Epilogue
Cora
“You’re sure about this?” Tessa fidgets with a spoon, stirring her cappuccino until it’s a sad beige mess.
The bistro smells of saffron, baking, and bittersweet nostalgia. A soft drizzle taps the windows, the way it used to on the slow weekday mornings when my dad would hum old songs while restocking the pastry case.
I lean against the familiar counter. Or in the familiar corner, because this counter is new, and the dents and scratches on it are prefab to make it look aged.
The original counter is at our house in Chelsea. Just a memory—one I want to keep.
I run my fingers over the polished surface, standing where I stood so many times before; only this time I’m not drowning in receipts, or wondering how to make rent.
I eye the folder of papers open between me and Tessa.
“I’m sure.” I slide the signed paperwork across. My voice is steadier than I expected. “This place needs someone who still dreams of it.”
“You think it’s me?” She gives me a skeptical pout.
“It’s you. Dad built this place, I babysat it for a moment, but you took it to a completely new level.”
Tessa studies me with her half grin. “I still can’t believe we survived working together, with no homicide involved.”
“Because I locked away the knives,” I deadpan.
She snorts. “Or more like you didn’t show up much.”
“Touché.”
I glance around. The new lighting softens the edges of the space. The updated menu on the wall still has the biscotti recipe in Dad’s handwriting. The chairs have been reupholstered, the wall behind the counter painted a deep olive green.
It’s no longer mine.
It’s better.
I take a breath, the kind that makes room in my chest. “I think I held on so long because I thought walking away meant I had failed him.”
“You didn’t,” Tessa says, quieter this time. “You made him proud.”
My throat tightens. I nod, because words would tip me over.
Tessa wraps her hand over mine. It’s a strange feeling—being at peace and letting go in the same moment.
“Okay, I’d better go and get ready. I’m so nervous.” I collect my bag.
“You’ll be great. We’re both finally where we should have been, right from the start.”
I smile. “I’ll see you tonight?”
She shoos me toward the door. “Of course, I’ll be there. Off you go. I need to open.”
When I leave, I don’t look back.
Xander
The school still smells of pencil shavings and overripe bananas. That distinct scent of childhood chaos. I smooth my tie, not that it matters—I’m surrounded by a sea of tiny humans who couldn’t care less that I’m a Stone.
The C.O.R.A. initiative banner flutters above the stage.
My Cora stands by the podium, her red curls loose over a pale green dress, notebook in hand. Her fingers tremble. Only I would notice.
Only I know she’s scared out of her mind even though she’s read this story to me a dozen times at home—out loud, under the covers, half-asleep, fully brave.
Declan’s daughter, Zoya, tugs on my suit sleeve. “Is Auntie Cora going to cry?”
“Maybe,” I whisper. “She cries when she’s proud. It’s like a superpower.”
“She’s pretty,” Zoya’s brother, Zach, adds with his usual deadpan solemnity.
“She’s ours,” I say, a bit more gruffly than I intend.
The kids settle. Cora steps up and begins. “Once, there was a fox who…”
Her voice is soft at first, but it grows, line by line, until the room hushes into one single breath.
The story unspools like thread around all of us, binding laughter and wonder into something whole.
The teacher beside me wipes her eyes.
The moment Cora finishes, the children burst into applause. She looks up and finds me in the crowd. Our eyes meet, and I hope she sees the pride in mine.
Before Andrew ushers her away for the signing, I make my way to her and pull her to the side.
Wrapping my arm around her waist, I hold her closer, kissing her hair. I would do more, but the room is full of children and parents.
“I’m so fucking proud of you, Coraline.”
“I feel like I’m dreaming. Like none of this… this life is happening.”
“It’s happening, and it’s a dream. You better get used to it, Mrs. Stone.”
She giggles. “We’re divorced. I got myself a younger side piece, and his memory is failing. You can’t rely on anything these days.”
“Call me a side piece again, and you will regret it,” I growl into her ear.
Her smile stretches. “Promise?”
