EPILOGUE #2
The afternoon blurred into a steady stream of people: neighbors, old classmates, business owners from every corner of town.
They flipped through her lookbooks, signed up for consultations, hugged her like she’d just come home from a war instead of finally stepping into the life she should’ve had all along.
I moved where she needed me—refilling the punch bowl, grabbing extra folding chairs, fixing the loose screw on the bathroom door when it squeaked too loud. Mostly I hovered by the back wall, watching her work the room with that mix of nerves and competence that wrecked me every time.
She glanced over once, across the heads and the sound and the mess, and our eyes met. She grinned—wide and real—and the whole damn studio sharpened around her.
My woman.
My mind wandered to the ring that was waiting for her at home. I didn’t want our engagement to overshadow her big day, so it could wait, but I was crawling out of my skin. I couldn’t wait to ask her to marry me. To make her officially mine.
Eventually, the tide started to ebb.
Elodie rounded up Cal and Levi, herding them toward the door.
“Come on, you two,” she said. “If we don’t leave now, I’m going to start reorganizing her supply closet, and then none of us will make it out alive.”
Levi dragged his feet, eyes still on the mirror. “Can I drive?” he asked Cal hopefully.
“Sure can, kid,” Cal said, digging out his keys and tossing them to his son.
Austin tucked a sleepy Winnie against his chest while Selene hugged her sisters.
“Say bye to Aunt Clara,” Selene murmured.
Winnie lifted her head, hair sticking up, and waved a floppy hand. “Bye, Aunt Clara. Your princess house is the best.”
“Thanks, bug,” Clara said, kissing her forehead. “Come visit me and boss me around soon, okay?”
Kit and Brody were last, of course. She shrugged into a denim jacket; he held the door open with his hip, already mid–eye roll.
“I’m not watching anything with dolls,” Kit said. “Or clowns. Or creepy children.”
“So . . . none of the classics,” Brody said. “Got it.”
“Stop trying to trick me into having nightmares,” she shot back. “We’re getting Thai, and we’re watching something with absolutely zero murder.”
He shook his head like he was annoyed, but I saw how he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Seemed like I wasn’t the only one who was going to have the sorry dude, I kind of fell for your sister talk with Hayes.
“Lock the door behind us!” Kit called over her shoulder, adding an incredibly unsubtle eyebrow wiggle in Clara’s direction.
The bell jingled as the door shut. Then it was quiet.
We both exhaled. Balloons bobbed gently near the ceiling. The last of the flowers sat in mismatched vases on every surface. The playlist had looped into something soft and slow.
Clara stood in the middle of it all, barefoot now, heels kicked off under the counter, her dress a little wrinkled, lipstick worn down to a soft stain. She turned in a slow circle, taking it in like she couldn’t quite believe it was real.
“Hey,” I said, coming to stand beside her.
She looked up at me, eyes tired and shining and completely, utterly happy.
“Hey,” she answered.
Clara flipped the little sign on the door to CLOSED and turned the dead bolt with a soft click.
The studio fell quieter in that way spaces do when they’re suddenly meant only for two. The overhead lights were off, just the front lamp and the fairy lights along the back wall glowed, bouncing off the mirror Brody had delivered.
She moved through the room on bare feet, doing one last pointless lap—straightening a hanger on the garment rack, nudging a frame a millimeter to the left, fingertips brushing over the new hardwood where that crime-scene green carpet used to be.
Her hair was down now, swinging against her shoulders, her dress doing things to my brain I still wasn’t fully equipped to handle.
I leaned back against the custom counter I’d built, hands braced on the edge, and watched her with that slow, hungry warmth I still couldn’t quite believe I was allowed to feel.
“You did it,” I said, because there wasn’t a better sentence in the world for this moment. “You did all of this.”
She looked over, eyes catching the light, and the smile that spread across her face hit me dead center.
“We did it,” she corrected, crossing the floor. She stepped between my knees like she’d been built for that space, arms looping around my neck. “You built half this place, after all.”
