Epilogue
Callie
Weddings are emotional chaos bombs.
One minute, you’re ugly crying because your twin brother is making vows to the woman you knew he'd been pining after for years. The next, you’re four champagne flutes deep, eating your third slice of cake with your fingers, and wondering if getting a degree in marketing was just your way of saying, I have no idea what the fuck I want to do with my life.
I licked the earl gray flavored frosting off my fingers as I glanced at Noah and Rosa across the lawn.
My older (by three minutes) brother looked annoyingly perfect under the string of fairy lights that I personally hung for the event…
you’re welcome, big bro. Even if I couldn’t detangle the damn things to save my life.
His hand, adorably, kept finding Rosa’s waist like he couldn’t believe she was real.
Like he couldn’t believe she was his . The two of them had survived media firestorms, literal public scandal, and the whole fake-marriage-turns-real circus.
And now they were slow dancing on the patio while Birdie, their rescue dog-turned-ring bearer, slept under the table in a bowtie.
It should’ve been heartwarming.
Instead, it made me feel like I was stuck in place while everyone else around me had cracked some secret code.
"You okay?" Ronnie nudged me with her shoulder from where she sat beside me, running her palm in circles over her baby bump.
"Yep," I lied, having discarded my champagne glass to sip bubbly straight from the bottle like the picture of grace I was.
She narrowed her eyes but didn’t push. That’s the nice thing about big families. Eventually, if you wait long enough, someone else will cause a distraction. My bet was on my ten year old niece, Maddie.
“Two weddings in seven days is a lot, huh?” Ronnie said with a glance down at her own wedding rings, twinkling in the dusky light of the evening.
I would ask my sister if she was okay sharing her wedding spotlight with Noah, but I knew the answer. Ronnie didn’t care. She was the most chill out of all of us. At least in that regard she was.
Instead, I shrugged, trying my best to keep it light. “Who doesn’t love love?”
Me. It’s me. Namely because I didn’t know the meaning of the damn word.
Okay, yeah, I know what it is to love my family.
I’ve seen the love with my mom and dad, even though Dad died when we were really young.
I’d watched every single one of my siblings find their partners…
with Cam, he even found it twice. How was that freaking fair?
“Hey,” Ronnie said, reaching over to take my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "You don’t have to know what’s next yet," she said softly. "You just have to keep showing up until it finds you."
I wasn’t sure I believed her. But it still helped to hear it.
It had taken me six years to get through my college years because I changed my major like other people changed shoes.
I finally settled on marketing, but basically only because it felt generic enough to get a job just about anywhere.
Now I’m a couple months away from graduating and the whole degree feels like a big, fat waste.
I leaned into Ronnie’s shoulder for half a second, let out a breath, then smiled. “You’re such a liar,” I teased. “But thanks anyway.”
She smacked my arm gently. “I’m not lying! But I get it that you’ll have to see it to believe it… or live it to believe it. And…” she leaned in, pressing her forehead to my temple. “It’s okay to feel both happy for me and Lex and Noah and Rosa… while still feeling a little sad for yourself.”
“Who says I’m sad?” I asked, defensively.
She arched her eyebrow at me and tapped the rim of my discarded champagne flute, glancing at where I gripped the nearly empty bottle in my hand. “Four glasses of champagne, three pieces of cake, and more than two decades of being your sister says so.”
“I promise I am happy for them. And you .”
“I know you are. And I know you’re also a little sad. Those two truths can exist at once.” Ronnie grunted and pushed to stand up. “Now, I’ve got to pee… again . I swear, this baby is using my bladder as a trampoline.”
She disappeared, waddling inside the house, leaving me sitting alone with a tight chest and a buzz that was quickly turning contemplative. I watched Noah spin Rosa in a slow circle, both of them smiling like the world outside this tent didn't exist, and something in me ached.
I didn’t want to be the sad girl at the happy ending.
So I stood up, leaving the almost empty bottle of champagne on the table, needing air or movement or maybe just a change of scenery. Anything to shake the feeling off.
I made my way toward the bar, thinking I’d just grab a glass of water and regroup. Maybe splash my face in the bathroom. Maybe cry in our old treehouse that our dad built for us when we were first born. You know… something productive.
But as I reached the bar, I caught a glimpse of Rosa’s dad wiping away tears as he hugged Noah.
Not only did Noah find a wife. A partner forever. But he was getting a father figure out of this marriage, too.
