Epilogue
Nine months later
Annie knelt on her living room floor, surrounded by the joyful chaos of half-packed boxes, trying to decide if her ugly-charming knitted tea kettle cozy belonged in Kitchen Essentials or Just a Bit of Fun.
Around her, delicately cracked teacups, notebooks of pressed flowers, and magazines from the mid-aughts—that is, very precious objects she could never, ever part with—cluttered her apartment.
“Baby?” she called to Lola, who was bubble wrapping Annie’s animal-shaped glassware collection in the kitchen. “Need your opinion.”
Her girlfriend popped her head around the doorway, holding a juice glass shaped like a fish. “Yeah, baby?”
Annie held up the tea cozy in question.
“Chuck it.” Lola wrinkled her nose. “Glad you asked.”
In the past, Lola’s disapproval would’ve been a cue for Annie to donate the cozy. These days, she was getting a lot better at standing up for what she wanted, even if it wasn’t what other people preferred.
“Essentials,” Annie decided, tossing it into the box. “Whimsy is essential, don’t you agree?”
Lola laughed softly. “I do.” She stepped around the boxes to press her lips to that spot on Annie’s neck.
They didn’t really have time for another round of afternoon delight. But as they collapsed onto the sofa, it became apparent they’d have to make time.
And soon, they’d have even more room to roll around in.
Annie and Lola had just closed on a century-old stone cottage, just outside of town.
It wasn’t the sprawling country estate a Hood paycheck would’ve afforded, but it was better—charming and human-sized, with hand-carved beams and a porch tangled in purple wisteria.
It reminded Annie of her grandmother’s old place: a life built on small comforts instead of overblown grandeur.
A perfect balance to Lola’s newly decorated New York loft, where they’d spend the rest of their time.
Lola had offered to cover the down payment.
But Annie insisted they split it, funded by selling half of the Groom Room to Sal.
He was eager to run it full-time, while Annie worked select shifts as it suited her.
In her free time, she was laying the groundwork to franchise the brand, starting with Groom Room pop-ups at farmers markets and Pride events—anywhere a dog and a dream were welcome.
Still, she’d miss being in the weeds with Sal, who she assumed was the one currently knocking on her apartment door.
“Hang on!” Annie looked around the messy room for her underwear. “Just a sec.” Giving up, she buckled herself into her blue overalls, opening the door with a hearty “Hello!” just as Lola tossed her the missing undies, which landed squarely on her head.
Jamie, Mikki, and little Flora all stood on the doormat.
Calmly, Annie removed the underwear from her head. “Welcome,” she said. “Obviously things are going well.”
Mikki and Jamie exchanged an amused grin. The couple had jumped at the chance to take over Annie’s lease. Annie would miss living above the shop. But she was more than ready for her new chapter to begin.
Jamie and Mikki left with a set of keys, promising to have Annie and Lola over for dinner soon. “It’s so nice out,” Mikki added, as the young family headed down the stairs.
Annie exchanged a look with Lola. “Finish up later?”
“You read my mind,” Lola replied. “Let’s get our skates on.”
Outside, tender May sunshine softened into dusk. The buds on the trees swelled with promise.
Annie and Lola paused by the salon’s open door to wave inside. At the wash stations, a pink-suited Sal was up to his elbows in suds, alongside their new hire. One who always pinned a cheery Spay and Neuter the Patriarchy! badge to her jumpsuit.
Kat gave an enthusiastic wave. “Salon’s hoppin’! I’m thinking of unionizing the poodles.”
Annie chuckled, plopping down on the curb to begin lacing up her favorite pair of shoes.
Roller skates. Lola had bought herself a matching pair. After many a wobbly fall, they’d both found their balance.
Lola stood up, gliding in an experimental circle. “Ready?”
Annie nodded with a grin. “Last one there buys!”
She set off quickly down Henry Street, Lola hot on her heels.
They passed Clyde’s Grocery, now stocking queer-owned brands and plant-based everything. They passed You Nailed It, now offering poly-friendly packages and gender-affirming glitter gels, and French Kiss, serving Pansexual Panna Cotta and Safeword Shortbread.
In every other window, colorful posters advertised the upcoming Big Gay Summer Stage at the Rhodes Playhouse.
The programming featured a dozen new plays by queer writers, curated by Lola, as creative director.
She’d also picked up a new gig in the city, assistant-directing a staged reading at the Public. She’d been busy. They all had.
Annie spread her arms wide, warm air on her face, and it felt like she was flying. Like she had the power to go anywhere. Do anything. And even with that power, she wouldn’t trade this moment—this street, this town—for anywhere else.
