Epilogue
Asher
One Year Later
A year ago, I couldn’t have imagined this.
Not the quiet mornings. Not the steady rhythm of peace and happiness. Not the feeling of standing still and knowing…this is enough.
But here I am. And it is.
When I still worked in the dark, there was one thing I let myself picture on the bad nights—somewhere warm, somewhere so far from concrete and gun smoke that the old life couldn’t follow.
A small island. Blue water. Quiet. I never thought I’d actually see it.
Then Nora and I started traveling, and one of those trips brought us here, to a little Caribbean island barely marked on most maps.
We came for two weeks. We never left. She loved it as much as I did—a place with no ghosts in it, where we could both start clean.
The small café hums softly with life. The scent of coffee and baked goods lingers in the air as voices blend together—tourists, locals, laughter, conversation. It’s become something more than just a place to stop for a drink. It’s hers. Nora’s.
And somehow, it became mine too.
I lean against the back wall for a moment, watching her move behind the counter with ease.
My reason for being. Her smile is effortless as she talks to a customer, her hands working quickly, confidently.
She fits here in a way that makes everything else feel distant.
Like the life we left behind belongs to someone else entirely.
She found this. Not just the café. This version of herself. And in turn, she helped me find mine.
I quit being a hitman. For good. I told her everything once I knew I was done, and she didn’t look at me differently. Not the way I expected. If anything, she just held me tighter. And now, I teach self-defense at the local gym.
“Are you going to keep staring or actually help me?” Her voice cuts through my thoughts, pulling me back instantly.
I push off the wall, a faint smirk tugging at my lips as I walk toward the counter. “I’m supervising.”
She snorts softly, shaking her head as she slides a cup across to a waiting customer. “You’ve been supervising for ten minutes.”
“Quality control takes time,” I tease.
“Mm-hmm,” she hums, not even looking convinced as she turns back to me. Her eyes narrow slightly in playful accusation. “You’ve been daydreaming.”
“I don’t daydream,” I say with affront, and she giggles.
“You do now,” she says immediately, leaning forward, her tone teasing. “Ever since we decided to stay here, you just…drift sometimes.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That sounds like your fault.”
“My fault?” she repeats, clearly amused.
“You turned me into this,” I say, gesturing vaguely between us. “I used to be focused.”
Her lips curve into a slow smile. “And now?”
“Now I’m distracted,” I admit, my gaze settling on her. “But I don’t mind.”
Something in her expression softens at that, the teasing easing into something quieter, something warmer. “That’s a very smooth way of saying you’re happy.”
“I didn’t say it was smooth,” I reply, stepping closer. “Just true.”
She studies me for a second, then shakes her head, a soft laugh slipping out. “You’ve changed.”
“So have you.”
“For the better,” she adds.
“Yeah,” I agree, my voice lower now. “For the better.”
The moment stretches, quiet and steady. And then she steps into me without hesitation. Her arms wrap around my waist, and I pull her closer, my hand settling down her back.
“You’re not allowed to go back to being serious all the time,” she murmurs against my chest.
“I think you made sure of that.”
“Good.”
I tilt her chin up slightly, my lips brushing hers in a slow, grounding kiss that says more than words ever could. No urgency, just slow, burning heat licking beneath the skin.
When we pull back, our chests heave, and our need-filled eyes hold one another. She smiles, softer now, before she steps away to finish up at the counter.
And I stay right there.
Exactly where I want to be.