Epilogue #AdrianHayesStays
MADDOX - ONE YEAR LATER
The hiss of the espresso machine in our new coffee corner made me smile as I adjusted the display of Nordique jackets for the third time that morning. A year ago, I’d have laughed at the idea of merchandising eight-hundred-dollar parkas. Now? I wanted every detail of this grand opening to be right.
“Stop fussing,” Adrian called from behind the hot chocolate station. “They were perfect twenty minutes ago.”
“They were good twenty minutes ago,” I corrected. “They definitely were not perfect.”
Maya didn’t look up from her livestream. “He’s been like this all week,” she informed our followers. “Yesterday, he reorganized the socket wrenches because they weren’t ‘visually compelling.’”
“I’m standing right here,” I muttered.
“You were supposed to hear that.” Her voice was full of affection—and pride.
Home for winter break from UW, she’d slotted back into the rhythm of our little family effortlessly, balancing sass and strategy like a pro.
Her “Sullivan Saturday” series had doubled our followers and made her a surprisingly effective brand ambassador, a thing I wouldn’t have even known existed a year ago.
“Maddox,” Adrian said gently. “Baby. You’re stress-organizing again.”
I set down the headlamp I hadn’t realized I’d picked up and walked over to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He leaned back against me without missing a beat.
“I’m not nervous,” I lied into his Sullivan Hardware hoodie, one of the new ones with the updated logo.
He snorted. “You’ve been up since five.”
“I just want today to go well. This—” I gestured around us. “—this is everything we’ve worked for.”
“And it’s already amazing,” he said, turning to face me. “Look.”
I did as he asked, taking in the space we’d created together.
The original Sullivan Hardware section maintained its authentic, old-school charm—the same wooden floors my grandfather had installed, the vintage cash register that still worked perfectly, the wall of family photos documenting four generations of Sullivans serving Legacy.
But now, it flowed seamlessly into the expanded section next door, where modern outdoor gear and apparel were displayed alongside curated selections of local artisan goods, hiking maps, and guidebooks to Montana’s wilderness areas.
The coffee corner anchored the space with mismatched vintage chairs we’d found at estate sales, local artwork on the walls, and fairy lights strung overhead that cast everything in a warm, welcoming glow. It felt like an extension of our home—authentic and comfortable, but elevated.
Most importantly, it felt like us. Like the life we’d built together.
“See that?” Adrian pointed to a framed photo hanging near the register—one of dozens that now decorated the store, documenting our travels over the past year.
The photos ranged from one of us grinning at the camera from the edge of a cliff in Norway, the Northern Lights painting the sky behind us in impossible shades of green and purple, to one from our trip to Japan in the spring, surrounded by cherry blossoms.
But the photo he was pointing to, the one that always stopped me in my tracks, hung just above the espresso machine.
Adrian stood in an Italian olive grove surrounded by ancient trees heavy with fruit, late-afternoon sunlight filtering through the leaves to create dappled patterns across his face and shoulders.
He was laughing at something I’d said—probably some stupid joke about olives or Italian pronunciation—and the joy on his face was so vivid, so carefree, that it had taken my breath away when I’d captured it.
The photo had gone massively viral when he’d posted it last summer on his newly named Instagram, @AdrianHayesStays.
It had been shared by travel accounts and lifestyle blogs around the world.
But for me, it represented something else entirely: the moment I’d realized I was no longer just falling in love with Adrian Hayes but had fallen completely, irrevocably, and permanently.
“That one’s still my favorite,” I murmured.
“I know,” Adrian said softly. “You stop and stare at it every time you walk past.”
“Can you blame me? You look…”
“Extremely photogenic?” he suggested with a grin.
“Happy,” I finished. “Really, genuinely happy. Like you finally found what you were looking for.”
His expression softened. “I did. I found you. Found this.” He gestured around the store. “Found home.”
Before I could kiss him properly—because that look in his eyes demanded he be kissed—Maya cleared her throat loudly.
“As much as I love watching you two be disgustingly cute,” she announced, “we have actual work to do. Adrian, the delivery truck just pulled up with the last of the catered food. Maddox, Mrs. Hoffman is here early, and she’s already critiquing your menorah display.”
“Shit,” I muttered, reluctantly releasing Adrian. “I better go deal with that before she reorganizes them again.”
