Epilogue
One year later
Portland Pathfinders headed to Super Bowl for the second year in a row following win against the Philadelphia Eagles
by Edgar Jones, ESPN staff writer
PHILADELPHIA, PA—The Pathfinders brought their A game to Lincoln Financial Field last night, pulling off a stunning win against
the Eagles.
Even with two of their best cornerbacks and a safety on the injured reserve list, the Pathfinders’ defense held firm, refusing
to give an inch in the second half.
Quarterback Cash Curran and tight end DeAndre Jones, or the “dream duo” as they’re often referred, started strong in the first
half and finished even stronger in the final quarter, leading the Pathfinders to a 45–21 victory in the NFC West Championship,
cinching their spot in the Super Bowl.
The Pathfinders will face off against the Patriots on February 14 in Las Vegas, Nevada.
February 14
Eileen Curran watched with hungry eyes as Lyric listened intently to Benji’s nonsensical babbling. “Lyric, sweetheart, it
won’t be too long until I get to hear the pitter-patter of tiny feet inside my home, will it?” she pried. “Whenever I ask Cash, he tells me to mind my own business. But he’s my son. He is my business.”
It looked like it physically pained Rosaline to keep her mouth shut.
Lyric, to her credit, simply laughed and bounced Benji on her lap, shooting Rosaline and Poppy a brief Are you hearing this? look. “We’re not even married yet, Eileen.”
Cash’s mother pouted. “But—”
“Mrs. Curran?” Cassidy smiled sweetly. “I think DeAndre’s mom wanted to ask you about those yummy little cheesy tarts you
made for Lyric’s bridal shower.”
Cassidy Jones was an angel.
“Oh, the Welsh rarebits?” Eileen beamed. “Of course. I saved the recipe to my photo gallery.”
Cassidy took Benji from Lyric. “Perfect.”
“You see,” Eileen chattered as Cassidy led her across the VIP suite Cash and DeAndre had—together—spent an absurd amount of
money on so their families wouldn’t have to sit in the stands at Allegiant Stadium, “the magic is really in the combination
of good English mustard—it’s important that it be good—and Worcestershire sauce . . .”
Lyric breathed a sigh of relief as soon as they were far enough away to be out of earshot.
“God love her, but that woman is like a dog with a bone.” She rose from where she’d been crouched playing with Benji and dusted off the backs of her legs.
“I’m going to run to the bathroom before she comes back and starts finding new and inventive ways to ask me about when we’re going to start raw-dogging it. ”
Rosaline recoiled. “Ugh. Lyric.”
The sound of her tinkling laughter floated across the room, receding when she slipped inside the suite’s private restroom
and shut the door.
Rosaline rested her head against Poppy’s shoulder. “I understand that deep, deep, deep, deep down, Cash’s mother is excited, but I don’t know how Lyric’s managed to keep a level head while planning this wedding.”
Poppy stroked her fingers through Rosaline’s hair. “Lyric’s over-the-moon excited too. I think that helps.”
“No one is as excited as Eileen Curran.” Rosaline slid her arms around Poppy’s waist. “The other day at lunch, when you were
out shopping with Cash—lucky you, by the way—she asked me my opinion on cotton versus chiffon.”
“The fabrics? You can’t really compare them. They’re totally different.”
“No.” Rosaline lifted her head, expression grim. “The colors. They’re shades of cream, Poppy, and they look identical. Because
they are identical.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her the truth.” Rosaline pursed her lips. “I had to endure a ten-minute lecture about how they were completely different,
and did I wear glasses? Because maybe I need to get my eyes checked. Didn’t exactly endear either of us to one another, let
me tell you.”
Poppy pressed her lips together so she wouldn’t laugh. “You do squint when we watch television at night.”
She touched her fingertips to the outside corners of her eyes. “Do not.”
“You do.” Poppy nudged her hand aside and kissed the skin right below Rosaline’s brow. “It’s cute.”
Rosaline harrumphed.
“Look on the bright side, she’s not going to be your mother-in-law.”
“As good as,” Rosaline grumbled. “Whatever you want to call it, she’s going to be family, what with Lyric marrying Cash and . . .”
She trailed off, looking out at the field where the halftime performance was wrapping. The Pathfinders were currently ahead,
thirteen to twelve, and this was shaping up to be a nail-biter of a game. “Well, you know.”
Following the clearing of Cash’s name and Lyric’s epic performance during the playoff ’s halftime show the previous year,
they had agreed to take things a little slower than they had before and work to build the trust that had been missing between
them. Officially, they never called off the engagement, but they did agree to wait, conversations of March versus June forgotten,
the date set for the following year.
Lyric had moved up to Portland in the spring and in July, Rosaline had purchased a gorgeous three-bedroom Tudor on the Alameda
Ridge with a stunning view of downtown and the Willamette River that was only a ten-minute drive from Cash and Lyric in Laurelhurst.
Poppy had moved in the same month.
Now, almost a year later, Cash and Lyric’s wedding was right around the corner, happening in June, the week after Poppy’s
birthday.
“I know what?” Poppy teased.
They’d talked about it, getting married, and had agreed it was something they both wanted. At some point. Poppy wasn’t in
a rush; when the timing was right, they’d know it. And until then, she was perfectly, incandescently happy with life the way
it was.
Rather than answer, Rosaline continued to stare out at the field, a contemplative frown creasing her brow.
“We’re in Las Vegas.”
Poppy laughed. “Yeah, being at the Super Bowl sort of tipped me off. That, and all those slot machines in our hotel.”
“No, I mean, we’re in Vegas,” Rosaline stressed, her arms tightening around Poppy’s waist. “We could—” Her tongue swept across her bottom lip. “We could
get married.”
A laugh escaped her. “Funny.”
Married in Vegas. Sure.
Rosaline stared at her with wide, guileless eyes and Poppy’s jaw dropped.
“You’re not kidding.”
She shook her head.
“Tonight?” Poppy double-checked, needing to make sure she wasn’t imagining this moment. “You—you want us to get married tonight?
In Las Vegas? What about that thing you said months ago about two-bit Elvis impersonators?
“No Elvis impersonator,” Rosaline vetoed. “But everything else? The time? The place?” She shrugged. “I’m going to marry you
one day anyway.” She smiled. “Why not today?”
Poppy’s head spun and her heart raced, as breathless and lightheaded as she’d been after finishing her marathon. “Cash and
Lyric are going to be so pissed,” she blurted. Why her brain went there, she had no idea.
The corner of Rosaline’s mouth curled. “It’ll be the ultimate gotcha moment when, in a couple of months, Curran and Lyric, reveling in their newlywed bliss, ask us when we’re going to tie the
knot and we get to tell them we not only beat them to the altar, but that we did it in Vegas.”
“You are evil,” she breathed.
“You love me.” Rosaline said it simply and earnestly, her voice steady and her gaze warm. It wasn’t a question, not now, and maybe it never had been. It was a statement, a fact, the truth, absolute and unequivocal.
“I do.”
The smile that lit up her face was brighter than the whole of Las Vegas Boulevard at night. “Is that a yes?”
Poppy grinned. “Yes.”