Epilogue
Olivia
Holding You (Yellowstone) - Matt Hansen
Summer Rain - Belinda Carlisle
There’s something suspicious about how casually Sebastian said, “Just grabbing fuel.”
Sebastian doesn’t do casual. Not anymore.
Not after a year of learning how to show up, how to be with someone in all the ways that matter.
He’s gotten so damn good at it, it’s impossible not to notice when he’s hiding something.
And that look in his eyes before he kissed my temple and ushered Teddy into the ute? Way too smug.
He left me with nothing but a text: Be ready by 4.15. Wear whatever you want.
And five minutes later: On second thought, maybe not whatever you want. Just… not the dinosaur pyjamas. Something pretty, like you.
Another chimes now.
Sebastian: I’ll be home in 10 sweetheart
My pulse spikes at that. A whole year later, and this man still gives me butterflies. Real ones. Stubborn ones. The kind that don’t settle, no matter how often I see him smile or hear him say my name.
Me: Gonna kiss you in 11, handsome.
He sends the winking emoji. Of course.
Suddenly, the clock is my enemy. Here’s the thing: I don’t fluff. I don’t “get ready”. I’ve never understood the appeal of outfit changes or makeup brushes or FaceTiming girlfriends for backup opinions. That’s just never been me.
But something tells me tonight isn’t the pub. Or the diner. Or even the Loose Lasso.
No. This feels different. This means something.
So, of course, I panic in silence. I rifle through my wardrobe, not that there’s much in it that screams romantic dinner, and tug out a sparkly navy slip dress that Imogen passed down last Christmas with a casual, “It’s too short for me now.
Knock yourself out.” God, I love Imogen’s wardrobe.
Almost as much as Zoe’s, who gave me half her designer castoffs like they were a Target clearance sale.
A girl can never say no to Chanel. Even when she’s got cow shit on her boots.
But heels? Heels? The thought makes me dry retch. No thanks.
Instead, I slip on my new Ariat boots. Dark leather, perfectly worn in, a little scuffed from that rodeo last month.
You can take the girl out of the farm, but heels are where I draw the line.
I’ll always be a farm girl, through and through.
I finish off brushing mascara through my lashes when I hear the rumble of his car pulling in.
The butterflies in my stomach become a damn tornado.
Sebastian whistles when he sees me, leaning against his ute, one boot hooked over the other, arms crossed—all rugged man in a button-down and dark jean.
His hair’s a little windswept, his jaw scruffed just enough to make me irrationally warm, and that lopsided grin on his face tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.
His jaw goes slack as his eyes sweep over me slowly, deliberately.
Everything about that look tells me I chose the right outfit.
The navy dress clings in all the right places, and my new black cowboy boots—which he gifted me this year, after I complained about mine falling apart—ground me.
“Well,” he drawls, eyes still fixed on me. “You sure know how to make a man speechless.”
I lift my chin, toeing at the gravel. “Thought about wearing my tractor shirt instead.”
“Would’ve married you on the spot.” He pushes off the ute and kisses me like no one’s watching, like we’ve got the rest of our lives in a single second, and he’s not wasting a breath of it.
“Mummy!” Teddy squeals from the open car window. “You look pretty!”
That word. That name. It still feels new. Soft. Still catches me off guard in the best way. I’m still adjusting to the thought, but I’d be lying if it doesn’t make my whole chest ache with something good.
“Thank you, lovebug,” I laugh, leaning in to plant a dramatic, wet kiss on his cheek, just the way he likes.
Sebastian slides behind the wheel, glancing over with a twitch of a smile—half secret, half smirk.
And just like that, the past year rushes in.
After Christmas, I officially moved in. Not because we planned it.
Just because it felt right. My stuff slowly crept in.
First the bathroom shelf, then the kitchen cupboards.
Mismatched mugs. Post-its on the fridge.
Weird snack combos he pretends to hate but secretly stocks.
Then one morning, I woke to the smell of pancakes and Teddy humming in the kitchen, and I realised… we weren’t building a life.
We already had one.
I still work on the farm, just not every day anymore. There’s balance now. Slow mornings. Days off. Weekends full of barefoot breakfast dances in the kitchen. School drop-offs. Late-night cuddles on the couch with Teddy asleep between us. And Bash.
Always him.
Dinner is… everything. It’s a new place, tucked just past the edge of town.
Warm lights strung overhead. Candle wax pooling on the table.
