Epilogue
Willa
“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I ask Bellamy.
His sigh is dramatic, even over the phone. “I’m not an invalid. Or an octogenarian—yet. I’ll be perfectly fine without the two of you. I know you don’t want me joining you for your honeymoon.”
Archer, who is seated next to me and leaning close enough to hear every word, plucks the phone from my hand. “No, we most certainly don’t.”
“And you promise to take good care of Miss McKitty Face?”
One of the presents Archer surprised me with after our wedding was a little orange fluffball of a kitten. She’s a little bit of a nightmare between the shredding of the furniture and her insistence on using people’s shoulders as her personal perch, but we are both obsessed.
And I’m not sure I’ve seen anything hotter than Archer walking around the apartment with a tiny orange kitten on his shoulder. It’s my new phone wallpaper. I’m thinking about creating my own calendar where every month of the year is just Archer and McKitty Face.
“Yes, but I promise you I won’t be calling her that,” Bellamy says. “Her name is Vivian. A perfectly distinguished name for a —ow! Remove your talons from my trousers, Vivian! I am not a trellis!”
“Good McKitty,” I coo, even though I doubt she can hear me. I catch Archer smiling. “Very distinguished.”
Bellamy grunts. “Anything else besides your adorably evil kitten? Any quirks to the apartment I should know about?”
Archer and I exchange a look. We never did tell Bellamy about the closet. Not because we didn’t think he’d believe us—Bellamy definitely seems like he would be all-in on the idea of magic in the building. But now, it feels like something that’s just more private. Something special just for Archer and me to share.
“Nope,” Archer says.
“But maybe … stay out of the closet,” I add quickly.
“Ah, is that where you’re hiding my Christmas presents?” Bellamy asks, sounding excited.
“It’s July,” Archer says drily. “Anyway, thank you for watching McKitty and goodbye.” He ends the call abruptly, then turns my phone off before handing it back. “There. That’s better.”
“What if I wanted to make another call?”
Archer raises a dark brow. “You already called your parents—twice—and Sophie. Do you really need to call anyone else?”
“Maybe.”
“Fine.” Archer leans back, crossing his arms. But there’s the tiniest quirk in his lips. “Make your call.”
I power my phone back on and turn the screen away so he can’t see it. “Fine. I will. But I need some privacy for this one.”
Archer looks ready to stop me as I get up, but he quickly gets distracted. I take advantage as he reaches in his pocket for his phone and duck around the corner and out of sight.
“Hello?”
Even over the phone, his low, rumbly voice has an impact on me. “Hello, Mr. Gaines.”
A pause. “Willow. What a lovely and unexpected surprise.”
I’m grinning like a fool. After he decided Willa the Person was too long of a nickname for me, Archer started calling me Willow. I like it a lot—something I never would have imagined the night we met. But it reminds me of how far we’ve come.
I couldn’t have imagined any of what followed. Honestly, had you asked me beforehand what was more believable, me falling in love with a grumpy billionaire or The Serendipity actually being magical, I probably would have gone with the magic building. The closet transports ended after Archer was transported from New York, though I’m still a little wary any time I enter Archer’s—now, our —closet.
I have no desire to appear in some other person’s closet again. I’ve got my person. And I can’t help but wonder if The Serendipity really somehow did shove us—literally and magically—together.
“Where are you right now?” Archer asks. A slight shift in background noise tells me he’s on the move.
We are at the airport. That’s right—the airport . La Guardia, to be exact.
This is maybe the only thing that could have surprised me more than falling in love with Archer or the magic closet: finally making progress with my agoraphobia. I scaled back Serendipitous Sweets, supplying cookies to a few local bakeries rather than taking custom orders. For almost a year, I’ve focused on regular therapy with Judith and cognitive behavioral therapy with someone she recommended. As of a few months ago, I can leave Serendipity Springs without incident and without the overwhelming anxiety.
Okay, not entirely true. I feel anxious about getting anxious. It will be a while before I can leave town without wondering if I’m going to have an anxiety attack. Every time I go, there’s a sense of worry leading up to it. But then … my heart doesn’t race, my lungs don’t stop working, and—best of all—I don’t barf.
