Epilogue
Jami
Banff, Alberta
Pickleball competition
The gym hums with noise, the sharp crack of the ball, sneakers squealing on the floor, the low roar of people who care way more about pickleball than they’re willing to admit. I bounce lightly on my toes beside Brody, paddle loose in my hand, heart steady.
“You ready?” he asks.
I grin at him. “Born ready. Just try to keep up, lumber-snack.”
He snorts, and just like that, my nerves settle. I always play better when he makes me laugh.
The whistle blows and the first rally is fast and unforgiving.
Hands at the kitchen line, quick reactions, no room for hesitation.
I slide left, right, fire a cross-court dink that lands exactly where I want it.
The cheer from the bleachers makes my chest buzz.
I steal a glance and find half of Churchill Falls watching.
I still can’t understand why they all insisted on flying here.
Brody follows it up with a wicked drive down the line, and I bump his shoulder as we reset.
“Unstoppable,” I tell him.
We move like we’ve been doing this forever. He covers the middle without even looking at me. I read his body language, know when to cut in and when to let him take the smash. When I lob, he finishes it. When he’s pulled wide, I’m already there, paddle flashing, saving the point.
We take the first game and I throw my arms in the air, laughing like an idiot.
Then the other team gets smart. They slow the pace, drag us into longer rallies, aim low at my feet until my legs start to burn. I clip the net on a dink I should’ve made. Brody sends one just long. The second game slips away, point by point, and I hate how fast momentum can turn.
“Still with me?” he asks as we switch sides.
I nod, swallowing hard. “Always.”
The third game is everything—tight, brutal, every rally a test. Sweat stings my eyes. My ponytail comes loose. The crowd leans in, and I can feel the weight of every point pressing against my ribs.
Match point.
The ball comes fast and low. I stretch, barely get my paddle under it. It pops up just enough. Brody dives, reaches.
Misses.
The ball lands on the line.
For a heartbeat, the gym is silent. Then applause rolls over us anyway. I bend over, hands on my knees, lungs burning, then straighten and look at him.
“Well,” I say, forcing a smile. “That was fun.”
He laughs and holds out his hand. “That’s what it’s all about.”
I take it, squeeze his fingers. “We almost had them.”
“Yeah,” he says. “Almost.”
We walk off the court together, paddles tucked under our arms, sweat-soaked and smiling despite ourselves. Someone presses water into my hand. Someone claps Brody on the back. Life doesn’t stop just because we lost a game.
“I’m sorry I missed that last one,” I say.
He stops, turns to face me. “Hey.” He lifts my chin gently. “We didn’t lose.”
I blink. “Pretty sure the scoreboard disagrees.”
He smiles easily. “Scoreboards don’t measure the important stuff.”
Something in my chest loosens. He’s right about that.
Family. Community. Home. That’s the important stuff, and the fact that my clothing line is a hit, with other teams asking about getting their own logos is the icing on the cake.
I lean in and kiss his cheek, right there in the middle of the gym.
The crowd whoops like we just won the championship.
“Why did our entire town decide to come again?”
“Because of this.” He pulls me gently toward the edge of the court where the crowd has started to thin. His eyes are different—serious, intense, and soft all at once. My heart starts to hammer.
“Brody…?” I ask, unease and excitement twisting together.
He drops to one knee. My stomach does a somersault, and for a moment I can’t breathe. “Breathe, Jami.”
“Okay.”
I still don’t breathe.
“Jami Grant,” he says, voice steady but shaking just enough to make my chest ache. “I’ve chased you across towns, across doubts, across every obstacle life could throw at us. I don’t want another day without you by my side. I want every game, every victory, every mess, every laugh—with you.”
He opens a small velvet box. The ring catches the light from the gym, sparkling brighter than anything else around us.
“Will you marry me?”
Tears prick my eyes before I even realize it. I laugh, a shaky, happy sound, and tears spill down my face. “Yes!” I blurt, stepping closer, letting him slip the ring onto my finger. “Yes, Brody! Yes!”
He stands, pulls me into his arms, and we spin, laughing, breathless, surrounded by the fading echoes of our friends’ cheers from the game. Losing the match feels meaningless now—because this, this moment, is ours. We win at life.
“I think we just won the biggest game yet,” he murmurs into my hair.
I lift my head and smile through tears. “Yeah… and we’re on the same team forever.”
………
Thank you so much for reading, BIG DILL in my Pickleball Small Town Romance series.