Wine glasses half full and laughter so constant, my cheeks actually hurt.
We talk about everything and nothing. I can’t remember the last time I laughed this much, probably not since the night he gave me that hideously adorable “Trouble Maker” shirt for Valentine’s Day and made me wear it out to the pub.
By the time we climb back into the car, my stomach is full, my heart fuller, and I’m sure the afternoon is winding down.
Apparently not.
“Where are we going now?” I ask as he shifts into gear, only to be met with a soft piece of fabric landing in my lap. I blink down at it. “Is this… a blindfold?”
“You’ll see,” he says, his voice maddeningly casual. “Put it on.”
“Sebastian…”
“Shhh, just do it, Trouble.”
I glance at Teddy in the backseat. He’s practically vibrating. “This better not be a prank,” I murmur as I slide it over my face.
“Just ten minutes,” Sebastian promises. “Give or take.”
But it feels longer. Mostly because I’m blindfolded.
And mildly carsick. And every bump in the road makes me question whether this surprise involves a goat or public embarrassment or both.
When we finally stop, the air shifts. I feel the door open, and two sets of hands find mine, one warm and solid, the other small and eager.
“Careful,” Sebastian warns, low in my ear, so low it sends goosebumps trailing down my arms. The wind carries the scent of something sweet. Fresh soil. Grass after rain. Something alive. My pulse kicks, and my steps slow.
I wrinkle my nose. “It smells like dirt.”
“That’s just Wattle Creek.”
“Reassuring,” I retort.
“Okay,” he whispers, lips brushing my ear. “You can take it off.”
I tug the blindfold down… and stop breathing.
We’re in the middle of the tulip field. Rows upon rows of colour stretch around us in a wild, breathtaking display—reds, whites, oranges, every shade of purple imaginable.
The sun is melting into the horizon, painting the sky in a kaleidoscope of gold and rose.
The air is thick with the scent of summer.
It’s… beautiful. But I’ve seen it before.
This field is not new to me. To us. I remember the first time I brought Sebastian here, last October. I even dragged him back here earlier this February for a picnic that ended with a bee sting, two bruised knees, and a very illegal skinny dip in the river.
I turn, confused. “Why are we—?”
But I don’t get the chance to finish, because Sebastian is already dropping to one knee. And beside him, Teddy, holding a velvet box with both hands, eyes wide with excitement.
“Bash…”
He looks up at me with a smile that makes my vision blur. “Trouble.”
She’s still the most beautiful damn woman I’ve ever seen.
And I’ve seen a lot. Too much, if I’m honest. The kind of things that crack something inside a man and make him settle for surviving instead of living.
Days where I woke up because I had to, not because I wanted to.
Nights where the only thing that kept me going was the sound of Teddy breathing beside me.
Responsibility. Routine. Fighting through the fog for someone else. That was my life. Until her.
Until Olivia Mitchell walked through my door with her wild hair, loud laugh, and that chaotic kindness that hit like a punch to the ribs. She was sunshine in boots, stubborn as hell, clumsy in the most endearing way, and sweeter than anything I ever thought I’d get near again.
And I never stood a chance.
I take the velvet box from Teddy’s small hands, clearing my throat once, then again, because my heart’s trying to climb out of it. “I used to think I knew what love was,” I start, voice rougher than I planned. “But the truth is… I don’t think I ever really lived before you. No. I know I didn’t.”
Her breath catches. Her eyes shimmer. God, if she cries, I’m done for.
“When Teddy came along, I learned how to survive. How to grind through the days. How to be what he needed.” I swallow.
“But it wasn’t until you, until you danced barefoot in my kitchen, moved into our home like you were always meant to be there, left your silly notes on my fridge, kissed me like you invented the damn thing, that I realised I wanted more. ”
Her throat works around a sob she tries to swallow. It kills me.
“You made me believe I was allowed to hope. To dream. To picture a future where my life wasn’t just about getting through the day. You made me look forward to things. To us. To raising Teddy together. To watching you carry our future, the way you were always meant to.”
Her knees wobble. Mine do too.
“To doing it right this time,” I say quietly. “With you.” I draw a breath that tastes like tulips and rain and the first moment of the rest of my life. “Marry me, Olivia Mitchell. It would be the greatest damn honour of my life to call you my wife.”
Teddy bounces beside me, practically vibrating. “Say yes, Mummy! Say yes!”
She drops to her knees in front of us, crying and laughing and nodding like she’s run out of ways to say it.