I am free .
Free to leave Serendipity Springs. Free to stay. Just … free .
And now that Archer and I got married last month, we are making the most of it. It might have taken us weeks to leave for our honeymoon because of some kind of big deal Archer had to be in New York for, but now we’ve got a full three weeks away. Bellamy is taking a break and staying at our place, and we are going … somewhere. Archer refused to tell me our destination. He even asked to pack for me, which was an ultimate test of trust on my part.
I waver between excitement for the surprise and feeling like I’m going to lose it if I don’t know details now . I leaned heavily toward the latter as this trip approached. I tried to make Bellamy tell me by threatening to cut off his cookie supply, but not even that could get him to tell me. Archer, unsurprisingly, never wavered with all my begging and bargaining and threatening. The man doesn’t crack.
“Wouldn’t you like to know where I am?” I tell Archer now, ducking behind a potted tree. “You’ll have to find me. If you can.”
We aren’t just in the regular airport part of La Guardia. We’re in some kind of fancy lounge. It’s two full stories with a big, curved staircase and balcony overlooking everything. The décor is slick and modern but comfortable with plush couches and tables around a circular bar. The alcove where we were just sitting had a marble-topped coffee table with actual hardbacks on it. Real books! In an airport!
It’s what my mom would call hoity toity, a.k.a., meant for wealthy people. Which, technically, now that I’ve married Archer, I am .
We mostly don’t live like it, still inhabiting Archer’s apartment in The Serendipity since our wedding. It suits us just fine until we decide what we want to do long term. Now that I’m not trapped in Serendipity Springs, we could go to New York or somewhere else altogether. I suspect, however, we’ll stay. Especially now that Archer and my dad meet several times a week in the basement to do train stuff.
That was definitely not on my bingo card, but it’s really adorable. And it’s been so good for both my dad and Archer. Bellamy even joins them occasionally, and the three of them have a whole bromance thing going on.
“I will find you,” Archer says, and I catch sight of his back as he walks around a corner. He’s looking out toward the bar, and I see several women checking him out.
I almost give up the game, ready to go claim my man, but his gaze skates right over the women. Disappointed, they turn back to their drinks. Triumphant, I grin. Then quickly duck behind a wall and scurry toward the stairs as he nearly spots me.
“You can try,” I whisper ducking and walking behind a small group of people to give me cover. I catch sight of a blur of black suit headed away from me that I think is Archer. Hard to tell since the people I’m using as cover also block my view.
I get a few strange looks but ignore them and manage to duck into a private suite bathroom. Which is probably cheating somehow in this game we’re making the rules for as we go along.
In all honesty? I want to be found.
No, I’m not usually a make out in public bathrooms kind of woman. But I’m on my honeymoon. And if you can’t make out in a fancy airport lounge’s fancy bathroom, then what even is the point of paying for access to this place?
“Give me a hint,” Archer practically growls into the phone. The sound makes my toes curl.
“What will you offer me in exchange for a hint?” I ask, opening the door a crack to peek out.
“I’ll tell you one of the stops on our trip.”
Oooh, the man knows how to get me. “ One of the stops? How many are there?”
“Give me a hint,” he repeats.
I’m dying to know. As much as I love surprises, the not knowing makes me feel like I’m about to explode. Are we headed somewhere warm or somewhere cold? Somewhere in the United States or somewhere outside of it? Archer insisted I get a passport once I was able to leave town, and it’s feasible he packed it for me. He did all the work to check us in for our flight ahead of time, so there have been no clues at all once we got through security and came to the lounge.
“Fine. Think about where we had our first kiss,” I tell him.
Almost immediately, I catch sight of him striding this way. Before he can see me, I slam the door and press my back up against the wall next to it. The cool marble sends a pleasant shiver down my spine. Or maybe that’s just anticipation.
The door flies open a moment later and then Archer towers over me. He ends the call and slides the phone into his pocket. Then he slowly and deliberately reaches out a hand and locks the door.
Me? I’m still standing here with a phone pressed to my ear.
“You found me,” I whisper, dropping my phone into the crossbody bag I bought for this trip.
