Epilogue - Tilly - One Year Later
The late February sun slants through the shop windows, painting everything gold.
I step back from arranging a display of vintage valentines, satisfaction warming my ribs as the layout finally clicks into place.
Twelve months since opening day, and this space still surprises me with new possibilities.
Davin appears in the doorway with two mugs of tea. The sight of him here, comfortable in my domain, never gets old. He crosses to me and sets one mug on the counter, then his palm settles warm on my lower back, fingers kneading the tight muscles.
“You’ve been on your feet for hours,” he says.
“I’m pacing myself. There’s a difference.” I lean back into the pressure of his touch, and tension releases from my spine in increments. “Besides, we open in an hour.”
“We don’t open. You open. I’m here to make sure you don’t rearrange the entire shop before customers arrive.” His other hand comes around to rest on my hip, thumb stroking the curve through my sweater. “Again.”
“That was one time.”
“It was last week.” His mouth finds the curve of my neck, breath warm against my skin. “And the week before that.”
Heat floods my face. The shop is empty, but the windows face the square. Anyone walking by could see us. “Davin—”
“Say you’ll take a break after the mentorship session.” His teeth graze my earlobe. “Come home with me. Let me take care of you properly.”
Want and heat fill my pussy, sharp and immediate. “That’s not fair.”
“I know.” He pulls back, and his eyes hold that dark promise that still makes my knees weak. “But I’m not playing fair today.”
I move through the shop, checking details.
The mentorship table holds notebooks and pens I ordered in bulk.
The reading nook has fresh flowers. The armoire still anchors the wall, and every time I see it, something in my throat goes tight with memories of the night he moved it here, the way his competence made me feel safe enough to want impossible things.
My fingers trail across the carved shop sign hanging above the counter, an antique ring glittering on my finger. One year since he gave me the sign. One year since he made permanence feel possible instead of terrifying.
“You’re thinking too hard,” he says from where he’s tinkering with the new shelving he’s building for the expansion. His hands move with confidence, measuring and marking with precision that comes from years of practice.
“Just remembering.”
“Good memories?”
“The best ones.” I cross to him and slide my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek against the solid warmth of his back. “Remember when everyone thought we were crazy? Moving this fast?”
His hands go still on the wood. “I remember Claire telling you I’d get bored.”
“Evelyn gave us six months.”
“The veterans bet on three.” He turns in my arms and frames my face with his palms. Sawdust clings to his forearms, and the scent of fresh-cut lumber fills the space between us. “They all lost money.”
“We were right.” The words come easier now, without the defensive edge they used to carry. “To trust this. To choose each other immediately.”
“We were.” His thumb brushes my bottom lip. “Smartest thing I ever did was shutting down that auction.”
“Best decision I ever made was letting you.”
His mouth takes mine in a kiss that’s both gentle and possessive, his taste flooding every sense. When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine. “About that break later—”
The door chimes. Three women enter for my afternoon mentorship group. Sammi, who’s launching a catering business. Jennifer, who wants to open a yoga studio. And Marissa, who’s in the early stages of planning a photography gallery.
I extract myself from Davin’s arms and greet them. We settle around the table with pastries from The Waffle Den and notebooks open, and for the next two hours, we talk about business plans and financing and the fear that comes with betting everything on a dream.
“What if I fail?” Sammi asks. Her pen taps an anxious rhythm against her notebook, and I recognize the defensive hunch in her shoulders.
A year ago, I asked Davin the same question.
His answer echoes now. “You won’t fail because you’re too stubborn.
Too smart. Too determined.” I lean forward, meeting her eyes directly.
“But even if things don’t go exactly as planned, failure isn’t the end.
It’s information. You adjust and keep building. ”
“How do you stay confident when everyone’s watching?” Jennifer’s voice is quiet, uncertain. “When the whole town knows what you’re trying to do?”
“I don’t always feel confident.” The truth doesn’t cost me the way it used to. “But I show up anyway. And I let people help me. That’s not weakness. That’s wisdom.”
She glances at Davin, who’s moved to the front of the shop to give us privacy but stays within sight. His presence is a steady anchor even from across the room. “Your husband supports this. Not everyone has that.”
