Epilogue
Griffin
I an and I step into The Nest, the bed-and-breakfast empty of all furniture and decoration, ready for the renovation Taryn has been planning for a long time. The owners of the place, an older couple who owns a bunch of B&Bs in the tri-state area, are relatively hands-off, giving Taryn full run of the place. As long as she keeps the money rolling in, of course. Which she does.
If there is one thing my sister excels at, it’s pinching pennies and stretching a dollar. So she’s planned out this reno down to the second, and I appreciate that. My brother and I find her in what was the dining room, typing on her phone, and pass her a to-go cup of coffee since she couldn’t meet us for our usual catch-up.
She glances up, and I notice the dark circles under her eyes. She’s pushing herself too hard. God forbid anyone points that out, though.
“Thanks, brother,” she says, accepting the cup from me and tipping her chin at Ian. “You guys didn’t have to come up here.”
“Yeah, we did,” Ian says with a pointed glance around. “Wanted to get one last look at the old gal before her facelift.”
My sister pats at her face. “Watch how you speak about me.”
Ian and I both give in to amused eye rolls and chuckles.
I peer out the windows at the fall foliage, all gold and red and perfect for a postcard. I snap a picture.
It’s been six months since Andi Halton broke down on the side of the road and stole my heart—and my head—and my world has never looked brighter. After she returned to LA, she finished writing a few songs to add to the ones she’s already written with Dahlia. Then, as planned, she got rid of her car, and we spent a week vacationing, where she did somehow convince me not only to wear Mickey ears but to get my picture taken with the rat. It’s been smooth sailing ever since. Well, sort of. Now in middle school, Grace is in all honors classes and has a lot of anxiety about keeping her grades up, and Logan has another crush. God help us all. Dahlia’s album is set to come out in the new year, but Andi has already made some inroads with people who want to work with her. She is considering each offer carefully while juggling a few lessons at a music center downtown.
And me? I’m happier than I’ve ever been. Even if Cat now sleeps in our bed every night, and I’ve had to download an app to make sure I’m watering all eight of our plants on schedule, because as much as Andi loves having green “babies” in our house, she’s terrible at keeping them alive.
I check my cell phone when it buzzes with a text message from the woman herself, asking me to grab her a box of tampons on my way home, and I shoot a thumbs-up emoji back before turning to my sister. “So, you’re all set for the renovation?”
She scoffs, gesturing to the organized chaos around her. “You should know by now that I always have everything in order.”
It’s true. My sister is an absolute warrior. She’s raising two kids practically on her own, runs this bed-and-breakfast like a well-oiled machine, and still finds time to create beautiful pottery. She’s nonstop, a force to be reckoned with.
Taryn starts explaining the changes she’s planned, walking us around as she points out how the wall is coming down between the dining room and the little sitting area so she can move the check-in desk over there. I don’t really pay attention, checking a construction truck as it pulls up. A guy in a Moretti Co. T-shirt makes his way up the back with an easy stride. He’s tall and broad and opens the door with a clipboard in his hand. “Hey, I’m looking for Miss Stone. I’m Dante Moretti, the contractor for the reno job.”
His gaze sweeps over the bare space, landing on Ian, me, and then our sister, who freezes between us.
This Dante guy’s eyes widen like a deer in headlights.
Neither one of them makes a move or speaks, and I glance at Taryn, frowning. On the other side of her, Ian juts his chin at her, elbowing her side to get her moving. “Yeah, you’ve found her.”
Taryn stumbles forward, and I’m not sure I’ve ever seen my sister speechless before. The contractor sticks out his hand with an amazed “Hi.”
Taryn stares at his hand like it’s a tentacle then reaches for it, but she has the coffee in her hand and ends up spilling it on the floor.
“Shit,” she mutters, crouching to pick up the cup, and the contractor springs into action, grabbing a bandanna from his back pocket to clean up the dark liquid.
“I got it. I got it,” he says, pushing her away, and it’s like watching a car crash.
I can’t take my eyes off it. Them .
Taryn drags her hand over her face, exhaling a harsh breath as he stands, holding the soaked rag in his hand, staring at my sister like she’s the best thing he’s ever seen.
I don’t know what to do and shoot a look to my brother, who clears his throat. That makes Taryn shake her head. “Uh, thanks.”
“Yeah.” Moretti smiles. “No problem. I’m gonna toss this back in my truck,” he says, referring to the bandanna, “and then you wanna walk me around the property? I got the list, but I’d like to make sure we’re on the same page.”
She nods, her voice sounding strangled when she says, “Mm-hmm. Yep. Sure.”
He leaves, the screen door slamming shut behind him, and I swing around to Taryn, eyebrows raised in silent question. What in the fuck was that?
She squats down, hands on either side of her head. “Oh my god.”
“Taryn,” Ian says, seriously. “What is going on?”
“I, uh…” She tilts her head back, face screwed up. “I slept with him.”
I blink a few times in confusion, but Ian doesn’t have my problem. “With the kid? He’s, like, twenty.”
She straightens, hands on her hips, annoyed now. “He’s actually thirty.”
Ian’s brows rise, interest lighting his eyes. “You like him.”
My jaw drops. “ What ?”
She slaps at Ian. “I do not like him.”
“You do,” he argues, and she pushes on his shoulder, getting him to move.
“I do not like him. I’m not a teenager. I don’t like people.”
“You liked him enough to fuck him,” Ian points out, and she thumps his shoulder.
“Get the hell out of here. I don’t have time for you. Go harass your own children.”
Ian lets himself be pushed out, but I wait until she turns to me to hold out my hands. “So, uh, that was awkward.”
“Please, just… Don’t.”
I shrug. I won’t say anything. Instead, I cup the back of her head, ducking down to meet her eyes. “You got this.”
She nods.
“But if you don’t, you can always call me.”
Her flattened lips twist up in the corner. “Thanks, brother.”
I chuck her under the chin. “See you, sis.”
Outside, I hop behind the wheel of my truck and pull out my cell phone to text Andi the photo I took. She replies immediately.
Andi
If this is you telling me it’s time to book a family photo sesh, I already did.
Andi
In fact, I’m on Pinterest now looking at ideas for our matching outfits. How do you feel about corduroy?
I toss my phone down. I hate corduroy.
Which means I’ll definitely be wearing it.
Small price to pay for the honor of a lifetime.
* * *
I’m so glad you came along on this journey with Captain Stone and Andi!