Epilogue
Charlotte
Nearly One Year Later
“The cat is judging me.”
I look up from my laptop to find Taysom standing in my kitchen, holding a spatula, while Miley sits on an overstuffed chair in the corner, giving him her most disdainful stare. She’s gotten huge over the past few months—fully grown now.
“She’s not judging you. She’s supervising.”
“Same thing.” He points the spatula at her. “I know what you’re thinking, and for your information, I can cook pasta without burning it.”
Miley slowly blinks, which in cat language roughly translates to “time will tell.” It’s funny because she’s still Taysom’s biggest fan, but maybe she thinks even he needs to be humbled sometimes.
“She’s got a point,” I say, closing my laptop and joining him in the kitchen. “You did set off the smoke alarm last week.”
“That was one time.”
“Twice.”
He balks. “The second time doesn’t count. That was the toaster’s fault.”
I wrap my arms around him from behind, resting my cheek against his back. He’s wearing his Commanders hoodie—the one I plan to steal very soon—and he smells like cologne and butter. “I appreciate the effort, even if Miley doesn’t.”
“She’ll appreciate it when I give her the salmon.”
“You’re not giving her the salmon.” I shake my heads. “That’s our dinner.”
“I’m giving her a little piece of the salmon.”
“You’re going to spoil her.”
“Too late.” He turns in my arms and kisses my forehead. “How was work?”
“Exhausting perfection. The usual.” I lean back against the counter. “We got three new referrals today, and I had a meeting with Georgetown about expanding the sensory gym.”
“That’s huge.”
“It is.” The D.C. branch of the Early Childhood Center has exceeded every expectation. Some days I still can’t believe this is my life—running a program I built from the ground up, working with incredible kids, living in a city I’m actually starting to love.
Living five minutes away from Taysom doesn’t hurt either. He pays for my apartment, so it’s actually way nicer than any place I’ve ever lived before.
“Oh!” I grab my phone. “I almost forgot to tell you—MJ was incredible today.”
“Yeah?” His whole face lights up.
“Lynette sent me a video from MJ’s kickball game. She made it all the way to third base, Taysom. No limping, no pain. She was flying.”
We watched the video chat together earlier this morning before he left for practice, seeing MJ’s huge smile as she showed off her new backpack and talked about first grade. Her hip has healed beautifully, and while I miss working with her in person, knowing she’s thriving makes the distance easier.
“That’s amazing,” Taysom says, and I can hear the emotion in his voice. He’s heard enough stories about her that he’s invested.
“Her mom said to tell you hi, by the way. And that she’s been following your season.”
“Oh yeah?” He grins. “What’d she think of Sunday’s game?”
“She said, and I quote, ‘that boyfriend of yours can really throw a football.’”
“Aww. That’s sweet of her.” His cheeks are tinged with pink.
I poke his chest. “Three touchdowns, Mr. Reed. You’re kind of killing it.”
“Kind of?”
“Okay, definitely killing it. The sports reporters won’t shut up about you.”
He pulls me closer. “I couldn’t do it without you.”
I snort. “That’s absolutely not true, but I’ll take the credit anyway.”
We stand there for a minute, swaying slightly to music that isn’t playing, and I think about how surreal this all is.
A year ago, I was in San Antonio, convinced my whole life was falling apart.
Now I’m here, running a center I love, with a man I love, and a spoiled cat who’s currently trying to steal salmon off the counter.
“Miley, no!” Taysom lunges for the plate, but he’s too late. She’s already nabbed a piece and is racing toward my bedroom.
“I told you she was supervising,” I say.
“She’s a menace.”
“She’s perfect.” I kiss his cheek. “Just like her dad.”
“I’m her dad now?”
“You’re the one who bought her the fancy cat tower and the seventeen thousand toys.”
“Sixteen thousand,” he corrects. “Let’s be accurate.”
Dinner is chaotic in the best way. We eat on my couch because Taysom insists the dining table is “too formal for a Tuesday,” and Miley keeps trying to steal food even though she already got her contraband salmon. The pasta isn’t burned, which I make sure to point out at least twice.
“You know,” Taysom says, setting his plate on the coffee table, “I’ve been thinking.”
My heart does a little flip. “Oh?”
“You’ve been here for almost a year. Your lease is up next month.”
“Yes?” I draw out the word, not sure where he’s going with this.
“And my lease is month-to-month now.”
“Okay...”
He shifts on the couch, turning to face me fully, and suddenly he looks nervous.
Taysom Reed, who plays in front of 80,000 screaming fans every week, looks nervous.
“Charlotte Mercer,” he says, and then he’s sliding off the couch onto one knee, and oh my gosh, this is happening—
“What are you doing?” I squeak, launching myself off the couch
“Well, I was going to propose, but if you want me to stand up—”
“No! Don’t stand up. Don’t move. Don’t—” I clamp my hand over my mouth because I’m either going to cry or laugh or probably both.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. ”I had this whole speech planned.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. About how you’re the bravest person I know, and how you make me want to be better, and how I can’t imagine my life without you in it.
” He opens the box, and the ring inside is perfect—simple, elegant, so completely me that I know he put thought into every detail.
“But now I’m looking at you and all I can think is that I love you, and I want to spend the rest of my life making you laugh and burning pasta and spoiling our cat. ”
I’m crying now, definitely crying.
He grins. “So what do you say, Charlotte? Will you marry me?”
I jump into his arms, nearly knocking him over. “Yes. Yes, absolutely yes.”
He catches me, laughing, and slides the ring onto my finger. It fits perfectly.
“I love you,” I say against his lips.
“I love you too.”
Miley chooses that exact moment to jump onto Taysom’s back, meowing loudly, and we both dissolve into laughter.
“She approves,” I say.
“She better. I ran this by her last week.”
“You asked a cat for permission to marry me?”
“I asked the cat, your father, Kyle, Willa, and your boss. I’m very thorough.”
I kiss him again, long and deep, and think about everything that led to this moment. Getting fired. The fundraiser. The long distance. The leap of faith that brought me here.
All of it. Every complicated, beautiful piece of it.
When I was younger, I used to worry about my hair, about being selfish, about wearing the wrong outfit.
But sitting here on my living room floor, engaged to the man I love, with an overgrown cat trying to steal my ring—
I’ve never been more right about anything in my life.