Epilogue- Two months later
FOX
I watch Prue across the dance floor, her blue bridesmaid dress swirling around her knees as she laughs at something her mother says. The fairy lights strung across the tent’s low ceiling catch in her hair, giving her a halo that makes my chest tighten.
"You're staring again," Rowan says, clapping me on the shoulder. The gold band on his left-hand glints under the lights—still new, still strange to see on my best friend's finger.
"Can you blame me?" I take a sip of champagne, not bothering to deny it.
"Nope." His smile is wide, relaxed in a way I've never seen before today. "But you might want to be more subtle if you're still pretending to play the 'just friends' game."
I shake my head. "Not for much longer."
Rowan raises an eyebrow. "You finally gonna tell people?"
"Once you and Cilla get back from Hawaii." I lower my voice, though the band is loud enough to cover our conversation. "The ring's been burning a hole in my pocket for weeks."
"Shit, man." Rowan's face breaks into a grin. "You're doing it."
"Unless you think she'll say no."
"After watching her look at you like that all night?" He nods toward Prue, who's now glancing our way, a small, private smile on her lips. "Not a chance."
The band shifts to a slower song, and I straighten my tie. "If you'll excuse me. Best man has duties to attend to."
"Sure, 'duties,'" Rowan smirks, but I'm already moving across the floor.
Prue meets me halfway like she always does. I extend my hand, and she takes it, letting me pull her close as we sway.
"Mrs. Malone seems happy," I say, nodding toward Cilla, wrapped in Rowan's arms at the center of the dance floor.
"It’s Dr. Malone, now." Prue corrects me. Cilla successfully defended her dissertation weeks ago. The wedding timing couldn't have been more perfect. "And they're good together."
"They are." Prue's fingers play with the hair at the nape of my neck. "Though I still can't believe my baby sister beat me to the altar."
"Does that bother you?" I ask carefully, studying her face.
"Not at all." She leans closer, her perfume—something with vanilla and spice—making my head swim. "I'm exactly where I want to be."
"And where's that?"
"Here. With you." She rests her head against my chest, and I tighten my arms around her waist. "Even if we are still sneaking around like teenagers."
I chuckle, the vibration rumbling between us. "I thought you enjoyed the secrecy. The thrill of it all."
"I did. I do." She looks up at me. "But I'm also tired of pretending I'm not in love with you when everyone asks why I'm spending so much time in Cedar Bay."
My heart stutters. Even after a year, hearing Prue say those words does something to me. "And what do you tell them?"
"That I'm consulting on a big project. That I'm helping Cilla with wedding stuff. That I'm studying the architectural history of coastal Oregon." She rolls her eyes. "I'm running out of excuses."
"Maybe you don't need them anymore," I say, guiding her into a gentle turn.
She follows my lead effortlessly. We've always moved well together since that first night. "What do you mean?"
"I mean," I say, pulling her closer so my lips brush her ear, "Maybe it's time to stop hiding."
"Really?" There's a hopeful note in her voice that makes my chest ache. "You're ready for that?"
"I've been ready since you showed up at my job site after lunch with Cilla." I pull back enough to meet her eyes. "I was just waiting for you."
The song ends, but we keep swaying, oblivious to the faster tempo that's started up.
"Fox Carmichael," she says, her blue eyes serious, "are you asking me something?"
"Not yet." I brush my thumb across her cheekbone. "But soon."
Her smile is slow, knowing. "Soon as in...?"
"Soon, as in when my best friend gets back from his honeymoon." I spin her once more. "I figure one major life event at a time is enough for this group. Besides, I am not a man who believes in upstaging newlyweds."
"So considerate," she teases, but I see the excitement she's trying to contain. "And what if I'm not ready?"
"Then I'll wait." I brush a kiss against her temple. "I'd wait forever for you, Prue Griffin."
She sighs a contented sound that travels straight to my core. "It's a Good thing you don't have to."
We dance through two more songs before Cilla appears at Prue's elbow, flushed and radiant.
"Sorry to interrupt," she says, not looking sorry at all, "but I need to steal my maid of honor for the bouquet toss."
"By all means." I step back, releasing Prue with reluctance. "I'll be right here."
As Prue follows her sister, Cilla turns back to me with a knowing wink. She's suspected about us for months, though we've never confirmed it. Rowan knows, of course—impossible to keep secrets from a guy you've known since kindergarten—but he's kept our confidence.
I watch the single women gather, Prue hanging toward the back, looking amused. Cilla turns her back to the crowd, counts to three, and tosses her bouquet high into the air. It sails over the outstretched hands in front and lands squarely in Prue's arms, who looks as surprised as everyone else.
The crowd cheers, and Prue's eyes find mine across the room. The look we share is electric, full of promise.
Our friend, Cole, appears beside me, handing me a fresh beer. "Ten bucks says you're next, Carmichael."
I accept the beer with a laugh. "I don't take sucker bets."
The night continues––a blur of dancing, toasts, and cake. I manage to steal moments with Prue. We touch as we pass in the buffet line, a private laugh over the best man's speech, a lingering glance across the room—each one a secret shared, a promise made.
As the reception winds down, Rowan and Cilla prepare to leave for their hotel before tomorrow's flight to Hawaii. The guests line up outside with sparklers, creating a tunnel of light for the newlyweds to run through.
Prue stands opposite me in the line, the golden light illuminating her face. As Rowan and Cilla sprint past us, showered in well-wishes and laughter, Prue's eyes meet mine over the sparks.
In this perfect moment, I see our future with perfect clarity: a small house overlooking the bay, maybe kids someday, mornings spent tangled in sheets, and evenings on the porch watching the sunset. A life built together, brick by brick, choice by choice.
Later, after we've helped clean up and said our goodbyes, I drive us back to my place—soon to be our place once Prue sells her place in Seattle. The roads are quiet, and the town settles into the peaceful hush of late night.
"What are you thinking about?" Prue asks, her hand resting on my thigh.
"The future," I answer honestly. "Our future."
She smiles, the moonlight catching in her hair. "I like the sound of that."
"So do I." I take her hand, bringing it to my lips. "So do I."