Epilogue
Sore ribs and an annoying cast aren’t going to bring me down.
No, sir. At my doctor’s advice—and my boyfriend’s insistence—I’ve been doing nothing but lazing around for what feels like forever.
My Tbr pile has dwindled to nearly nothing, and I’ve borrowed every last alien romance from our local library.
Thanks to Willow, my beloved Mugs has been well taken care of, but I miss the place and the people and the glorious scent of freshly-brewed coffee, mixed with the salty sea air.
I finally convinced Ethan—aka the sexiest and fussiest nurse I’ve ever had—that I’m ready to leave the house and get back to work. Reluctantly, he agreed, although he did make me promise not to do anything more strenuous than sit at my desk and dole out orders.
A coffee-foreman, if you will.
I adjust my sling before filling Kat’s food bowl. She tangles around my feet, begging for back scratches.
She’s been my constant companion while Ethan has been keeping himself busy fixing up the “death trap” we’re living in.
That’s right. Just as Ethan said he would, he packed up his stuff in Philly and moved down to Inner Shores.
He’d planned on staying at his parents’ place, but I told him I had an aversion to dating a thirty-two-year-old man who still lived with his mom and dad, so he agreed to move in with me as long as I let him bring things “up to code.”
If it diverts his attention from trying to get me to rest for longer than I can stand, I’m all for it.
It’s also keeping him from overthinking every single piece of paperwork he and Leo have to file for their new business, so that’s another plus. After they get all their licenses and insurance in order, he and his friend are going to be working together doing construction here on the island.
Heaven knows, at Inner Shores, we could use someone reliable who wears a tool belt. If they happen to look sensational in said tool belt and nothing else, then that’s just a bonus point, right?
My lips curl up as I pad down the hallway. Everything really is coming together.
I lock the front door and head down to the street, where my mom waits in her sporty little convertible. Since the accident, she’s been a lot more present. Apparently, her beau, Beau, is no longer the best thing to have ever happened to her.
I am.
Funny how near-death experiences can change a person’s perspective.
After I slip into the passenger seat, she reaches across the center console to squeeze my knee. “You look happy, sweet pea.”
“I am happy.” Happier than I’ve ever been.
I toy with the yellow sling hanging from my shoulder as we pull onto the main road and zip down the sun-soaked street, the wind blowing through our hair. The sky is a brilliant blue, and the town is hopping.
It’s going to be a good day.
Mom whips into the full parking lot at Mugs, and my eyes snag on Ethan’s truck, parked along the side of the building.
What’s he doing here?
He’s supposed to be down at the hardware store, getting a new light for the side of our house. Don’t tell me he’s here for a coffee—didn’t he like the burning-hot one I made him this morning?
I climb out of the car, confused, when I notice a bunch of people milling around on the far side of his truck.
“What’s going on?” I say.
Mom’s lips press together, like she’s trying to hide her smile. “I don’t know, honey. Why don’t you go and check?”
Okay, that’s suspicious.
I head around to where everyone is standing, my gaze darting above their heads.
Rows of pastel-colored surfboards sit horizontally over straight posts wrapped in string lights. Under the surfboard canopy are six yellow picnic tables filled with customers, all of them local.
Ethan stands at the front in a Mugs T-shirt, his tool belt slung low around his hips and a smile decorating his face. Old Tom, Mark, and Harry hover nearby in matching shirts.
Behind them are Willow, Lola, Mrs. Norton, Mr. and Mrs. Beeman, Lily Jane and her wife Sara, Boone, Oliver Miller with his wife and their new baby Jeanie, Young Tom…
It feels like everyone from the whole island is here.
And my pergola…
It’s actually finished.
With Rick being caught up in his DWI charge and in and out of incarceration, I assumed the whole thing would be an eyesore for the entire season.
Ethan steps forward, his boots crunching on the gravel. “Well? What do you think?”
I don’t even know where to start. “I thought you couldn’t work on Mugs until you had your licenses sorted.”
“Technically, Harry did the work,” Ethan replies. “I was just a laborer.”
Harry tips his hat, a grin on his weathered face. “Best worker I ever had.”
Everyone laughs, and I can’t help joining in. Leave it to the barnacles to find a work-around. “How did you pay for it?”
“We all chipped in,” Willow says, linking her arm through Lola’s.
Oh my goodness… Have I mentioned that I live in the best place on earth? I can’t believe these amazing people would go out of their way to do this for me.
I swipe my good hand beneath my misty eyes. “I love it so much. I don’t know how to thank you all.”
“There’s no need to thank us, Sunshine,” Old Tom says in his gravelly voice, waving his cane until he wobbles and smacks it into the gravel again. “This is Inner Shores. We look out for each other.”
Ethan’s hands slip along my lower back as he draws me into his embrace, careful not to jostle my broken arm.
He drops his forehead to mine, one of his rare smiles playing on his lips. “I love you, Chloe Mills.”
I can feel the warmth in my eyes. “I love you more, Mr. Punctuality.”
He scowls, but I know it’s pretend. I’ve seen too many of the real ones. “Thought we’d moved past you calling me that,” he grumbles.
My grin widens. “Would you prefer Sir Butthead?”
He practically growls.
“Fiiine,” I concede. “I love you, Ethan Davis.”
When his mouth meets mine in a soft kiss, I say a quiet, “Thank you” to the ferry gods for bringing me a love of my own.
One that won’t drift away with the tide.
One that’s as solid and steady as the roots we’ve sown in this sandy soil.
One that lasts forever.