faster.
“You want to explain investment strategies?” he asks. “Or should—”
I snatch his hand, pull him close, and kiss him mid joke.
“We can skip the whole picnic, you know?” He drags me off the trail.
“I want to hike,” I say, yanking him back. “I just… you make me happy.”
He pulls me into his side, his thumb hooking into my belt loop. “Good,” he whispers. “Because you're my favorite view.”
He walks ahead sometimes, then drops back to bump my hip, to point out a twisted charred stump that looks like a dragon, or to kiss my shoulder when he thinks I’m not paying attention.
About halfway around, we cut toward the spot where we’d settled on a rock to paint. The rock’s the same, but the air is quiet, and so is the parking lot across the way.
Once the picnic blanket is spread in the shade, our food disappears in comfortable silence punctuated by the rustle of leaves and distant birds.
Kael rolls onto his side beside me to drift his fingers along my ribs.
The light filtering through the branches falls across his face in shifting bands of gold and shadow, each stripe recalibrating the risk profile I once assigned him: high volatility, uncertain upside. Now I read the numbers differently.
“I just realized,” he says, tapping my chest lightly, “I can’t call you a sad tech bro anymore.”
“Happy coffee boyfriend,” I correct.
He smiles and leans in to kiss me without hurry.
Today, he’s the only thing on my calendar.
Our kiss deepens gradually, mouths opening on a shared breath, tongues sliding slow and deliberate.
His hand slips under my shirt, palm warm against my skin, and my fingers find the nape of his neck to thread through hair that has grown long enough to curl at the ends.
“Are we really going to strip naked in the forest?” I murmur when we break apart, glancing at the empty trail. My pulse quickens, but not with anything like the first time we were here, only with the ordinary thrill of wanting him in daylight.
Kael pushes up on one elbow to look over the quiet pocket of forest. There isn’t a soul in sight.
“No one’s looking,” he says. “But have it your way.”
He smirks and unbuttons my jeans to slip his hand inside. His fingers curl around me, and my breath hitches.
“Good idea,” I say, slipping my palm beneath his waistband to find him already thick.
I press my forehead to his and stroke an unhurried rhythm, savoring the steady build of pleasure in silence we punctuate whenever one of us needs to taste the other again.
When release comes it arrives soft and shuddering, spilling between us in warm pulses that leave us both trembling, clinging, and laughing quietly against each other.
Kael rests his head on my shoulder. “I keep thinking,” he says, “how sure I was that everything was going to fall apart.”
“It did.” I lace our fingers together. “But look at us now.”
He tilts his face up, eyes bright in the dappled light. “I love you.”
“Love you too.”
The words outweigh any formula I ever trusted. With Kael beside me in a forest that burned to ash and came back green, freedom feels a lot more like this than any number ever did.