“Go sign your books, woman, so I can deliver on my promise.”
She turns, and is immediately surrounded by her fans, small and big. I linger back and watch her light up for every kid, every parent.
She belongs here.
And I get to be the man who sees her shine.
Cora
The city hums below us, muffled by the thick windows and the weight of domestic comfort. An uneaten cupcake from the book launch sits on the nightstand.
My socks are mismatched. One of Xander’s shirts hangs off me. I haven’t taken my makeup off. And yet I’ve never felt more like myself.
Xander returns to the bedroom, two mugs in his hands. “I had to research how to froth oat milk. You’re welcome.”
I giggle, and ogle. He didn’t bother with a robe, his body on full display. “Is that the look of a man who used to pay someone to pour cereal?”
“That was one time, and I should have never told you that.” He hands me the decaf latte.
God, the man should stay naked forever.
“What are you smirking about?” He sits beside me, taking a sip.
“I might have a new job for you.”
“You do?” He looks at me, unimpressed.
“You’ll be my personal sex slave. I will keep you here all the time, naked, so I can play with you anytime I fancy.”
He puts his mug down and takes mine from me. Before I can react, he yanks me to slide me onto my back and covers me with his naked body. “How is that a new job?”
I laugh, running my nails up and down his smooth, sinewy back. “Currently, you do get dressed sometimes.”
“I don’t want my balls to freeze, woman. You need them.”
“Do I?”
“No sex slave without balls, I’m afraid. But I’m an exemplary employee. And you?”
“What about me?”
“I’m naked and hard, and I want you naked and wet, love.” He kisses my neck, and then bites and licks his way into my cleavage. When his mouth closes around my nipple, I moan and arch into him.
“I like wearing your shirt.”
He hums, and looks at me with that boyish grin that I foolishly thought, at one time, I could resist. “It’s not a bad look, but I prefer you naked.”
His fingers trail up my thigh.
“You still need a job.”
I’m not sure why I’m bringing it up now. I don’t want him to regret that he gave up things. I know it wasn’t for me, but I still feel responsible. He will get bored soon.
“Stop thinking about what happens when I get bored.” He bites my nipple, so attuned to my body, and apparently my thoughts.
“Stop thinking about what I might need.” He pinches my clit.
I gasp. “I have a job. There is a long list of causes that might benefit from my attention.” He shoves two or three fingers inside me.
“Xander!” I almost bounce off the bed, lust cruising through me like electricity.
“Besides, my soon-to-be wife is a successful writer. She will take care of me.”
“Soon-to-be wife?” I moan, as he pumps into me relentlessly, his eyes watching me closely, studying every reaction.
It’s like his arousal grows every time my body responds to him. Well, the feeling is mutual.
“Of course.”
I writhe, trying to get away and closer at the same time, while he just casually observes what he’s causing, his head propped in his palm.
“Is that your proposal, Xander Stone?” I pant, closing my eyes. “I don’t think you’re doing much better than the first time.”
His fingers stop moving, and I snap my gaze to him.
“Do you want us to get married again?” There is tension in his voice, but I don’t think it’s because of what we’re doing… or were doing.
“I was so close.” I whimper.
“Coraline, we’re divorced, and I wasn’t planning on proposing, because… well, the first time didn’t really…” He shakes his head, like he needs to rid himself of that memory. “I need your lead on this one. Do you want us to get married again?”
His voice trembles with need and yearning.
Demand and desire.
Urgency and hope.
I pull him to me, and our lips meet. It’s not fireworks or wild passion—it’s quiet, assured, the kind of kiss that says this is forever.
Outside, the rain taps the glass in time with my heartbeat.
This is the story I never knew I was writing. The one where the girl doesn’t need saving, but someone shows up anyway—and stays.
“Ring or no ring. Wedding or no wedding. I’m yours forever, Xander.”
He smiles at me. “Forever.”
Xander and Cora get their happily ever after. Still… love doesn’t stop evolving.