Epilogue
One year later
Reid
The grill hisses as another drop of fat hits the flame, sending up a curl of smoke that smells like salt and char. I shift the spatula under the burgers and turn one carefully, listening to the satisfying sizzle.
Behind me, something thumps against the patio table.
I glance over my shoulder just in time to see Ivy’s chubby hands thud against the wood again with the determination of someone who has recently discovered percussion. Which, I guess, in a way she has.
Her dark hair sticks up in soft tufts around her head, mussed from her late afternoon nap that lasted approximately twelve minutes. The evening light catches the gold in them as she grins wide at the noise she’s made.
Thump.
She lets out a squeal that sounds like she’s congratulating herself, and Carina smiles from where she’s sitting in the outdoor seat beside her.
“She’s been doing this every time she’s in a highchair,” she says, amusement curling through her voice.
I flip another burger. “Good rhythm.”
Carina snorts.
“That’s not rhythm, that’s chaos.”
I glance back at Ivy. She slaps the table again, then pauses with her palms flat on the wood as though she’s evaluating the results.
“Same thing,” I say.
Carina lifts her glass and takes a sip, still watching our daughter with that soft look she gets when she forgets anyone else is around.
The yard is quiet in a way it only gets once the day finally settles. After Ivy’s spread every toy she owns into every corner of the house, when Carina’s back from a shift at the clinic—and I’m ready to look after my girls.
The sky’s fading into smudgy coral hues, the warm air wrapping around us, while the treehouse catches the golden rays of the sun.
I didn’t think this was what my life would look like.
Didn’t know I’d end up here, retired and standing at a grill in my backyard while my daughter experiments with percussion and Carina watches us both like she’s cataloguing the moment.
But now it’s hard to imagine anything else.
Ivy’s attention shifts to the tray on the table, and her small fingers curl around the edge of a burger bun before I can stop her.
“Hey you,” I say, stepping over as she beams at me. “Not so fast, baba.”
“Dadadada!”
I rescue the bun before it hits the ground and reach for the ketchup instead.
“Reid,” she says cautiously.
I glance up innocently, raising a brow.
“If you write hockey on that bun—”
I scoff. “Please. I’d at least write goalie.”
The ketchup lands in two crooked lines across the top, and I keep adding more until I finish the word in capital letters. I set the tiny burger together and slide it in front of Ivy.
Carina leans forward, squinting at the word across the bun:
SLEEP
She lets out a short laugh, dropping her head as Ivy grabs the burger with both hands and immediately tries to bite the side of it.
“You know she can’t read yet, right?”
I cap the ketchup bottle and glance at our daughter, who’s now enthusiastically dismantling the entire concept of dinner.
“Someone once told me it’s a top-up,” I say. “More of what you need.”
“Mmm,” Carina agrees, taking another sip of wine as she eyes our daughter. “She definitely needs more of that.”
Ketchup is already smeared across one of Ivy’s cheeks, and the bread is slowly losing structural integrity in her hands. She babbles something approving through a mouthful, as though she’s delivering a glowing review to the chef.
Carina laughs softly beside her. “Now she’s going to expect dinner to come with motivational messaging every night.”
I slide the spatula under the last burger and lift it from the grill, setting it onto the waiting bun.
“Seems reasonable,” I say, reaching for the ketchup again.
Carina’s eyes narrow immediately. “If you’re writing ‘the D’ again,” she warns, “I’m throwing that burger straight back at you.”
“Please,” I mutter. “Have some faith in me.”
“Last time you told me it was more of what I needed.”
“Was I wrong?”
Behind me Ivy squeals again, waving the half-demolished burger like a trophy.
I squeeze the ketchup bottle, writing the words as clearly as I can, then wiping the tip of the bottle with my thumb before setting it back down.
Carina’s watching me with the wary patience of someone who knows I’m up to something but can’t quite prove it yet.
“Should I be concerned?”
I carry the plate over to her, placing it on the table in front of her.
“You’re always concerned.”
She hums thoughtfully at that, then glances down at the plate.
For a second she’s clearly expecting something stupid. But when she sees it, she freezes.
MARRY ME
The noise of the yard falls away in that strange way it does when something shifts and the world hasn’t quite caught up yet.
Carina stares at the bun for a beat longer, then looks up at me. Her brows draw together slowly, as though she’s trying to decide if this is a joke she hasn’t caught onto yet.
Behind her, Ivy slaps the table again.
“Mamamama!”