I caught her wrist, turned it, and pressed my mouth to the inside, right over the flutter of her pulse. “You’re the one who decided what to grow from it,” I murmured. “I just brought the tools.”
Her breath hitched.
Then she was closer, all soft curves and quiet strength, nudging me back against the counter. My hands slid up from her waist, palms finding warm skin. She shivered, a little full-body tremor that had nothing to do with the faint draft under the door.
“Hi,” she whispered.
“Hi,” I answered, and kissed her.
Our kiss was slow at first—no rush, no edge. Just the easy slide of her mouth on mine, the familiar tease of her tongue, the way her fingers tightened in the hair at the back of my neck like she never intended to let go again.
I broke away just enough to breathe, forehead resting against hers, trying to get my heartbeat to level.
For so long, my life had felt stuck in one long winter. Numb. Gray. Every part of me frozen in place, convinced that wanting anything more was just an invitation for the next storm to rip it away.
As it turned out, I hadn’t been broken at all.
Just buried.
Clara brushed her nose against mine, smiling like she could feel the thought. “You’re looking at me like you’re having dirty thoughts,” she teased.
“Oh, I am,” I said. My hands slid lower, fingers tightening at the curve of her ass, pulling her flush against me so she could feel exactly what kind of mood I was in. “Starting with you on this counter.”
Her laugh spilled out, warm and breathless. “Bold design choice, Vaughn. How mad do you think my landlord would be if we christened the studio before my first official client?”
I kissed the corner of her mouth. “Depends,” I said. “What did you have in mind?”
She arched a brow, eyes going dark. “I was thinking we start with that counter you’re so proud of and see if it survives quality control.”
The sound that came out of me was half groan, half prayer.
I gripped her hips, dragging her even closer, my voice dropping to the place that always made her breath catch. “I was thinking the same thing,” I said. “Only this time, Duchess, I’m going to teach you a thing or two.”
Heat flashed across her face, down her throat.
She reached past me, fingers finding the switch on the standing lamp, and flicked it off.
The studio dipped into a softer darkness, lit only by the streetlamp outside and the fairy lights stretching across the ceiling, casting us in a warm, secret glow.
“In that case,” she murmured, hands already bunching in the hem of my shirt, “you better hope your craftsmanship is as good as you think, because I fully intend to test every inch of this counter.”
“Yeah?” My voice scraped out, desperate for her.
“Mm-hmm.” She tugged my shirt up, knuckles skimming my skin, and smiled that wicked little smile that had fueled far too many late-night fantasies when we’d still been dancing around each other. “Show me all the ways you can use me up.”
I caught her mouth with mine before she could say anything else that might actually kill me.
Her back met the edge of the counter, hips fitting into my hands like they’d been made for it. She hooked a leg around my waist, dragging me in, kissing me deeper, harder, like this was the only language we were ever meant to speak.
I wasn’t thinking about anything but her. My body was just my body—strong and steady and exactly where I wanted to be.
Exactly where I chose to be.
Her fingers slid up my spine, nails grazing my skin, and she sighed into my mouth, that soft, wrecked sound I’d do anything to keep earning for the rest of my life.
I smiled against her lips, dizzy with it all—the studio, the fairy lights, the woman in my arms who’d walked away instead of letting me drown, then let me earn my way back.
My woman.
My future.
My second chance, standing here in a place we’d built together.
“Clara,” I whispered, just to taste her name.
She looked up at me, eyes shining, and that was it. That was the moment I knew there wasn’t a damn thing left of the man who’d chosen fear over her.
“I love you,” I said, simple and sure, like a fact. Like gravity.
Her fingers curled in my shirt, tugging me down into another kiss that left no room for doubt.
“Good,” she breathed against my mouth. “Because I love you too.”
I laughed, low and stunned and completely gone, and kissed her back while the town I loved hummed outside and wrapped around us like a promise.
I had thought the accident stole any chance I had for happiness, so I’d turned cold. Turns out, beneath the frost, a whole new, incredible life had been quietly getting ready to grow.
Clara had been there the whole time—waiting.
And this time, I wasn’t going to waste a single second of it.