Epilogue
WINTER
Spring had arrived early for Valentine’s market day. It was unseasonably warm, though the air had a chill, the sky was blue, the sun was warm.
It was gloriously beautiful.
Short Street was full of craft and food stalls, and a marquee set up as a pet-adoption stall hosted by Hartbridge Veterinary Clinic in conjunction with the Humane Society.
“Oh, what a splendid day,” Mrs. Stevens said.
She had her arm linked through mine as I walked her from my car to the mall.
“It is indeed,” I replied.
I was thrilled to see her at my first monthly book club meetings, and she’d said she was ready to adopt again. So I’d offered to escort her down to see if she could find a little doggo in need of a new home.
Deacon and his parents were busy, and by all accounts, it seemed the day was a success.
Even Mildred was there with a pink Humane Society bandana.
Deacon was showing an information brochure to someone, but he looked up as we walked in, smiling at me before addressing Mrs. Stevens.
“Good morning,” he said. “Thank you for coming today.”
“Good morning, Deacon,” she said. “Winter here was just telling me you gave him flowers and have a Valentine’s Day date tonight. How exciting.”
Deacon’s gaze shot to mine. “Did he, just?”
I grimaced. “I was making conversation,” I said quickly. “So, the dogs . . .” I said, grinning at him. “Shall we make some introductions?”
“Hmm.” He led her around the area set up with crates and cages to where all the dogs were waiting. There were big dogs, little dogs, fluffy dogs, short-haired, happy and yappy, and sleepy dogs.
Mrs. Stevens took her time, meeting them all, one dog at a time. I could tell by her expression she wasn’t feeling it.
Maybe she wasn’t as ready as she thought she was.
I suggested we sit a while and ponder, and she was clearly disappointed. Only her chair was beside a cage with a tabby cat in it. He was a big, chonky boy, and immediately began meowing at Mrs. Stevens. Then he stood up and tapped the cage, still meowing at her.
“I think he’s trying to say hello,” I said.
“Oh, he’s very vocal, isn’t he?” she said.
“I have two cats,” I said. “Well, kittens. They’re like three months old now, and I love them to pieces.”
Deacon took the cat from his cage. “Maybe he’s trying to tell us something. You know, it’s common for an animal to choose the human, not the other way around.”
He gently placed the cat on her lap. I worried the cat might try and run, or worse, claw her in the process. Deacon kept close, but there was no need to worry. The cat put his paws on her chest, leaned up to nudge her chin, then lay down, settling in right there, closed his eyes, and began to purr.
Mrs. Stevens looked at me, her mouth pulled down, and she had a little cry. “Oh my goodness,” she said.
I got teary right along with her. “I think he found his human.”
“I came for a little dog,” she said.
I read the details for her. “His name is Rupert,” I said, “and he’s five years old.”
She pet him. “Rupert, huh? That’s a very gentlemanly name.”
“It is,” I agreed. “What a sweetheart.”
She looked at me. “He chose me, didn’t he?”
Considering he was like a loaf on her chest, purring contentedly, eyes closed, I’d say yes. “He did. I think he’s got a lot of love to give.”
And that was that.
Mrs. Stevens was now a cat mom to a very happy, chonky boy, and the adoption day was a great success. The whole market day was. Local producers were happy to sell their wares, and the town residents were very happy shoppers.
It was all over by mid-afternoon. I helped Deacon and his parents pack up their stall, and when we were done, we headed to the diner for a milkshake and some of Jayden’s peanut brownies.
Deacon was positively shining.
We sat in a booth, our legs touching. He even put his hand on my thigh a time or two.
We didn’t need to sit this close, there was plenty of room, but this was us now. Occasional touches, hand-holding. One time, he even put his hand on my lower back when he’d held a door for me.
I was on cloud nine every single day.
The best way to describe how Deacon loves is quietly.
There’s no extravagant fanfare or excessive parades of attention or declarations.
His love is honest and sincere and with the entirety of his whole heart.
It’s so deep and consuming that it could be almost overwhelming if it weren’t so gentle and pure.
I could read a thousand poems about the depth of the ocean, the immense force of its ebbs and flows, the undercurrent of emotion. Or the vastness of stars, infinite and perfect, full of wonder.
But not even the words of Keats, Shakespeare, or Dickinson could capture the way Deacon loves me.
He was a single flower. Not a field of flowers. Just one. It might seem simple to some, but it was anything but simple. It was complex and beautiful and had just waited for the perfect moment of sunshine before it could bloom.
That was how Deacon loved me.
