Epilogue
Beau- One Year Later
Mason squeezed my hand as we walked up the front steps of my parent’s house, and I squeezed back.
“Ready?” he asked.
“As I’ll ever be.” I straightened his tie—a nervous habit I’d picked up over the past year. “You sure you want to do this? We could just turn around and go home. Order pizza. Paint another room in the new house.”
Mason laughed. “Tempting. But your mother would never forgive us.”
“My mother doesn’t forgive anything, anyway.”
“Good point.” He kissed me quickly. “But we’re celebrating. Partnership. The house. Us. And if we have to suffer through a dinner party to do it, then we suffer together.”
“Together,” I agreed.
Before I could knock, the door swung open. Gracie stood there, her ancient face creasing into what might have been a smile.
“Mr. Beau.” Her eyes moved to Mason, and something warm flickered in her expression. “Mr. Mason.”
“Gracie.” I hugged her carefully—she felt more fragile than I remembered. “How are you?”
“Still breathing, which is more than I expected at my age.” She stepped aside to let us in. “Your mother’s in the living room with the guests. Fair warning—she’s in rare form today.”
“When isn’t she?” I muttered.
Gracie’s hand caught my arm as I passed. “That one,” she whispered, nodding at Mason. “I knew the moment I saw him helping you move. That’s the one, I thought. That’s the one who put that light in your eyes.”
My throat tightened. “You were right.”
“I’m always right.” She patted Mason’s arm. “You take care of my boy.”
“Always,” Mason promised.
We followed the sound of voices to the living room, where my mother presided over the gathering like a queen holding court.
She wore a white gown with green and red accents, and a string of pearls at her throat.
My father stood by the window with Mason’s father, Frank, both of them holding glasses of scotch and looking remarkably comfortable.
A gigantic, tastefully decorated Christmas tree dominated the room.
And then there was Mason’s stepmother—God, Caroline looked radiant. She was perched on the edge of my mother’s favorite chair, attempting conversation with Mom using all the warmth and enthusiasm of someone who hadn’t yet realized it was a losing battle.
“Beau! Mason!” Caroline spotted us first and practically leaped up. “Finally! I was beginning to think you’d gotten lost.”
“Traffic,” I lied, accepting her hug. “You look amazing, Caroline.”
“Thank you! Marriage agrees with me.” She pulled Mason into a hug, then turned to me and whispered, “Your mother is... something else.”
“That’s one word for it,” I whispered back.
“Beau.” My mother’s voice cut through the room. “You’re late.”
“By five minutes.”
“Punctuality is a sign of respect.”
“Catherine, they’re here now.” My father crossed the room, shaking Mason’s hand warmly. “Good to see you, son. Congratulations on the partnership. Well deserved.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Please call me Robert. We’re practically family now.” My father clapped Mason on the shoulder, and I saw Mason relax slightly. “Frank and I were just discussing the merger at his company. Fascinating stuff.”
“Glad someone finds it fascinating,” Frank said, joining us with a smile. “Mason’s heard me talk about it enough to write a brief on it.”
“That’s what sons are for,” my father said. “Pretending to care about their fathers’ work.”
The two of them laughed, and I watched Mason’s expression soften. Over the past year, I’d watched my boyfriend—my partner—build a relationship with his father that I’d never quite managed with mine. They talked. Really talked. About work and life and feelings, of all things.
It was beautiful to witness.
“Shall we sit?” My mother gestured to the seating arrangement she’d no doubt spent hours perfecting. “Gracie will serve eggnog, and then we can discuss this... celebration.”
The way she said “celebration” made it sound like “root canal.”
We settled into our assigned seats—Mason and I on one sofa, Caroline and Frank on another, my parents in their respective chairs. Gracie appeared with a tray of drinks, and I caught her eye as she handed me a glass.
“Hang in there,” she mouthed.
“So,” my mother said, crossing her legs elegantly. “Partner. That’s quite an accomplishment for someone so young, Mason.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Thatcher.”
“Catherine, please.” She sipped her wine.
Mason’s hand found mine on the couch, and I laced our fingers together.
“Actually,” Frank said, his voice pleasant but firm, “Mason earned that partnership through hard work and exceptional legal skills. I’ve seen the cases he’s won. The clients he’s brought in. He’s brilliant.”
