Extended Epilogue
GRIFF
One Year Later
Christmas Eve and I'm standing in the shadows like some kind of wedding stalker, clipboard in one hand and radio clipped to my belt, watching another couple lose their minds over flower arrangements and cake flavors.
A year of this shit, and I still can't believe people pay us to watch them cry over vows.
The bride looks good, I'll give her that. White dress, fancy flowers, the works. The groom can't stop grinning like an idiot. Their families are already breaking out tissues because apparently crying at weddings is mandatory.
Twelve months ago, we were four people pretending we didn't want to tear each other's clothes off. Now we're the poster children for "unconventional relationships that somehow don't end in disaster."
"Griffin." Xavier's voice crackles through my earpiece, all calm and professional like he's not coordinating a circus. "The photographer wants to mess with the lighting. Can you tell catering to hold off for fifteen minutes?"
"Already handled," I grunt, catching Maria's eye across the room. She nods and disappears back into the kitchen. Good thing we poached her from Romano's. The woman actually knows what she's doing. "Anything else about to explode?"
"Everything's running smoothly," Xavier says, and he sounds surprised. Like after a year of this, he still expects the ceiling to collapse.
That's the thing about weddings. There should be chaos.
There was chaos when we started. But somehow when the four of us work together, shit just..
. works. Savannah makes everything look pretty, Xavier plans for every possible disaster, Logan keeps everyone from panicking, and I make sure nothing actually catches fire.
We're good at this. Annoyingly good.
"How are the happy idiots?" Savannah's voice joins the conversation, warm and satisfied like a cat in sunshine.
"Disgustingly in love," I report, watching them feed each other cake like it's some sacred ritual. "The photographer takes shots that'll make their kids gag when they're older."
"Perfect," Logan rumbles through the comm. "Bar's wrapping up, dance floor's filling up, and the DJ's actually sticking to the timeline for once."
Yeah, we learned our lesson after the Anderson wedding. DJ decided nine PM was the perfect time to turn a classy reception into a rave. The grandmother requesting more bass was entertaining, but we like our events predictable.
Business has exploded this year. What started as desperate damage control for Emma's disaster has turned into the most wanted venue in three states.
Bookings through next year, a waiting list that makes Savannah's eyes light up with dollar signs, and a reputation for fixing things when they go sideways.
Because shit always goes sideways. Last month, a groom forgot his vows and started reciting Shakespeare.
Month before that, a flower girl decided the aisle was perfect for an interpretive dance about her dead hamster.
Two weeks back, a best man showed up drunk and had to be escorted out before he face-planted into the cake.
But we fixed it. We adapt. We turn disasters into stories people laugh about later.
"Remember the Brown clusterfuck?" I ask, watching tonight's flower girl spin around without falling over. Miracle.
"Which part?" Savannah laughs. "Dress catching fire, cake collapsing, or best man proposing during the father-daughter dance?"
"The fact they still call it the best wedding ever," Logan says.
"Because we don't let disasters win," Xavier adds.
He's not just talking about work.
Our venue's reputation has spread beyond Colorado now. People fly in from California, Texas, places I can't pronounce because they heard about the place where "four people fell in love and decided to make everyone else's dreams come true."
A magazine spread didn't hurt either. Three pages of photos and some story about our "innovative approach." Savannah framed it, not because she's vain but because it represents everything we built from nothing.
We've handled over eighty couples this year. Some easy—people with money and realistic expectations. Others required what Savannah calls "romantic engineering" and what I call "preventing complete meltdowns."
Like the couple terrified of weather disasters. We designed backup plans so comprehensive Xavier nearly cried with joy. Heated tents, generators, snow removal that could clear the property in under two hours.
Or the bride eight months pregnant convinced she looked like a whale. Savannah and the photographer spent hours making her look like some goddess. Photos went viral. Now we're the "pregnant bride specialists" with a nine-month waiting list.
Speaking of pregnancy...