I lean forward, resting my hands on the edge of the table.
“Thought we should do it before she starts school.”
Carina blinks at me. “That’s… your proposal?”
I shrug one shoulder.
“Timing felt right.”
For a moment she just watches me.
The wind shifts through the yard, rustling the leaves around the treehouse, and somewhere behind us Ivy babbles happily to herself, entirely unaware she’s in the middle of a life-altering moment.
Carina bites her lip slowly.
“You’re serious.”
I nod, reaching into the pocket of my shorts. “Never been more serious about anything in my life, Havoc.”
The small velvet box has been hidden for the better part of three weeks, carried around like a secret I couldn’t quite find the right moment to say out loud.
I set it on the table between us and flip it open.
The diamond catches the sunlight, scattering rainbow specks across the wood.
Carina inhales sharply.
“That—”
“Ivy helped,” I say.
Carina’s head snaps toward mine.
“What?”
I nod toward our daughter, who is now enthusiastically feeding pieces of bun to the patio floor.
“She picked the sparkliest one.”
Carina presses a hand to her mouth, laughing helplessly now as tears gather in the corners of her eyes.
“Oh my god, Reid.”
I push back from the table and drop down onto one knee in front of her. Ivy notices immediately.
“Dadadada!”
Carina shakes her head, laughing and crying at the same time.
“You’re proposing to me with a burger.”
I slide my palms over her thighs and look up at her.
“Technically I proposed with ketchup.”
She lets out a watery laugh as I hold her gaze.
“I know we don’t have to,” I say quietly. “We’ve already got the house. The kid. The life.”
I glance toward Ivy, who is now attempting to climb out of her highchair.
“But I want to.”
The yard is still for a second as the words land between us.
Carina looks at the ring, then back at me, her eyes searching my face like she’s trying to measure the weight behind them.
“I want the whole thing,” I add. “The paperwork, the stupid seating chart. Heidi crying through the vows.”
Her mouth twitches.
“And the part where you legally have to keep me around,” I finish.
Carina huffs out a small laugh, but her eyes shine brighter.
“I already keep you around,” she says softly.
“Yeah,” I agree. “But I’d like it on record.”
Behind her, Ivy throws the remnants of her burger against the table, sending flecks of bread and ketchup flying.
Carina glances at her, then back at me. “And this is because you think we should?”
“No.” I rest my hands a little higher on her thighs, grounding myself there.
“It’s because I want all of it with you,” I say. “Every year. Every messy backyard dinner. Every weird tradition we make for her.” I tilt my chin toward Ivy. “And because I want every version of you.”
Carina’s brows pull together as I shudder a breath, feeling the emotion.
“I want to stand next to you while you do all the incredible things you’re meant to do. Want to be there while Ivy grows up watching her mom be the smartest person in every room.”
Her eyes shine brighter.
“I already know I’ve got the best life I could’ve ended up with, Carina. I just wanna make it official.”
For a second the whole yard goes quiet again—it’s just the soft creak of the treehouse in the breeze and Ivy humming to herself.
Carina looks down at the ring, then over to our daughter. When her eyes come back to mine, they’re bright and full and unmistakably certain.
“Yes,” she says. “I want that, too.”
And just like that, the whole damn world settles into place.
It’s a strange thing, hearing a word you already knew was coming and still feeling it land somewhere deep in your chest.
Carina lets out a shaky breath and laughs softly, wiping at the corner of one eye.
“Well,” she says, “you gonna put the ring on me, Hutchison? Or are you planning to keep kneeling there forever?”
That jolts me back into motion. I slide the ring from the box and take her hand.
Her fingers curl around mine instinctively, the same way they have a thousand times before—but this time feels different.
This time feels like the beginning of something that was already ours finally being said out loud.
The diamond catches the sun again as I slide it onto her finger, rainbows twinkling across her skin.
Carina stares down at it for a second, turning her hand slowly to make the rainbows sparkle, her lip trembling slightly.
“Holy shit,” she breathes.
“Language,” I murmur automatically.
She laughs under her breath, shaking her head as she looks back at me.
I push to my feet and lean in to cup her jaw, my thumb brushing lightly along the curve of her cheek where a tear slipped earlier. She leans into the touch without thinking, the way she always does.
For a moment we just look at each other.
“I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
The grill ticks quietly behind me as it cools, and the breeze shifts through the leaves around the treehouse. Ivy babbles happily to herself as though she’s watching her favorite show.