“Of course he is,” Caroline added. “We’re so proud of him.”
My mother’s expression didn’t change, but I saw a slight tightening around her eyes.
“And the house,” my father said, clearly trying to redirect. “A townhome on West Avenue? That’s a wonderful neighborhood. An excellent investment.”
“We love it,” I said. “Three bedrooms, original hardwood floors, walking distance to everything. It’s perfect.”
“A bit small, isn’t it?” My mother sniffed. “For two professional men. Surely you could afford something more... substantial.”
“We like cozy,” Mason said. “It feels like home.”
“Well, everyone has different standards, I suppose.”
The room went quiet for a beat too long.
Then Caroline, bless her, leaned forward with a bright smile. “Catherine, Beau tells me you’re on the board of the Valentine Museum? I’d love to hear about that. I’ve been looking for volunteer opportunities since the wedding.”
And just like that, she had my mother talking about her favorite subject — herself.
Caroline asked all the right questions, made all the appropriate impressed noises, and somehow made it seem genuine.
I watched in awe as she navigated my mother’s icy personality with the skill of a seasoned diplomat.
Meanwhile, Frank and my father had moved on to discussing golf, and Gracie had reappeared with hors d’oeuvres that she offered with pointed looks at my mother every time Catherine said something particularly pretentious.
“You know,” Frank said at one point, looking at Mason and me, “I never thought I’d see my son this happy. After his mother died, he threw himself into work. Never made time for relationships or friends or... life. But then you came along, Beau.”
“Dad—” Mason’s face had gone red.
“Let me finish.” Frank’s eyes were bright. “You made him remember how to live. How to laugh. How to be human instead of just a lawyer. So thank you for that.”
“I think it was mutual,” I breathed, my throat tight. “Mason saved me too.”
My father was watching us with an expression I couldn’t quite read. Not disapproval, exactly. More like... consideration.
“I must admit,” he said slowly, “when you first told us about Mason, I had my doubts. Not about—” He gestured vaguely. “Not about the nature of the relationship. Just about whether it would last. Whether it was serious.”
My mother made a small sound that might have been agreement.
“But watching you two together,” my father continued, “seeing how you are with each other—” He paused, then smiled. “I was wrong. This is real. And I’m... I’m glad you found each other.”
My mother said nothing, but Gracie, standing in the doorway, made a small approving noise.
“Thank you, Robert,” Mason said. “That means a lot.”
“Yes,” my mother said finally, setting down her wineglass with deliberate precision. “I suppose if one must have a... partner... in this day and age, at least you chose well, Beau. Mason is successful, well-mannered, and comes from a good family. That’s something, I suppose.”
It was probably the closest thing to approval I’d ever get from mother.
“I’ll take it,” I whispered to Mason.
After dinner, while the parents lingered over coffee in the living room, Mason and I stepped out onto the back terrace for air.
The garden was immaculate, as always—every flower in its place, every hedge perfectly trimmed. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of pink and gold.
“That went better than expected,” Mason said, wrapping his arms around me from behind.
“Your dad crying was unexpected.”
“He’s gotten very emotional since marrying Caroline. It’s actually kind of nice.”
“Your stepmom is a saint for dealing with my mother.”
“Your mother is... something.” Mason pressed a kiss to my neck. “But you survived growing up with her, so you’re basically a superhero.”
I laughed and turned in his arms. “Can you believe it’s been a year?”
“Since the office Christmas disaster?”
Mason’s expression grew serious. “Best year of my life.”
“Mine too.” I kissed him softly. “Partner. Homeowner. Out and proud. Look at us being functional adults.”
“Mostly functional.”
Mason’s hands settled on my waist. “Have I mentioned today that I love you?”
“Not in the last hour.”
“Unacceptable. I love you, Beau Thatcher, and our messy townhouse, disastrous cooking attempts, and the way you steal all the covers. I love building a life with you.”
My vision blurred. “I love you too. So much it still scares me sometimes.”
“Good scared or bad scared?”
“Good scared. The kind that means it’s real. That it matters.” I rested my forehead against his. “The kind that means I never want to lose this.”
“I promise you, Beau. My love is forever.”
* * *
Thank you for reading Beau and Mason’s love story.