Distantly, someone clinked their glass, urging Noah and Rosa to kiss. A new love song started playing.
Nope. Water wasn’t going to cut it. I was going to regret this in the morning, but that was a problem for future Callie.
"Vodka soda," I told the bartender instead, my voice steadier than I felt.
Just as I turned with my vodka soda in hand, someone stepped up beside me at the bar.
"Whiskey, neat," he said to the bartender, his voice unmistakably low and rough.
I turned slightly. West. I only really knew of him in passing. Through stories my brother had told in the last few years. But also… my new friend.
And when I said new , I meant he doesn’t actually know yet . The kind of new that hit differently when your heart was a little raw and the champagne was doing all the talking.
And now, under the warm glow of string lights and soft music, I really saw him.
He was tall. Not just tall, but broad-shouldered, dark-eyed, and tattooed down both forearms in a way that made my champagne brain short-circuit.
He had a thick leather cuff around his wrist, a scruffy jaw, and a black button down shirt that fit a little too well with the cuffs rolled just imperfectly enough to the elbows.
I almost asked him to marry me on the spot.
He wrapped a hand around the lowball glass.
"Whiskey, neat?" I asked, shocked that I wasn’t slurring my words yet. "Didn’t peg you for the brooding cowboy type."
He paused, the glass halfway to his lips as he glanced over at me, seemingly amused. "Oh? What type did you peg me for?"
His voice had that raspy, rumbly quality that made me weak in the knees. Sure, he was a bit older than me… maybe ten years or so… but for one night? I sure as hell didn’t care.
“Hmmm…” I tapped my chin in exaggerated thought. "I see you as… an espresso martini type.”
He snorted. "An espresso martini? I think I’d accidentally snap the stem right in half.”
I smirked. “You must have strong fingers.”
His eyes glinted and I wasn’t too drunk not to notice the way they quickly swept down my body appreciatively. “You have no idea.”
“I can use my imagination. Especially since you’re drinking fire in a glass like you’re auditioning for a noir film."
This earned me a chuckle. Again, deep . Rumbling. The sort of laugh that made heat pool low in my belly. "And what about you? Vodka soda? That's not even trying. It’s like the most basic well drink every twenty-one year old starts out on.”
I lifted my brows and gave a playfully haughty shrug. "I’ll have you know this is a very efficient panic order."
He tilted his head, his smile faltering briefly. “Panic order? Is everything okay?"
"Well, I’m at my twin brother’s wedding. Wearing heels. Surrounded by people who know what they’re doing with their lives. You tell me."
"Ahhh. The ol’ twin conundrum.”
I turned slightly to face him more directly, and in my not-so-graceful pivot, my heel sank into a soft spot in the grass, causing me to lose my balance and sending half of my newly poured vodka soda right across his expensive looking shirt.
I gasped. "Oh no. Oh God, I am so sorry.”
He looked down, then back up at me like he couldn’t decide if he was more amused or damp. "Guess I deserved that for mocking your drink order. Instant karma."
“I mocked you first!” In a panic, I grabbed a stack of small cocktail napkins from the bar and started wiping at the stain on his lapel. “Shit. What gets out a stain… club soda???”
His smile curved higher and he calmly, gently, took my hands, stopping my frantic swiping. “Well… it is half club soda. Relax. It won’t stain.”
“But… but this looks expensive,” I said, my hand still flat across his chest. I examined the well-made clothes that fit him like a glove, feeling the soft silk of the fabric that countered the hard slab of muscle beneath it. “It feels expensive.”
It was clearly designer. And I couldn’t afford to replace it if it did stain. Hell, I wasn’t even sure I could afford the dry cleaning bill.
My fingers traced the lines of his chest, over his pecs and I gasped as I realized I was standing here petting this man like he was a damn german shepherd.
Just as I was about to pull my hand back, he made a low, approving sound in the back of his throat—something between a hum and a growl—that made my fingers twitch and my brain briefly forget how words worked.
“I should stop,” I managed to croak.
"I mean, I’m not complaining." His hand reached up, covering mine, and holding my palm just over the beating thrum of his heart. “I’m West.”
“I… I know. I’m Callie, Noah’s?—”
“Twin sister. Yeah, we covered that.” His hand was surprisingly soft over my knuckles, not calloused and rough like I expected. “I met you briefly at the rehearsal dinner. You were debating whether bread counts as a hobby."
"In my defense, sourdough is a lifestyle."
He smiled—the kind of smile that made you forget every other face in the room.