Epilogue
ONE Year Later
The sky is barely light when I unlock the front door, the bell chiming softly overhead as I step inside. The bakery smells faintly of yesterday’s citrus tarts—another take on my favorite lemon-blueberry pairing.
I flip the lights on one by one.
Warmth fills the space slowly—glowing against glass display cases, polished counters, the black-and-white tile I once stood on in disbelief, trying to convince myself it was real.
Even a year later, it still feels a little unreal.
Just surreal and dreamy in the best way.
“Morning, boss.”
I glance over my shoulder to find Kara slipping in behind me, already halfway through tying up her freshly dyed, bubble-gum pink hair, a coffee balanced in one hand and her phone in the other.
Now that she’s no longer under The Trunch’s dictatorship, she shows up with a different hair color every other month.
“You’re late,” I say, not even trying to hide my smile.
She scoffs. “I’m three minutes behind schedule. That’s not late, that’s fashionably delayed. Besides, I came in right behind you.”
“And I’m also late. Plus, you literally made the schedule.”
“Exactly,” she says, pointing at me like I’ve proven her point. “Which means I get to interpret it however I see fit.”
I shake my head on a laugh, turning back to the counter as I reach for my apron.
Kara moves through the shop with practiced confidence, like she belongs here now—because she does.
Six months ago, she signed the lease on the apartment next door to the one Alex and I share, and somehow, between that and taking over the logistics side of the business, she’s become just as essential to this place as the ovens themselves.
She handles orders, inventory, staffing, customer inquiries; everything I used to try to juggle on my own until I was one minor inconvenience away from a full breakdown.
Which means now, I just get to do what I do best.
Bake.
Well… mostly, anyway.
The day side of Taylor’s Treats runs like a proper storefront with customers in and out, display cases filled, a steady hum of business that still makes something in my chest swell every time I step back and take it in.
And at night, the other half of the dream kicks in.
Northern Flame’s dessert menu is all mine with my vision feeding into Alex’s. Our individual businesses are still very much their own things, but connected and deeply intertwined.
Just like we are.
“Okay,” Kara says, snapping her fingers as she examines our detailed agenda on her phone.
“We’ve got three custom pickups before noon, a last-minute cupcake order for some kind of corporate thing, and…
” She pauses, squinting at the screen, “Gladys asked if we could recreate her dog in cake form again.”
I freeze mid-reach for a mixing bowl. “No.”
“That’s what I’m saying,” she replies immediately with a laugh. “I’ll just tell her we respect animals too much for that, and that one time was more than enough.”
I snort. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
She sets her coffee down and hops up onto the counter like she used to in my old apartment, completely ignoring the very professional, very real business we’re standing in.
Some things never change.
I work steadily through the familiar motions of preparing the shop for customers. The peaceful stillness before opening is still my favorite part of the day.
It feels like endless possibility.
Like anything in the world could happen.
The bell over the door chimes again.
Neither of us looks up right away.
“Signs not flipped,” Kara calls out automatically. “We’re not open for another—”
“Relax,” a deep, familiar voice cuts in.
My whole body stills, half inside one of the display cases, while rotating the macarons for maximum freshness.
Kara’s head snaps toward the front with a smirk. “Oh, look. The other half of your personality just walked in.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t stop the smile that pulls at my mouth as I turn.
Alex stands just inside the door, unfastening the buttons on his sleeves and carefully rolling them up to his elbows in neat creases. I try not to stare as his forearms flex with the movement.
His gaze finds mine immediately and everything else fades a little at the edges. It’s not the dramatic, overwhelming, knock-the-breath-out-of-you kind of moment like it used to be, but it’s full and familiar, and that just might be even better.
“Hey, pretty girl” he says as he crosses the space between us without a single ounce of hesitation. One hand comes to rest lightly at my waist as he leans in, pressing a quick, easy kiss to my lips.
The butterflies in my stomach kick up like they always do, still, after all this time, because this incredible man is somehow mine.
“Morning,” he murmurs against me.
“Morning.”
And just like that, he pulls back, already reaching for a clean apron like he didn’t just rewire my entire brain with that kiss.
Kara makes a dramatic gagging sound behind us. “Wow. Disgusting. You guys are really leaning hard into the whole domestic bliss thing, huh?”
“You moved in next door by choice.” Alex calls over his shoulder, not breaking his stride toward our shared prep kitchen. I fall into step behind him, looping an arm through Kara’s and dragging her along with us.
“I make sacrifices for this business,” she says solemnly.
“For the record,” I add, grabbing a whisk from the utensil rack as we pass, “you also make yourself at home in my fridge, and I feel like that’s repayment on its own.”
“That’s called community, Taylor!” She shoots back.
Alex huffs out a quiet laugh, stepping up beside me at the counter while I’m silently reading the prep list.
“Where do you want me?” he asks in a low voice.
The timbre sends a shiver down my spine, because that tone is laced with alternative meaning and innuendo. But we have too much to do and too little time, so I don’t take the bait.
Instead, I glance at him, pulling a face before I answer.