And I counted myself as the luckiest man on the planet to be loved by him.
“I’m glad today went well,” I said. “But I should get back to the store and close up for Ro.”
“Okay, thanks again for your help today,” Wayne said. “Don’t you boys be out too late tonight.”
It was a given that Deacon would be coming with me. We were pretty much inseparable these days.
Ro was happy to see me. “Oh, I was beginning to wonder where you were?” she said.
“Hmm,” I hedged. “Late for something? Have a hot date tonight? Did I see Toni in here earlier today?”
She leveled me a mind-your-business glare and grabbed her bag. “Don’t wait up for me tonight.”
I gasped. “I want details!” I called out, but she was already out the door.
“Do you really?” Deacon asked. He was straightening up some merchandise. “Want details? That seems an odd thing to want. She’s your aunt, after all.”
I laughed. “I’m just teasing her. But yes, I want to know. Not the intimate details, of course, but the swoony romantic stuff.”
He smiled, distracted, but before I could ask him if he was okay, he nodded to the front window display. “Your Valentine’s Day theme will need to be changed.”
“I have the best Easter one ready to go up this week. It’s a Peter Rabbit theme, and there are 3D paper bunnies and little paper Easter eggs. It’s going to be amazing. Though I will miss the Valentine one.”
The hot air balloon in the shape of a love heart will definitely be back out next year.
Deacon smiled again, but his eyes flinched and he didn’t seem to know whether to keep his hands in his pockets or by his side.
“Everything okay?” I asked, closing out the till.
Something was definitely not okay.
“Yes. Are you almost done?”
I locked the money away and took one last look around the store. There was nothing that couldn’t wait until tomorrow. “Sure.”
He waited for me to lock the door, and when I gave him a big smile, he quickly looked away. “Walk with me?”
Oh . . .
“Of course,” I said, and we headed toward the river.
The sun was getting low, rays of fading golden sunlight filtered through the green trees. Birds were chirping, people were walking dogs, laughing.
It was utterly perfect.
Except for whatever was wrong with Deacon. He was antsy and nervous. I took his hand gently and he stopped walking.
“Is everything okay?” I asked.
He shook his head. “No.”
“What is it? You can tell me.”
“It’s Valentine’s Day.”
I nodded slowly. “Yes. Your poem to me this morning had me smiling all day.”
“Yes, but I . . .” He screwed up his face. “I’ve been thinking a lot. And I tried finding a poem to ask, but they all felt so inadequate. Well, perhaps ‘Love’s Philosophy’ by Percy Bysshe Shelly. I do like the line about moonbeams—”
“It’s a wonderful poem,” I hedged, unsure of where he was going with this. I knew the poem, and I knew what it meant. Could he possibly want . . . ? “Deacon,” I whispered.
“But still,” he went on. “It’s still not enough. What Shelly wrote is not adequate.”
I was about to argue because, uhhh, what? “I’m fairly sure Percy—”
“Stay very still.”
I froze. “Why?” I hissed. “Is there a bee? A wasp?”
“No,” he whispered, possibly closer than he’d ever been. “Stay still. Please.”
I stayed very still.
“I think I would,” he breathed, then blinked a few times. “I would very much like to kiss you. ‘As the moonbeams kiss the sea.’”
Oh.
Oh my god.
I somehow managed to nod.
He put his hand to my cheek, his fingers tracing my jaw, and he lifted my chin a little. I realized he was actually about to kiss me.
He was doing this.
He’s going to kiss me.
He leaned in slowly, his focus on my lips, and I didn’t dare breathe. Then he pressed his lips to mine, soft, sweet.
Perfect.
For one time-stopping, perfect moment before he pulled back. My eyes fluttered and my heart hammered.
His smile stole my breath.
He laughed and put his hand to his forehead, looking around, agitated but in a good way, as if he had too much positive energy and no outlet.
Then, when it was all clearly too much, he threw his arms around me and hugged me, like he did when he was too overwhelmed with happiness and didn’t know what else to do.
It made me laugh.
He let me go, grinning, blue eyes wide with wonder. “I kissed you.”
“You did,” I said, a little teary. He never stopped surprising me. “Wow.”
Then he stopped. “Was it . . . ? I’ve never kissed anyone before. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while now, and today’s Valentine’s Day. I wanted to make it special for you.”
“You did,” I said. “The poem this morning. The beautiful flowers. We’re doing pizza and a movie tonight, and now this.”
“A kiss,” he whispered.
I nodded. “A perfect kiss. ‘And the moonbeams kiss the sea.’”
The end