Epilogue
WHITNEY
“If you don’t hurry up, we’re going to miss our reservation.”
It’s been exactly one year since Wyatt and I got married. To celebrate, Wyatt is taking me to some insane French restaurant out of town. I’m excited, to say the least, we haven’t had much free time lately and I’m looking forward to an adults-only night.
Although, he insisted that we had to stop at Buddies’ and pick up something for his brother. I usually wouldn’t mind—but we still need to drop Brinley off. Getting off of the waitlist at Lakeside’s Bistro typically took months. I have no idea how Wyatt got us a table.
It’s a high possibility that I will murder Wyatt, and Wesley, if we’re late.
His white collared shirt is unbuttoned at the top. The dark bootcut jeans are snug in all the right places—showing off his powerful build. The brown blazer he wears is new, but the cowboy hat and boots are about as old as Mr. Sanders.
God, help me. My husband is so hot I want to lock him inside and never let him leave the house again.
My dress isn’t too far off from the deep brown of Wyatt’s blazer.
The satin material fits like a glove, only flaring out where the split began below my knee, showcasing a sliver of skin and strappy heels.
The top half is corset-like with capped sleeves.
It’s stunning, and one Wyatt gifted me out of the blue a few months ago.
It’s so far out of our comfort zone—both the fancy restaurant and neat clothes—that it nearly makes me want to laugh, but I wouldn’t want to be pushing the norm with anyone else by my side.
Plus, with the way his gaze keeps skimming over the details, I have little doubt he’ll be ripping it off of me by the end of the night.
Before we can respond to my fourth bout of rushing him, his phone dings with a text.
I pinch the bridge of my nose as he pulls it out and reads a text from his brother.
I notice he’s oddly fidgety, and I wonder if he’s just as stressed about being late as I am.
“Wesley says it should be on the bar top,” Wyatt finally mutters.
My brows shoot up and I shake my head, whipping around. The bar top is completely and utterly bare. I flail my arms for good measure as I bite out, “Obviously it isn’t.”
Wyatt lets loose a long, heavy breath. But before I can turn back around to address him, my eye catches on the dark, smooth counter I’ve sat at over a hundred times.
It’s different. Not very noticeable unless you’re familiar with it the way I am.
Or if you’re looking close enough. But there—carved into the wood are two initials inside a precise, thin heart.
My fingers immediately fall to the bar top, running over the small ridges and dips of this new addition.
W + W
Finally, I realize, probably slower than I should have—that this was the spot. Our spot. I whirl back around, “Wyatt? What is-”
A gasp escapes my lips before I can finish my sentence.
Because Wyatt Conway is down on one knee, and my little girl is nestled right by his side.
The two are beaming, Wyatt with nerves, and Brinley with excitement.
One hand is wrapped around her back and the other is outstretched towards me.
A small, dainty ring was clutched between his ginormous fingers.
It doesn’t take long for me to notice just how small the ring is.
It’s not a ring for me—no, because I already have one. But rather, it’s a ring for the little girl standing by his side. A promise to not only me, but her, too.
Wyatt’s eyes are welled with tears, and that is enough for a burn to build in my own. “Marry me, Winnie.”
“You’re insane,” I breathe. It’s the only thing I can imagine. So similar to something we once called pretend. Can you die from happiness? From loving so deeply? Because for a split second, I think I might.
“Marry me.” he says again, a small laugh breaking through his cracked voice.
“Marry me because you want to, not because you need to. I know… I know we didn’t do things right.
Everything is a little backwards. And I can’t promise we’ll ever have that cookie-cutter dream or the traditional sort of love.
” Wyatt glances between Brinley and me, “But I can promise that I’ll love you and Brinley long after we’re gone.
That our love will be loud, and never-ending.
I promise to protect and love you both, and never turn my back when it gets hard. ”
I stare at him, eyes flying over his face as I take in each and every word—locking them away forever.
I never want to forget this moment. I won’t.
Brinley’s small hands tug at the fabric of my dress, and I swoop her up, cuddling her into my side.
A small smile tugs at the corner of my lips as her hand comes up to wipe at a single, lone tear I didn’t realize fell.
To lighten the mood, I glance down at Wyatt, “If I said no, would that mean we’re getting divorced? ”
Wyatt’s laugh bellows from his chest, “Is that a yes, then?”
“What do you think?” I sniffle, a few new tears falling to meet the first. Brinley’s head tilts when she realizes I’m talking to her.
She’s only a year older, but God—how much she has changed in so little time.
Her curls are wilder, and her eyes a little brighter.
I find that while it terrifies me to watch her grow so independent, it’s also a little less scary with Wyatt by my side. “Should we marry him?”
“Yes!” She shouts, clapping her hands together in excitement. I nod, a small laugh escaping when I grip her tighter and fall to my knees in front of Wyatt. His blue eyes are still as breathtaking as they were the day we sat side by side in this bar. “Well,” I finally say, “if she’s in, I’m in.”
And when he reaches forward to pull us into his arms, I realize with the utmost certainty that I was never hard to love. That Brinley was never hard to love. We just needed to find Wyatt.