“He does. But I built this foundation before he came along.” I hold her gaze, making sure she hears me. “You don’t need a partner to succeed. You need to believe you deserve success. The right partner just makes it easier to remember that on the hard days.”
By the time they leave, all three are walking taller. Sammi’s eyes are bright with possibility. Marissa’s stopped apologizing for taking up space. Jennifer's making plans she wasn't sure of yesterday.
Davin locks the door behind them and turns to me. “You’re good at teaching.”
“I like it. Knowing I can help someone else avoid the mistakes I made.” I sink into the reading nook chair with a sigh, and my feet throb in my shoes. “Makes the hard parts worth it.”
He kneels in front of me and unlaces my boots, sliding them off with gentle hands. His thumbs massage into the arch of my foot, and the groan that escapes my throat is obscene.
“Watching you teach them what you know… you’re changing lives, Tilly.” His voice drops lower, rougher. “You’re exactly who they need. Exactly who I need.”
The praise feels warm in my chest, spreading heat through my ribs. “You’re not playing fair.”
“I told you I wasn’t.” He pulls me up and against him, and the difference in our sizes still makes my breath catch. His palm spans my lower back, thumb stroking the curve just above my jeans. “Come home with me. Let me show you how proud I am.”
Want wins over logic. “Okay.”
“Good girl.” The words send sparks down my spine. He releases me long enough to grab my coat, then his hand finds mine, fingers lacing tight. “Let’s go home.”
We drive through town as evening falls. The Valentine’s Festival preparations are underway in Heartstone Square. This year’s bachelor auction raised enough for the veterans’ center to add a gym. Evelyn’s already planning next year’s event with the enthusiasm of a general plotting maneuvers.
At the cabin, Davin builds up the fire while I shed my coat. The space has changed in the year we’ve been together. My books fill the shelves he built. My vintage finds decorate a few surfaces. The studio he promised sits off the main room, filled with inventory and planning materials.
He joins me on the couch, pulling my feet into his lap. His palm drags up my thigh in a rhythm that quiets everything else, the warmth and pressure anchoring me after hours of holding myself together.
“I miss Neve.” I shift closer, tucking myself against his side. “We should visit them soon.”
“We will.” His arm comes around my shoulders, anchoring me. “When they come out again, I want to show Alban what we’ve built here.”
“You gave me a reason to want tomorrow,” I say against his chest.
“You gave me the same thing. You showed me I was allowed to want impossible things. That I deserved help carrying them.”
“You always deserved it.” He tilts my face up with gentle fingers under my chin. “I just made sure you knew.”
I kiss him because words feel inadequate. His mouth opens under mine, and the kiss deepens into something hungry and claiming. His hand slides into my hair, angling my head for better access, and I make a sound that’s half gasp, half plea.
He kisses the top of my head, and his arms tighten around me. “Thank you for trusting me. For letting me stay.”
“Thank you for choosing me even before the auction.” I prop myself up on one elbow to look at him. “Then for making up your own rules when the bidding got too high.”
“Best decision I ever made.” His thumb strokes across my bottom lip. “And I’d make it again. Every time.” His hand moves through my hair, and I let my eyes close.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“I love you too.” His lips press against my temple. “Always will.”
Always. The promise roots deep in my bones, as solid as the cabin around us, as certain as the choice we made a year ago to trust this impossible thing.
I didn’t come to Lovesbury looking for love. I came looking for help moving furniture.
Instead, I found a man who taught me that strength isn’t carrying everything alone. That asking for help isn’t weakness. That being chosen can be coming home.
And in learning to let him help me, I learned to help myself. To believe I deserved space and success and love that doesn’t demand I shrink to earn it.
The shop is mine. The mentorship program is mine. This life is mine.
But I choose to share it with him. Not because I need to but because I want to.
Outside, the snow falls heavier. Inside, the fire crackles and pops. Davin’s arms tighten around me, and sleep pulls at me with his heartbeat steady under my ear.
This is home. This man. This life we’ve built.
And I’m finally, completely where I belong.