Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
Brinton’s cheeks flushed, and her heartbeat surged. Her thoughts blurred like paint on a spinning plate, and there was increasing certainty that she would pass out. Was it good that her lungs were an overfilled balloon, a single prick from obliteration?
But what followed—the electricity radiating through her body, prompting divine convulsions and making her scream unspeakable things—was well worth it.
Her body relaxed into the crisp white sheets of her bed. Well, their bed.
So they could split their time between Iris and New York City, Jamie purchased their charming Tribeca penthouse. Its exposed brick walls and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the Hudson River never ceased to make her gush.
Brinton exhaled comically loud. “Tell me, am I ever supposed to get tired of that?” Something about that beard made this part of her morning routine even better.
Jamie popped his head up from where he’d taken up residence between her still-trembling thighs. And he was the best kind of roommate, as he generously proved every morning and night.
“Not if I can help it.” He planted a soft kiss on her forehead and smoothed a hand down her thigh. “I think that performance deserves some coffee.”
He climbed out of bed, an appropriately smug smile on his face.
“Yes, please,” she mewed, still breathless. “But, um, don’t you wanna put on some pants first?”
Unashamed, she dragged her eyes ever-so-slowly below his waist.
“Hey, eyes up here.” He playfully used his pointer and middle fingers to guide her. “And for the record, no. When I get back, I’m gonna make you jump another octave.”
She tightened the silk scarf tied around her head and laughed. “You’re ridiculous. And you’re gonna sweat out my silk press.”
He winked. “Baby, I ain’t doing my job if I don’t.”
After Jamie’s Honeybee EP banked an astounding one million streams its first month, every label in Nashville clamored to sign him.
He settled on a great deal, and his father and Tex helped negotiate terms that included creative control of his own imprint, ownership of his masters, and a brand new, full-length album.
Sammi took over PR for Jamie’s imprint and spearheaded an initiative to sign ten new country artists from diverse backgrounds each year.
Sometimes, late nights at the recording studio and grueling tour schedules forced them apart for longer than what felt comfortable.
Sometimes, the paparazzi photos or venomous comments section burrowed beneath Brinton’s skin.
But Jamie was a faithful balm, as she was for him.
It wasn’t always easy to traverse newly unlocked levels as they built a life together.
Yet, they made a promise to embrace each one, so that whatever darkness befell them, they’d always find their way back home.
Jamie kissed her left hand, admiring his mother’s sparkling solitaire on her ring finger. “The only thing that looks better on you is me,” he said, giving her a coy look that almost made her yank him back into bed.
Three months ago, at sunset, he proposed at their meadow. And when her thighs cradled his hips, her tears flowed from a place of all-consuming, immeasurable love. When they went Instagram-official the next day, Brinton stayed off Google to protect her damn peace.
After watching Jamie’s fantastic, naked butt turn the corner, Brinton checked the clock on the nightstand. She had a few hours until she was due at Aida’s wildly successful bookstore and smoothie bar, Pages and Potions, in Brooklyn, where Brinton was the head curator.
The store was five minutes from Shay and Miley’s new condo and a few blocks from Athena’s new favorite yoga studio, so Brinton could count on them to pop in and lovably annoy her almost daily.
It was also the new home of the monthly book club Gael now ran on his own, and it introduced her to a vibrant community of friends and colleagues who were equally passionate about stories. When Aida recently agreed to represent Brinton’s finished manuscript, Brinton knew it was fate.
She couldn’t have dreamed about this a year ago when she first met Jamie, and she was on the brink of falling apart.
If what she went through taught her anything, it was that life would constantly shift unexpectedly.
But the goal wasn’t to hold on so tightly that she shattered in the process.
The more open she was to possibility and taking the risks that felt rewarding, the more likely she was to survive the inevitable thrash.
But she wasn’t surviving. Now, she was thriving, despite the occasional nausea from the anti-anxiety medication Dr. Mensah prescribed.
But even that was worth it, because it meant Brinton was caring for herself.
Because she now believed, with every fiber of her being, that she deserved to be cared for.
Jamie returned with two steaming mugs and handed her one, then he crawled back into bed beside her. His not-too-sweet vanilla latte was one of the many things she’d grown to love about him.
She took a decadent sip, let her eyes roll back, and groaned appreciatively. “God, this is perfect.”
“How about that.” Slowly, Jamie nuzzled her neck. “You just gave me an idea for my next song.”