Epilogue
THATCHER
Eighteen months later
“Stop fidgeting,” Pierce murmurs against my neck, his hands working the buttons of my shirt from behind while I attempt to tame my hair in the bathroom mirror. “You look perfect.”
“I look like I’m about to throw up,” I counter, watching my reflection with growing horror. “Is it too late to cancel? I could fake food poisoning. Or an actual emergency. Do you think Alli would let me borrow one of her animals for a veterinary crisis?”
“You’re not canceling your own book launch.” Pierce finishes with my buttons and turns me around, his hands warm and steady on my shoulders. “This is your dream, remember? The one you’ve been working toward your entire life.”
“Dreams are terrifying when they actually come true.”
He silences my panic with a kiss that starts gentle but quickly deepens into something that makes my knees weak. His hands slide into my hair, thoroughly destroying the styling I just attempted, and I can’t bring myself to care.
“Better?” he asks when we finally break apart.
“Mmm. Maybe we should skip the party entirely. Stay here. Celebrate privately.”
“Nice try.” But he’s smiling as he reaches for my tie, looping it around my neck. “Your publisher would murder us both. And your family would break down the door.”
“They do have a history of that.”
Pierce laughs, the sound warm and familiar. A year of living together, and I still haven’t gotten tired of making him laugh. I hope I never do.
Our apartment—because it’s ours now, not just his—looks nothing like the monochrome museum I first walked into.
Color explodes from every corner: my artwork on the walls, rainbow throw pillows on the couch, a gallery of photos from our first year together arranged above the fireplace.
Pierce’s architecture books share shelf space with my art supplies, and somewhere in the chaos, we’ve built a home.
Our time apart was painful, but as it turned out, it was necessary. Thornton had assumed correctly that something was happening between Pierce and me. By the time he tried to gather evidence, we had already broken up and weren’t spending any time together.
The PI Lior hired to keep an eye on James and Thornton discovered that they’d hired someone to follow Pierce and me. With the gathered evidence, we threatened James with legal action if he didn’t leave us alone.
That was the last time we heard from him.
“Ready?” Pierce asks, handing me my jacket.
“No. But let’s go anyway.”
We’re almost out the door when I remember my portfolio with the original sketches that became my book, which my publisher wants to display at the launch. I rush back to grab it from the coffee table, not noticing the glass of water I left precariously close to the edge.
Pierce’s hand shoots out and catches the glass a millisecond before I knock it directly onto the leather portfolio case.
“Disaster averted,” he says calmly, setting the glass safely on the kitchen counter.
“How do you always do that?”
“Practice.” He kisses my forehead. “I’ve had a year of honing my Thatcher-disaster reflexes.”
I want to argue about that, but this is not the first crisis he’s averted. Not even the twenty-second. Sometimes I wonder how much chaos I can accidentally bring into his life until he kicks me out, but the more I bring, the more he tells me he loves me.
Maybe we really are meant to be together.
The bookstore is packed when we arrive. Fairy lights twinkle in the windows, and a banner proclaims BOOK LAUNCH: The Chaos Chronicles by Thatcher Edward Charles in bright, colorful letters.
My stomach does a complicated gymnastics routine at the sight of my name—my real name—in print, minus the III.
I always found it so pretentious. One day, when I marry Pierce, I’m going to be just Thatcher Dellcourt.
“There he is!” Alli’s voice cuts through the crowd, and suddenly, I’m being pulled into a fierce hug. “I’m so proud of you, Meatball. So incredibly proud.”
“Thanks, Alli.” I squeeze her back, then notice the tall guy standing beside her with an amused expression. “Josh! You came!”
“Wouldn’t miss it,” he says, his arm sliding around Alli’s waist. “Alli’s been talking about this launch for months. I feel like I illustrated the book myself at this point.”
“He’s been practicing his supportive boyfriend face,” Alli stage-whispers. “It’s very convincing.”
“It’s genuine,” Josh corrects, but she’s smiling.
Seeing Alli and her cute vet together—settled and happy after almost a year of dating—makes my heart feel so full. Alli deserves this. She deserves someone who looks at her the way Josh does, like she hung the moon and all the stars around it.
“Thatcher,” the voice that used to bring me to a halt calls. I turn slowly to find my father standing behind me. Beside him, Tobias shifts awkwardly, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Dad. Tobias.” I manage to keep my voice steady. “You came.”
“Of course we came.” My father’s voice is still gruff, but now I can see the pride behind it. He still wants me to succeed, but he now understands that looks different from how he and Tobias succeeded. “It’s your book launch. We wouldn’t miss it.”
A year ago, this moment would have been impossible.
But a year ago, we hadn’t sat down for that conversation—the real one, where my father finally admitted that pushing me toward business was his way of trying to protect me from the instability he associated with creative careers.
Where I finally told him that his constant disappointment hurt more than any financial struggle ever could.
We’re not perfect now. We probably never will be. But we’re trying.
“The book looks wonderful,” Tobias offers, gesturing toward the display table where copies of The Chaos Chronicles are stacked in colorful pyramids. “I read the advance copy you sent. It’s… It’s really good, Thatcher.”
Coming from my perfect brother, the words mean more than I expected. “Thanks, Tobias.”
