Epilogue
Eighteen months later
It had been a year and a half since Regan had told Ava she’d follow her anywhere, and she’d kept her word. Ava sat now, reminiscing, thinking of all the wonderful things that had transpired over the past eighteen months, and she couldn’t imagine having done a single day of them without Regan. The fiasco of the retreat had been forgiven, if not forgotten—simply because it was too crazy to forget, and also, it had been where they’d really met, despite their shared history—and they’d been there for each other during some big life changes. Six months ago, Regan’s boss had retired, and she’d used her retreat money to buy the bakery. She was over the moon with happiness as the sole owner of Sweet Temptations Bakery.
And now?
And now it was Ava’s turn. She’d made a big life change, too, and today was the day. The day.
She smiled, despite all the emotions churning in the center of her body. And then she could feel it as the smile morphed into a grimace, because had she ever been this nervous?
No. She didn’t think so. But it was a weird mix of good and bad, excited and stressed, worried and chill.
A glance at her watch told her she had about an hour until she opened the doors to her new dessert and wine bar, called simply Ava, and let in her very first customers, which might include a critic or two. The thought of that ratcheted up everything going on in her body right then, multiplied it all, and she pressed a hand to her stomach, hoping she wouldn’t be sick. Again.
“You okay?” Regan was close, suddenly, her voice soft near Ava’s ear.
Ava swallowed and nodded. “Yeah. All good.”
“Nervous?”
“Unbelievably so.”
“Well, you look incredible.”
Ava glanced down at her black pants and smoothed her hands down the thighs. A simple white shirt and black blazer on top completed what she hoped was a look of professionalism, of somebody who knew what she was doing, who deserved to own and run this place. Her hair was loose, not something she was used to at work, but Regan had suggested that a more casual look than her usual ponytail or bun was the way to go, and she’d listened.
“Thank you, babe,” she said.
As the bartender bustled, the sounds of bumping bottles and clinking glasses filling the air, Regan wrapped her arms around Ava from behind and held her tightly for a moment before asking, “Wanna take a last sweep?”
How was it that Regan knew her so well already? It had been a year and a half since they’d finished that stupid retreat, and it had been a year and a half since Regan had apologized for not giving her the benefit of the doubt, and it had been a year and a half of them learning to trust each other. But a year and a half wasn’t really all that long, was it? How could Regan possibly know her so well already? How could she possibly know that taking another walk around her tiny wine bar’s seating area—even after she’d done so a dozen times in the past hour or two—was exactly what she needed to do right then?
“Yes, please.”
Regan held out her hand. “Let’s do it.” She led her out into the center of the space.
It was a great little place. Ava could admit that. Not big. Twelve tables, plus eight seats at the bar, but that was enough. It would allow her to focus on her customers, the wine, the desserts, and how they were enjoying it. It would allow her to be hands on, present. Bar to the left as you walk in. Kitchen and office in the back. It was small and perfect.
The tables were square, which would allow them to be pushed together for larger parties, four chairs at each, the surfaces polished to a lovely shine. The chairs were dark wood, comfortable. The bar was also dark wood, with an old-fashioned brass bar and a cool quartz bar top. She was only open in the evenings for now, and only four nights a week to start, so she had a rotating staff of three bartenders, four waitstaff, and herself, who would make all the desserts. Regan had offered to help if she needed it.
She let go of Regan’s hand and wandered slowly through the dining room, ran her fingertips across the tabletops, straightened a votive here and a bud vase there. She adjusted a barstool that wasn’t angled quite exactly as the other seven.
“Don’t judge me,” she said as she felt Regan’s eyes on her.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Regan said with a tender smile. She stood next to the bar, leaning with her arms crossed over her chest, looking gorgeous as always as she watched Ava perform the same ritual she’d performed countless times already. Regan had taken the next day off from the bakery, letting her staff deal with it, so that she could be there all night for Ava’s opening and not have to then wake up at three in the morning.
Ava straightened a framed painting on the wall. Hands on her hips, she looked around at the décor. It was soft and subtle, the colors earthy, the art abstract. The lighting was dim, but not so dim you couldn’t see the color of your wine, its legs, or the filling in the tart you were eating. Because Ava wanted nothing more than for her customers to see the deliciousness they were experiencing. She and Regan had created the menu together, and she couldn’t wait for people to taste it.
Moving behind the bar to the cash register and iPad there, she checked the program, scanned the reservations one more time. Full house.
“It’s gonna be lit here tonight,” Regan said as she approached. “Opening night at Ava’s gonna be lit .”
Ava laughed softly at her excitement. “I hope so.”
“Listen, while you were out here worrying if the tables were shiny enough, your little staff and I tasted everything on the menu.”
“You did?” She hadn’t known that.
“We did. We tasted the tarts and the cream puffs. Fantastic. We tasted the chocolate lava cake and the carrot cake. Divine. We tasted the soufflé.” She did a chef’s kiss. “Exquisite. People are going to be blown away by how good everything is. And the pairings on the menu? Brill.”
“You’ve done so much for me here,” Ava said, feeling a tiny surge of relief that was quickly overshadowed by the rise of love she felt for Regan. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you. You’re pretty amazing.”
“ You are pretty amazing.” Regan looked at her with such love and pride that it brought tears to Ava’s eyes. “Oh God, no, that’s a good thing. Stop crying, you weirdo, you’ll mess up your makeup.” She laughed softly and used her fingertips to gently catch the tears that spilled over, smiling the whole time. “You don’t want to greet your adoring public with mascara streaks on your face.”
“My adoring public, huh?”
“Absolutely.”
“You sound like you know them.”
Regan nodded. “I do. I know all the public. All of them, and they love you. Just like I do.” She kissed Ava softly on the mouth.
“I love you, too.”
“Good. Now, let’s give your tiny staff a pep talk and open this baby up. What do you say?”
Twenty minutes later, Ava stood at the front door, Regan right next to her, holding her hand. Ava turned to her, met those blue eyes she’d grown to love so deeply. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you,” she said again, quietly enough that only Regan could hear her. “You’re my rock and my strength, and I’m so grateful to have you here by my side.”
Regan’s entire expression softened. “Now you’re gonna make me cry.”
“No crying.” Ava squeezed her hand. “I just wanted you to know that we’re in this together.”
Regan squeezed back, lifted Ava’s hand, and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. “Always.”
Ava looked over her shoulder at her staff. The waitstaff and the bartender were all facing her, eager and ready for the night. “Ready?”
Nods, smiles, and murmurs buzzed through the dining room.
“I’m so glad you’re all here,” she said and hoped her pride in them showed. With one more squeeze of Regan’s hand, she turned the lock and opened the door.
“Here we go.”