“I’ll handle the food delivery,” Adrian said, pressing a quick kiss to my lips. “Try not to let Mrs. Hoffman give you an anxiety attack before our guests arrive.”
As he headed toward the back door, I couldn’t help but appreciate the view.
A year of regular hiking and outdoor activities, in addition to lifting and hauling deliveries to the store, had added even more definition to his already impressive physique, and the way those jeans hugged his ass was a work of art.
He caught me staring and winked over his shoulder, making me grin like a teenager.
“Ew, gross,” Maya commented. “At least pretend to have some dignity.”
“Never,” I replied cheerfully, heading toward the front of the store where Mrs. Hoffman was indeed examining my menorah display with the intensity of a museum curator.
The next hour passed in a blur of final preparations and the arrival of more friends and family. After greeting everyone for a solid hour, I finally grabbed a cup of my grandmother’s hot cocoa and joined Foster and Tommy by the window display.
“This place looks incredible,” Foster said, looking around with obvious approval. “You two have really created something special here.”
“Thanks,” I replied, feeling that familiar flush of pride. “It’s been a team effort.”
“Speaking of team efforts,” Tommy added with a knowing grin, “has anyone seen Chief Kincaid? He said he needed to do a ‘routine safety inspection’ before the opening.”
Maya snorted. “He’s in the back room with Alex. Has been for the past twenty minutes. Very thorough inspection, apparently.”
Foster and Tommy exchanged amused glances. “You think they realize the only fire danger around here is the sparks flying between the two of them?”
I chuckled, but then I spotted Adrian talking to several people across the room, and my attention caught on him as it usually did.
Watching him discuss the merits of different hiking boots with a family from Colorado, I felt a familiar surge of pride and love. He wasn’t Adrian Hayes the brand; he was just Adrian, sharing something he cared about with people who appreciated it.
“You’re staring again,” Maya murmured with her phone held out to capture candid shots of the crowd.
“Can you blame me?” I asked, not bothering to deny it.
“Not really. He does look pretty good in Sullivan Hardware merchandise.” She paused her filming to give me a more serious look.
“You know, this time last year, I was worried what would happen to you when I left for school. Worried you’d fall into a pattern of working too much and not taking care of yourself. ”
“And?”
“And I’m really glad I was wrong. Well, you’re still a workaholic—both of you are—but you look…
lighter. Happier. Like you remember how to have fun again, too.
” Her smile turned mischievous. “Plus, our online sales have tripled since Adrian took over the marketing strategy, so clearly, this partnership is working out.”
“Clearly,” I agreed, laughing. “Though I hope you know this partnership includes you. You’ve worked your ass off helping Adrian build out our online presence.”
Her involvement was a topic of constant check-ins, times Adrian or I—or both—reminded her to make time for fun.
Maya’s smile was indulgent. “I can tell what you’re thinking. I promise I have a life outside of work and school. You’ve met my friends and seen our Thursday night game nights.”
“As long as you’re happy,” I said, still worrying despite her admonishment.
“I’m happier than I ever imagined. I love what we’re doing here, and it makes me proud. I wish Mom and Dad were around to see it.”
“Me too. But I agree. They’d be proud of us.”
She poked me in the side. “They’d tease you for your social media stardom.”
I rolled my eyes. “It’s all Adrian. He’s impossible not to obsess over. I, of all people, understand why his fans are his fans.”
“Please. Half our female followers are here for your grumpy mountain man aesthetic, and the other half are here for the relationship goals content with the two of you.”
She wasn’t wrong. Adrian’s documentation of our life together—both the travel adventures and the quiet domestic moments—had resonated with people in ways I still didn’t fully understand.
He didn’t share everything, of course. Not even most things.
He was often too busy enjoying our life to think of making it content.
But when he did post photos of us drinking coffee in the morning or assembling furniture for the store expansion, or candid shots of me working on a photography project, they consistently got thousands of likes and hundreds of comments.
“I still don’t get why people care so much about our normal, everyday stuff,” I admitted. “But I’m happy the income has enabled us to do this expansion.”
“They care because it’s real,” Maya said simply. “In a world full of fake relationships and manufactured content, you two are genuinely happy together. People can tell the difference.”