“Ganache needs to be redone. It broke yesterday.”
He grimaces at my words. “Who made it?”
I give him a look.
Because he prepped the ganache yesterday morning.
He pauses. “…I’m going to fix it.”
“Good call.”
He takes over the stove, melting chocolate with the kind of intensity that used to intimidate me. Now, it just makes me shake my head. A year and a half ago, I’d never criticize Alex’s technique, but I’m much more confident now than I was back then.
“You’re overheating it,” I say, watching over his shoulder.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m literally not.”
“You literally are, though,” I repeat, reaching over to adjust the heat slightly. “You’re treating it like a reduction. It’s chocolate, not a sauce.”
He glances at me, unimpressed. “I know what it is.”
“Do you?”
Without a word, he dips a spoon into the mixture and holds it out toward me. “Try it.”
“If this is bad, I’m firing you.” I narrow my eyes at him.
“You don’t have that authority.”
“Julian and I can vote you out at any time, buddy.”
His eyes glint with amusement as I take the spoon.
The second the chocolate hits my tongue, my eyes flutter closed and I moan softly at the smooth, rich flavor. Alex’s heated gaze snaps to mine.
“Okay,” I admit reluctantly. “That’s actually really good.”
“I know.” He winks, patting my hip to scoot me away from the stove so he can continue without interruption.
I bump my shoulder lightly into his. “Don’t get cocky, this isn’t the same quality you produced yesterday. Very inconsistent, Alexander Harrington. You’re better than that.”
Kara makes another noise from behind us. “This is unbearable. Truly. I’m surrounded by insufferable talent and sexual tension that somehow still exists even after a year. Gross.”
“There’s no tension,” I say automatically, tucking a stray curl behind my ear. Alex raises a brow, glancing at me and heat immediately creeps up my neck.
“…okay, maybe a little,” I amend.
“Unreal,” Kara mutters, hopping down from the counter with another one of her famous eyerolls. “I’m gonna go do actual work while you two flirt over chocolate.”
“You love it,” I call after her. Alex just laughs.
“I tolerate it,” she corrects, disappearing into the front.
After the morning rush of customers, things slow down before lunch. While we focus on delicious desserts, we also offer a coffee bar and simple café items, like mini quiches and artisanal sandwiches.
Kara is at the register, counting back the drawer as a reset before the second half of the shift. It was busier this morning than usual, which is a good problem to have but she had to jump in and help with last minute touches on our last custom cake.
Her pastel bun is tousled with long, wavy strands falling over her glistening forehead. I suggested she take a break before handling the register but she refused. I think doing something familiar gives her brain a chance to relax, so I don’t push it.
The bell above the door chimes as Julian breezes in.
His warm brown eyes narrow on Kara who is completely oblivious to him. Alex gives a quick nod, and I smile in greeting.
“Kara,” he drawls, sliding onto the stool nearest to her.
Her eyes flick up, leveling him with a flat stare while he props his chin on one hand, looking her up and down with genuine appreciation.
“Looking gorgeous, as always.”
If looks could kill, Julian would be six feet under from the daggers Kara is shooting his way. I cover my mouth with a hand to hide my smile.
“Don’t start with me, Julian. I’m not in the mood for your shit. We just got our asses handed to us in here while you were sleeping in.” She folds her arms, glaring.
“What can I say?” His smirk is downright mischievous. “I needed my beauty sleep. I wanted to look my best for you.”
Kara grips the edge of the counter so tightly, her knuckles turn white. Alex lets out a low whistle, watching her square her shoulders like she’s preparing for war.
And knowing her, she probably is.
While my best friend goes toe-to-toe with Alex’s cousin, and the love of my life seeks refuge in the prep kitchen, I pause to take this moment in.
People always talk about the good ol’ days, wishing they knew that they were living the best moments of their lives while they’re happening.
I take a second to commit this mental snapshot to memory, because these are absolutely the best days of my life so far, and I don’t want to look back for a minute, wishing I’d have paid more attention.
I’m living the life I always dreamed of.
And I didn’t have to give up anything to have it.
I didn’t have to shrink myself to fit into Alex’s vision or sacrifice my own dreams to make our relationship work. My best friend escaped her dead-end fate by following me to a new, exciting city to start over.
If anything, my reality is leagues beyond what I ever could have hoped for. The dream expanded, changing when it needed to, and found its place amongst those I love most.
Maybe not everything that feels big is meant to last.
I used to believe that.
Used to think some things or people were just meant to pass through your life—important, meaningful, but temporary.
And maybe that’s true for some things.
But not this.
Alex appears next to me, sliding a hand into my back pocket. His thumb brushes against my hip so instinctively, I doubt he even realizes he’s doing it.
I rest against him, inhaling the scent of his skin, the warmth of his body, the quiet, confident rhythm that is all him. It drifts through me, fills me, threads through my lungs until it feels like I am breathing him into my very soul.
No, things don’t last because they’re easy.
They last because, somehow—despite timing, distance, and everything standing in your path—you find your way back to them anyway.