They could smell Marlowe before it crested into view.
Dylan’s new chocolate shop had opened in late fall.
After a quiet few months, word got around.
As Lola and Annie glided to a stop, the former bookshop bustled with life.
Couples sat on the neat little patio surrounded with flowering honeysuckle, nursing tasting flights of Marlowe’s famous hot chocolates—white, dark, and milk.
Or customers could make their own blend.
Dylan did not believe in chocolate binaries.
Changing into sneakers, Annie and Lola went inside.
Dylan was behind the counter, ringing up a starry-eyed young woman who seemed more interested in the founder than their wares. But Dylan’s smile was purely professional. The less professional ones were saved for someone else.
Spotting Annie and Lola, Dylan waved. “Hey, guys! Check out the new drop.”
Annie hurried to the far end of the counter, where Dylan was slicing open a box. Inside sat one hundred stacked bars of the newest Marlowe flavor.
“End Game,” Lola read the opening lines, “is a slow-burn bar, crafted for commitment-curious smitten kittens.”
“Cute!” Annie swooned, reading from her own bar.
“Dark chocolate spoons brown sugar cookie crumbles—deep, sweet, and just a little salty. Toasted sesame, a symbol of longevity and luck, brings a nutty warmth. Vanilla bean lingers at the end, soft and sure.” Then, the final lines.
“End Game is for those who know: True love is worth the wait.”
“Aw,” Lola and Annie chorused, while Dylan blushed, looking proud.
“Has Vicky seen it yet?” Lola asked.
“Of course,” Dylan exclaimed. “We’ve…done a lot of tastings.”
“TMI,” Annie deadpanned, and Lola elbowed her with a chuckle.
“Still the funniest girl I know,” she murmured, eyes shining with affection.
Lola and Annie waited outside for Dylan to close up, then the trio walked the short distance to the diner, crossing the rainbow crosswalk—their own yellow brick road.
The diner was packed. Rock Around the Clock had leaned into the town’s queer rebranding, adding framed posters of Rock Hudson and Judy Garland, and a colorful Rhodes: Small Town, Big Pride poster board out front.
The flipside of progress—the days of walking in to their empty back booth were over.
Fortunately, the diner now took reservations.
The trio weaved through the crowd to their table. Now it wasn’t just Lola the patrons looked twice at—it was also Annie and Dylan, hometown heroes. A framed cast photo of the revival had also been added to the cheerful clutter.
They all slid into the vinyl booth, chatting about the upcoming theater festival. “We haven’t even finalized the line-up,” Lola said, “but Jazz is already planning a queer arts walk. I can’t keep up with her!”
“She was talking to me about turning her house into a gay inn,” Dylan said. “The woman is unstoppable.”
“Speaking of unstoppable, where’s your better half?” Annie asked Dylan.
Dylan checked the time. “Well, it’s seven so I’m expecting her—”
The front door swung open.
“—now,” Dylan said, their face softening into an infatuated smile.
Vicky, in a white button-down and pleated slacks, plopped down next to Dylan. “I had to park one block down!” she exclaimed. “Never thought I’d say this, but we out in Rhodes.”
“We sure are.” Dylan smiled lazily, tugging Vicky in for a kiss.
This was their new routine—Vicky spent weekends in Rhodes with Dylan, and Dylan headed down to New York midweek to do a few nights at Vicky’s. Vicky had even relaxed her stance on L.A., enjoying some long weekends of tacos by the beach.
Soon, the quartet had their meals—a classic Rockin’ Roast Chicken Salad Sandwich for Lola and a Big Bopper Bacon Burger with plant-based meat for Annie, plus some new menu additions of the Lipstick Les-bean Burger for Vicky (hold the mayo) and the Soft Boi Club for Dylan.
And wine. Sauvignon blanc. It wasn’t yet summer. But the promise of it hung in the air.
“What are we drinking to?” Dylan asked, as they all raised a glass.
“Old friends,” Lola said.
“New adventures,” Annie added.
“To the playhouse,” Dylan said, “for bringing us all back together.” They looked to Vicky, prompting her with a raised brow.
Vicky wrenched her gaze from Dylan’s mouth, blushing. “To…Jazz. And all that lies ahead.”
“To all that lies ahead,” the others echoed, clinking their glasses.
The love Annie felt was almost too much for one person. It rushed up her throat, hot and sparkly, and for a moment she thought she might cry, or cackle, or let out a ridiculous sort of screech. She settled for a sigh, big and shuddery.
She was happy. She was home. She was in love. It would never get any better than this.