Epilogue
Dani
THE UNMISTAKABLE SMELL OF PANCAKES DRIFTS TO MY bedroom.
Is my dad here?
I rush out to the kitchen to find the man who has been teaching me a thing or two about letting go. Micah flips another pancake, silently celebrating as it lands perfectly in the pan.
I can’t hide my laughter, causing him to spin around.
The smile when he sees me is one I never get tired of. I love the way he looks at me.
“Hey, Storm,” he says, holding the pan away from us as he leans in for a kiss.
“Good morning. What you doing here so early?”
“I know Veronica got the part in her play, so I figured pancakes were in order.”
My heart squeezes at his thoughtfulness.
He pulls a chair out for me to sit down and then places a stack of pancakes in front of me. They smell amazing. I cut into them, smiling to myself, and then shove a bite in my mouth. My jaw drops. These aren’t just pancakes, they’re my dad’s pancakes. “How did you do this?”
“What, you think I’d give you bootleg pancakes?”
I scrunch my nose. “Micah!” I’m floored and about to fall out sobbing, so I need him to answer.
“I may have asked your dad and he was willing to give me the recipe.”
If my dad was willing to give him the recipe that he won’t even give me, that means he approves of Micah staying around for a very long time. We’re on the same page, Dad.
Micah cuts into his own stack of pancakes and holds his fork up to me. “Good days, Storm?”
A feeling of pure bliss settles into my bones. I cut into another bite of pancakes, holding my fork up to his. “Good days, Stormchaser.”
My hands are trembling with nerves.
I invited Micah over here because I have something I want to show him.
I’ve been working on it for a while, but I haven’t been ready to share it until now.
Even though he has his own key, he knocks on the door and waits for me to let him in. My ominous text probably freaked him out. I rub my hands down my pants one more time and open the door.
“Hey. You okay?” he asks.
“I’m a little nervous. Come on in.” It feels good to say how I’m actually feeling instead of brushing everything under the “I’m fine” rug.
“What are you nervous about?”
I clap my hands together. “I’ve been working on something. A work of art, I guess. For you. And I wanna show it to you. I’m just scared.”
His eyes light up with pure elation. “You made me something? I can’t wait to see it.”
I take a deep breath and guide him over to my living room where I have the piece covered with a tarp.
“Oooh. An official reveal.” He laughs.
“Shut up. Ready?”
“Very.”
I pull the tarp free and watch Micah take in what he sees. His brows pull inward and the rise and fall of his chest grows faster with every moment he looks at it.
“Are you serious?” He turns to me.
It’s not really a painting—I will leave that skill to Micah—but it is a collage of sorts. I had photos of us printed and I cut them into letters to spell out I love you. It’s corny, sure, but I wanted him to feel how deeply I mean the words.
The moment he said he loved me, I wanted to say it back more than I wanted my next breath.
Even when our mistakes skewed those feelings and made us bare our teeth in anger, the love was there.
But telling him in that moment would’ve been a disservice to us both.
Because I needed to be sure I loved myself enough to stand tall under the weight of my love for him.
“I am. I love you. So fucking much.”
He scoops me up into his arms and swings me around, ignoring my squeals. “I love you, too.”
“I know.”