“Your mother would be proud,” my father says quietly. “She always believed in your art.”
The mention of Mom makes me a little sad, but it’s a good kind of pain. The kind that reminds me she existed, that she loved me, that somewhere she’s probably watching and laughing at how long it took me to get here.
“Meatball!” Uncle Jack’s booming voice saves me from getting too emotional. He sweeps me into a bear hug that lifts me off my feet, Aunt Carla close behind with tears already streaming down her face.
“Our little artist,” she says, cupping my face in her hands. “Look at you. A real published author.”
“And illustrator,” I correct proudly.
“You made a book. A real book that children are going to read and love.” She pulls me into another hug. “Your mother is dancing in heaven right now. I just know it.”
The party swirls around me in a blur of congratulations and champagne and people asking me to sign copies of my own book. My cousins are here with their partners—Noah and Lior, Adam and River, Lex and Emery—all of them beaming with pride.
“Five minutes until your speech,” my agent, Rebecca, announces, appearing at my elbow. “Ready?”
“Absolutely not.”
She laughs. “You’ll be fine. Just speak from the heart.”
Before I can spiral into panic, Pierce’s hand finds mine. “Can I borrow him for just a moment?” he asks Rebecca. “I promise to return him in one piece.”
“Two minutes,” she warns, but she’s smiling.
Pierce pulls me through the crowd toward the back of the store, where a small restroom offers temporary refuge from the chaos. He locks the door behind us, and suddenly, the noise fades to a distant murmur.
“Pierce, what—”
“I need to tell you something before you go up there,” he says, his hands cupping my face with gentle reverence. “I am so incredibly proud of you. Everything you’ve accomplished, everything you’ve overcome— You amaze me every single day.”
“You’re going to make me cry before my speech.”
“I’m not done.” His eyes are suspiciously bright. “Eighteen months ago, I was a miserable man in a colorless apartment, convinced I didn’t deserve happiness. Then you crashed into my life with your sticky notes and your disasters and your absolute refusal to let me stay hidden behind my walls.”
“Pierce…”
“You taught me that mistakes can be beautiful. That chaos can be art. That it’s never too late to chase your dreams.” He takes a shaky breath.
“You made me brave enough to start my architecture firm, brave enough to believe I deserved love, brave enough to build a life that actually makes me happy.”
My heart is pounding so hard that I’m sure he can hear it.
Pierce smiles, and then he sinks to his knees on the restroom floor.
Oh. Oh.
“I’m not sure reenacting our first hookup is going to help me go out there all calm and collected.”
He laughs, reaching into his jacket pocket. “I like where your head is at, and I will never not want to go down on you, but this is not one of those times.”
“In my defense, you’re on your knees in a restroom.”
“Fair point.” He pulls out a small velvet box, and my heart stops entirely. “Thatcher Edward Charles III—”
“Oh god, my full name.”
“—also known as Meatball, also known as the most chaotic, beautiful, talented man I’ve ever met.” He opens the box to reveal a simple gold band with a small diamond that catches the light. “Will you marry me?”
The tears I’ve been holding back finally spill over. “You’re proposing in a bookstore restroom.”
“Seemed fitting, given our history.”
“It’s perfect,” I manage through the tears. “You’re perfect. Yes. Obviously yes.”
Pierce slides the ring onto my finger, and then he’s standing and kissing me, and I’m laughing and crying at the same time. When we finally break apart, both of us thoroughly disheveled, I can’t stop staring at the ring on my hand.
“We should probably get back out there,” Pierce says, but he makes no move to unlock the door.
“Probably.” I kiss him again, softer this time. “Thank you. For believing in me when I didn’t believe in myself. For being my safe place in all the chaos.”
“Always.” He straightens my tie, smooths down my hair. “Now go give your speech. Your adoring public awaits.”
When I step onto the small stage at the front of the bookstore, I find Pierce immediately in the crowd. He’s standing with my family, and the sight makes my chest so full that I’m not sure how my heart contains it all. I guess I’ll become Thatcher Dellcourt sooner than I dared to hope.
“Thank you all for being here tonight,” I begin, my voice steadier than I expected. “This book is about a character who turns disasters into adventures. Who finds magic in mistakes and beauty in chaos. And if that sounds familiar, it’s because I’ve been living that story my whole life.”
I find my father’s eyes in the crowd, then Uncle Jack’s, then Alli’s.
“I spent years thinking I was too messy, too chaotic, too much. But then I met someone who showed me that all those things I thought were flaws were actually my greatest strengths.”
Pierce’s smile is so bright it lights me up from the inside out.
“So this book is for everyone who’s ever felt like a mistake. Who’s ever been told they’re too much or not enough. You’re exactly right, just as you are. And your story is worth telling.”
The applause washes over me as I step off the stage, but I barely hear it. Because Pierce is there, pulling me into his arms, and my family is surrounding us, and somewhere in the chaos and the noise and the overwhelming love, I realize something.
My life isn’t perfect. It’s messy, unpredictable, and full of near-disasters.
But it’s mine. It’s ours.
And it’s absolutely, completely, picture perfect.
Thank you for reading Picture Perfect Mistake.