Savannah's three months along now. Barely showing but glowing like she swallowed sunshine. Makes sense. Conversation came up naturally one morning when she put down her coffee and said, "You know what would make this chaos more interesting? A baby."
Xavier immediately started making lists. Logan began researching every baby product ever made. I started sketching nursery designs that would make Pinterest jealous.
Because that's what we do. Plan, build, make impossible shit happen.
"Boss," Maria appears next to me, a professional smile not hiding her amusement. "Mother of the bride wants to move everything inside. She's worried about mosquitoes."
I look outside at the snow falling, then at the climate-controlled pavilion where guests are drinking champagne in perfect comfort. "What'd you tell her?"
"That I'd check with management."
"Tell her our pavilion is sealed against insects, including the ones hibernating under three feet of snow," I say. "If she's still worried, we can set up the backup space, but most people seem happy."
Maria nods and disappears. I make a mental note to add "seasonal insect guarantees" to our information packet.
"Crisis management," Savannah says, appearing beside me in a black dress that's professional enough for work but fitted enough to remind me she's mine.
The dress also does incredible things for her new curves, but I keep that thought to myself since we're supposed to be working.
"Just another Saturday night," I reply, pulling her closer until I can smell her vanilla bourbon scent over the flowers.
"You know what I love about this?" she asks, leaning into my side as we watch the reception.
"The money?"
She swats my arm. "The fact that we're helping people believe in forever. Look at them." She gestures at the dance floor where the bride and groom are swaying like they're alone. "We created this."
She's right. A year ago, I thought romance was bullshit that happened to other people. Now I'm in the business of romantic magic, and I'm damn good at it.
"Speaking of forever," Xavier says, joining us with Logan, both looking satisfied with another smooth event.
Now I'm thinking about the couples we could help, the magic we could create somewhere new.
"We'd need more staff," Savannah says, already researching on her phone. "Contractors, vendors, building reputation in a new market..."
"Quality control," Xavier adds. "Won't put our name on anything that isn't perfect."
"Doesn't have to be perfect on day one," I say, watching the grandmother teach the flower girl to waltz. "It just has to be ours."
We stand there planning our future while love happens around us. The DJ announces the last dance, and couples head to the floor for final moments.
"Also been thinking about baby-proofing," Savannah says, hand drifting to her stomach.
Logan immediately goes protective. "Safety gates, outlet covers, rounded corners..."
"Soundproof nursery for couples with babies," Xavier adds.
"Tiny formal wear rental," I suggest. "Corner the market on family weddings."
Savannah laughs. "I love how your brain works."
"Come on," she says, grabbing my hand. "We can plan world domination later. Right now I want to dance with my husband."
The song is slow and romantic, probably picked by the bride's sister who's been crying all night. Savannah fits against my chest perfectly while Logan and Xavier close our circle.
"This is perfect," she murmurs.
"Which part?" I ask. "The business, expansion plans, baby, or the fact we're dancing at someone else's wedding?"
"All of it," she says, looking up at me with bright, happy eyes. "But mostly that we're here together, creating something that helps people believe in love."
"Something that lasts," Logan adds.
“And makes the world more magical," Xavier says.
I look around at the couples, the venue we transformed, the life we built from scratch. A year ago we were four broken people who couldn't admit we needed each other. Now we're family, business empire, proof that love can fix anything.
"Know what the best part is?" I say, dipping her dramatically.
"What?" she asks, laughing.
"We're just getting started."
Song ends, another perfect wedding wraps up. Tomorrow we'll plan the next one, and the next, filling our calendar for years.
But tonight we dance. Tonight we celebrate not just another couple's happiness, but our own. Tonight we remember the best decisions come from the heart, and the most successful things are built on love.
Soon we'll clean up, pay vendors, and lock up. Drive home to the house we renovated together, fall into bed, plan tomorrow's chaos. Savannah will research Vermont venues while Logan checks weather and Xavier reviews bookings.
We'll wake up and do it again. Create magic, solve problems, prove every day that happily ever after isn't just fairy tales.
It's for anyone brave enough to fight for it.
And we're just getting started.