“I did.”
I expect him to move toward me, to touch me or kiss me, but he just keeps … standing there. Looking tall and impossibly handsome and very kissable in his suit.
“So, where are we going? You promised to tell me one of our stops.”
Archer’s blue-gray eyes burn into me. “A promise is a promise. Do you want to know the first, last, or one of the middle stops?”
My mouth drops open a little. “How many stops are there?”
Archer shrugs in such a casual way that I feel sure there are far too many stops for a reasonable vacation. While it’s true that we don’t live like most people who have his net worth, he does find unique and absolutely outlandish ways to spoil me.
“A few.”
“You promised not to go overboard!” I give him a light shove. “How. Many?”
“Would you like to know one of the stops, or would you like to know how many? You only get one answer,” he says. The man is infuriating. Impossible to crack.
Correction— almost impossible to crack.
I step closer and tiptoe my fingers up his chest, finally reaching the bare skin above his collar. I slide my fingers around to the back of his neck and into his hair. “What if I throw in a kiss to sweeten the deal? Will you tell me how many stops and give me the first one?”
Archer sways toward me. I can tell he’s trying to hold it together, but he’s about to break. Stretching up, I place a kiss on his neck, just below his jawbone, and hear his sharp intake of breath.
With my lips still against his skin, I whisper, “Well?”
There’s no warning. He spins me so my back is to the wall again, surrounded by Archer. His hands bracket my head and his cheek brushes mine. Usually he keeps his face clean-shaven, but he decided he was going to try growing a beard while on our honeymoon. After asking my opinion of course.
I’m not sure how I’ll feel through all the itchy stages of it, but right now, the scratch of his stubble is really working for me.
“For one kiss from you right now, I would give up any secret. Reveal any thought. I’d trade the world for you, Willa. Don’t tempt me.”
I’m the one who’s tempted here. Or maybe we both are in equal amounts, which seems like the best foundation for a relationship.
Until the doorknob rattles and then there’s a loud knocking on the door. Archer sighs and his breath stirs my hair against my neck.
“Later,” he murmurs against my ear, a rough but tender promise, and I can hardly wait as he takes my hand and leads me out of the bathroom.
Not just for the later where he’ll probably pull me into a quiet corner of the lounge and kiss me or the plane ride to follow or wherever our destinations are, but the later of weeks and months and years to come.
I spend a lot of time thinking about our future, caught up in a constant state of anticipation.
When Sophie tried to tell me to stop wishing my life away, I couldn’t find a way to articulate why that’s not what I’m doing. I’m definitely enjoying the now. It’s just that for the first time since before Trey and before my agoraphobia, I have hope.
It’s not something I consciously realized I lost. But now, with Archer in my life and the ability to leave Serendipity Springs, I feel the hope expanding from where it had atrophied for so many years without me even realizing it.
When I look and think ahead, I’m simply exercising my hope muscles. Hope fills my current life with more meaning, more joy, more everything. I’m practically bursting at the seams to make room for all of it.
So, later is my new favorite word.
“Hey.” I pull Archer to a stop near an unoccupied seating area in the corner.
His eyes are immediately on mine. Attentive. Focused. Curious. “Are you okay?”
I nod, biting my lip, like that can do anything to hold back my smile. “I’m great,” I tell him.
“Then why are you smiling while you also look like you’re about to cry?” His concern is so endearing, and it only makes all the emotion bubble up out of me more.
“I’m happy,” I say, my voice wobbling.
Archer pulls me into his arms, a tight, strong hug. “Please don’t cry, Willow.”
“They’re happy tears. Promise. I’m just …”
He waits, and after a moment, gently urges, “You just what?”
“I’m just really, really happy.”
Archer cups my face with both hands and presses a soft kiss to my lips. The sweetness of it makes me ache.
“Are you ready for your answer?” Archer asks. “It’s only fair now that I’ve kissed you.”
But I shake my head. “No. I’ve changed my mind. I don’t want you to tell me anything. I want everything to be a surprise. I like the anticipation and the wonder. All I need to know is that wherever it is we’re going, Archer, I’m with you.”
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