Epilogue
CAL
S ix months.
Six months of waking up to the smell of coffee and Margot’s sleepy “don’t talk to me yet” face.
Six months of scones, porch swings, apple butter jars, and tiny notes she leaves for me in the drawer beside the coffee filters.
Six months of Waffles crashing through fallen leaves and Edie watching us like we’re her favorite show.
Somehow, this town feels more like home than any skyline I’ve ever looked out over.
And Margot—she’s not just home. She’s my peace.
We’re on the porch after dinner, just the two of us, the light from the inn glowing soft and warm behind us. She’s curled up beside me in her threadbare sweater, and Waffles is asleep on her feet. It smells like rain’s coming, even though the sky’s clear.
She turns to me. “You’re quiet tonight.”
I shift to face her, brushing her hair behind her ear. “I’ve been thinking.”
“That’s never good.”
I smile. “It is tonight.”
She waits, watching me with those steady, open eyes that never rush me.
“I want a life with you,” I say, low. “One that we build, not just inherit.”
Her breath catches, but she doesn’t look away.
“I want a family,” I continue. “One that looks like this place… but is ours. Just ours.”
Her eyes shine, but she doesn’t cry.
She just nods and says, steady and sure, “Me too.”
I reach into my coat pocket and pull out the small velvet box.
Her mouth parts slightly when she sees it—but she doesn’t gasp, or flinch, or whisper “oh my god.” She just stills.
“I’ve been carrying this for a while,” I tell her. “Waiting for the right moment, but then I realized… it’s not about the moment. It’s about you. And us. And everything we’re already choosing, every day.”
I open the box.
The ring inside is simple. Classic. A round-cut diamond on a gold band, elegant and enduring—just like her.
“I love you,” I say. “And I want the rest of my life to be full of teapots and chaotic sisters and four p.m. pastries. But I also want something that’s ours. I want to grow something with you. A life, a home, a family.”
She doesn’t blink.
She reaches for my hand, her voice quiet but full. “Yes.”
I slide the ring onto her finger, and she leans forward into my arms like she’s finally letting herself fall.
I hold her close. “Let me know when you’re ready. We’ll buy the house. We’ll always be a part of this inn, but we need to start our own family.”
She presses her forehead to mine, her voice soft. “I think I’m ready now.”
And just like that, I know—this is the beginning of the rest of us.
T wo weeks later, we’re sitting in a quiet office that smells like fresh coffee and printer ink. The lawyer talks through the paperwork, but all I hear is the sound of her pen moving across the page as she signs her name. That’s the moment it hits me.
It’s done. The house is ours.
We walk out into the golden wash of late afternoon. Margot holds the folder like it’s made of glass.
I lace my fingers with hers as we walk to the car.
She hums as she buckles in—some old jazz tune Jo had playing last night in the orchard house. I think she’s doing it without realizing. I hope she never stops.
The house isn’t far. Ten minutes from the Key & Kettle, past a bend in the road where the trees lean in like they’re whispering secrets. There’s an old oak in the front yard and wide porch steps that creak when I test them. The house is huge, but it’s exactly what we want.
Margot had some reservations about leaving the inn permanently, but it’s not a far walk, and her sisters assured us they’ll be around more often to help. It’s a new step for us, and we’re happy to have their support.
I open the front door, then step back to let her go in first.
She lingers in the doorway. Doesn’t rush it. Just stands there, eyes scanning every corner, like she’s trying to memorize it before it becomes real.
Then she takes a breath and steps inside.
It’s quiet. Bright. Fresh paint, clean floors, sun pooling across the hardwood. I can already see her making coffee in the mornings. Reading near the window. Laughing in the hallway. I walk in after her, close the door, and we just stand there—hand in hand, still in our coats, hearts beating fast.
“You ready?” I ask.
She turns to me, face flushed from the cold and the moment. “I’ve never been more ready.”
I kiss her hand. Let the quiet settle around us like a promise.
We’re not just building a home. We’re building a life.
I hear footsteps crunching on the gravel outside.
Margot’s head tilts. “You hear that?”
Before I can answer, Waffles comes charging around the corner like a rocket in fur. His tongue is out, ears flopping like he’s in his own slow-motion movie.
“Oh geez,” I mutter, stepping aside just in time.
Margot yelps as Waffles barrels past us and into the house like he already owns the place. He skids across the hardwood, tail wagging furiously as he circles the empty living room and flops right in the middle like he’s claiming his territory.
“Well,” Margot says, breathless and laughing. “Looks like he approves.”
Behind him, the rest of her family walks up—Aunt Edie in her signature scarf, Hazel with paint on her jeans, Thea clutching a small potted plant like a housewarming gift, and Jo and Sam holding hands, looking proud enough to burst.
They all stop on the porch, looking in through the open door like it’s the beginning of something sacred.
Hazel’s the first to speak. “So…when’s the first dinner party?”
Margot just grins and pulls me closer. “Soon. But first, we make this place ours.”
And as her family steps into our new home, I realize something:
I thought I was starting over the day I left everything behind.
But really… this is the beginning. It all starts here.
The End.