Epilogue
LUKAS
Six months later
Itake a left at the bank, maneuvering my truck down Main Street as the sun starts to dip lower in the sky. With one hand on the wheel, I roll down my window, resting my arm along the frame. My gaze flicks over to the manilla folder in the passenger seat, and a smile crosses my face at the sight.
Smiling is something I do constantly now, what feels like every moment of every day, so polar opposite from the man I was a few years ago.
And it’s likely due to the woman waiting for me at home.
With some more convincing, Mags did return to Paris to finish the season.
I thought the next five months would go by in a blur, and in many ways they did.
But each morning when I counted down on the calendar the days until she was here, until she was in my arms each night, it felt like it’d be an eternity before we would be together again.
But one month ago, I stood with Magnolia’s parents and the entire Paris Opera House as they applauded Mags at the end of her last performance. The cheers from the crowd were nearly deafening, and it was a sight to see her years of hard work came to an end.
I stayed in Paris for another week, and we packed up her clothes and sentimental items. We donated what dishes and furniture she didn’t want and shipped back box after box to Copper Ridge.
Her friends threw her a surprise goodbye party at Raymond and Ronaldo’s house. I stood in the corner, choked up as she said her tearful goodbyes.
We boarded a plane, together, and now we’re living in Copper Ridge, together. We put the finishing touches on our house, and she managed to take these four walls and a roof and turn it into a real home. A shelter, a place of comfort for both of us and Ivy.
Flicking my blinker on, my stomach dances as I take the turn off the main highway onto Hart Road.
Less than a half mile later, I’m turning onto our gravel road, and when the house comes into view, my heart kicks up, fluttering into my throat at the sight of Mags perched on the front stoop next to a picnic basket.
Her long legs are peeking out from cut-off denim shorts, stretched down to rest on the lower step. She’s leaned back, palms pressed to the wood as she tilts her head, smiling up at the setting sun.
God, just when I think I’ve already loved her as much as I possibly could, she flashes me that coy smile, and I’m suddenly fifteen again, falling in love with my best friend.
Reaching for the folder next to me, I tuck it under my arm as I slide out of my truck, the slamming of my door echoing across the fields. “Hey, baby.”
“Hey, cowboy.” She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth as I approach. “Thought I could seduce you with a picnic dinner out in the field.”
“Baby, you wouldn’t need a picnic dinner to seduce me.” I wink at her as I reach the end of the stone path, and she smirks, eyes flicking to the folder under my arm.
“What’s that?”
I take the first step up, and she spreads her legs to give me space so I can take the next one. I fall to my knees, and her breath catches as I lean forward, pressing her against the edge of the stairs to capture her mouth in a kiss. “A surprise,” I say against her lips.
“Oh?” she asks, her hands sliding up my arms to wrap around my neck. “For me?”
“No,” I deadpan. “For the other love of my life.”
She playfully swats at my chest then pulls back, her hands grabbing at the folder, brows twisted together as she opens it up, flipping through the pages inside.
Sliding the picnic basket to the side, I sit next to her, reaching an arm over to brush my palm along her back, feeling her muscles tense the further she reads. “Lukas … we talked about this. I-I can’t…”
The other night, over family dinner at the main farmhouse, Mags had mentioned she was on the hunt for a job.
She wanted—needed—something to occupy her free time.
Now that the house was finished and she felt settled, she was ready.
The hard part is that her entire life has been dedicated to ballet.
She’s pondered going back to school, but for what, she didn’t know.
My family tossed out plenty of ideas. She was welcome to work on the farm. Holly is always looking for front desk help at the clinic. Harper offered her a bartending job at The Tipsy Tractor.
Then Harper, ever the blunt one, asked why she wouldn’t open up her own dance studio. Mags knows better than anyone how hard it is for someone to follow their passion for dance while living in an area like ours. Some weeknights and most weekends her parents had to drive her to the city for lessons.
That night, we laid in bed, and Mags went on and on about the classes she could teach.
She fell asleep mid-sentence, telling me how she could work with the school for summer programs, or offer free classes for those who can’t afford it.
But when she woke up the next morning, insecurity had crept in, and she had lost the excitement, more focused on the financials and the management part more than anything else.
“But you can, baby.” I press a kiss to her temple. “You know ballet better than anyone. You know how to teach. You love it.”
“But I don’t know how to run a business. I don’t know a lick about accounting, about marketing.” She looks up at me, and her worried eyes flick across my face, but I just shrug.
“We’ll learn that part.” I reach for the papers that are held tightly in her trembling hands, and flip to the last few pages.
When Holly purchased the clinic from Doc Williams, she had also purchased the small building next door.
She wasn’t sure what her plans were for it, but Doc owned both and wanted to sell them as a pair.
She figured that one day she could expand, hire another doctor, whatever it may be.
But she came to me and offered to sell us the spare building for practically nothing, so this morning, I drove into town and peeked around.
It needs some work for sure, as it’s been sitting empty for years, but it has one large room, perfect for group dance lessons.
There’s a simple bathroom and another room that could be an office or storage.
It isn’t the Opera House that she’s used to.
It won’t rake in millions of dollars each year.
But I could see her thriving there, sharing her knowledge and passion for ballet with kids that are just like her.
“We can do this, baby.” I flip to the last page, which is the newest one, and it shows that we’re pre-qualified to purchase the property.
“My brothers and Dean will help us remodel. Harper and Holly would love to help decorate and design. Harper’s already bouncing off the walls with ideas to get the word out. ”
When she doesn’t interrupt, I keep going.
“This town loves you. People who you haven’t ever met followed your career all the way to Paris.
I know, Mags, you won’t have any shortage of help with this.
Kids will be lining up at the door to dance with you, to learn from you.
” I slide my palm over her shoulder to grip the back of her neck, squeezing gently.
“I want to watch you teach Ivy how to dance. I want to watch you succeed at this, just as you do with everything else in your life.”
A small smile splits her face, and she peers over at me. “You really think we could do this? You think…” she trails off, inhaling sharply through her nose. “You think I’d be lucky enough to get to be with you, to be home, and still make ballet my life?”
I pull the rest of the papers from her hands and set them next to me.
Reaching for her arms, I tug until she climbs onto my lap, and her long legs straddle me.
Taking her face in my palms, I brush my thumbs across the apples of her cheeks, fingertips tangled in her hair.
“I think you are the greatest person I have ever met.” I choke back a sudden rush of emotions, pursing a slow breath through my lips.
“I think you are smart, kind, brave, and so fucking talented I should be embarrassed to stand next to you.”
She rolls her eyes at that, but I keep going.
“Do I think you can do this? That we can make this work? Hell, yeah. I think we can do this and so much more. I’ll support you through anything, Mags. So, if you want to do this, if your heart is screaming yes, then let’s do it.”
A smile splits her face, and then she squeals, her body crashing into mine so quickly I lose my balance, falling back with a thud as my shoulders hit the deck.
I don’t have time to groan, because her lips are on mine. “I love you,” she murmurs between each kiss. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”
I laugh as she peppers my cheeks with kisses, my forehead, the tip of my nose. Then my arms are wrapped around her, holding her tightly so I can flip us, pinning her underneath me. Her playful expression turns heated when I grind my hips against her, pulling her leg up and around my hip.
“I love you, Mags,” I tell her, a serious tone lacing my words. “I love you.”
“Forever?” she whispers, her bottom lip tugged between her teeth.
“Yeah, pretty girl,” I rasp. “Forever.”