Epilogue
EZRA
SIX MONTHS LATER
The bookstore is packed. It’s standing room only, with at least two hundred people crammed into a space that is probably meant to hold half that many.
I’m in the back, leaning against the wall with my arms crossed, and I can barely see Scarlett through the crowd.
But I can hear her voice perfectly over the speakers.
Her Forever made all the bestseller lists, and it’s sitting at number one on all of the charts as we speak.
Just listening to her talk brings me happiness. Seven months after meeting her, and her presence still affects me.
The next question comes from the moderator. “I know you probably won’t answer this, but is Jordan based on a real person?”
The crowd laughs, and several heads turn to look at me. I keep my expression neutral and slightly tilt my body so I can see Scarlett. She looks completely in her element as she takes a very long, dramatic pause. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She chuckles.
“Uh-huh, yeah, right. We know the truth. For what it’s worth, Jordan is a keeper,” the moderator says, and everyone agrees. “Love looks good on you.”
A woman next to me whispers loudly to her friend, “That’s her boyfriend who inspired the book.”
I ignore them and keep my eyes on Scarlett. We’ve been traveling to book signings for the past two weeks as part of her tour for Her Forever, and she begged me to join her. I took time off work so I could. This is the final one, and I’m excited to experience New Orleans with my girlfriend.
Scarlett continues to answer questions about her characters, plot points, and what was on her mind while she wrote specific scenes. She’s funny and charming and completely natural with her readers. People hang on to her every word. Hell, so am I.
When the Q&A ends, it’s announced that Scarlett will be signing books and taking pictures with fans. The line forms and wraps around the room like a snake. I settle in, knowing this part is what takes the most time, but I don’t mind. I love watching her shine like the rare gem she is.
She spends time with each person, asking their name, chatting about life and love, and taking photos. Some of them cry. Some of them tell her how much the book meant to them.
One woman explains how Helena’s story helped her heal and gave her hope after she left a bad relationship.
Scarlett hugs her, and I can’t explain the pride that rushes through me.
Every few seconds, Scarlett finds me across the room and flicks her gaze toward me.
Those sexy little smirks are just for me.
Two hours later, the last person gets their book signed. The bookstore staff cleans up, and they thank Scarlett for her time with appreciation. I approach her and love the way she lights up when she sees me.
“Hey, stranger,” she says, holding her arm out so she can slide it around my waist. “Have fun?”
“Always. You were incredible.”
“I’m exhausted. And starving.”
“Let’s get out of here.”
We weave through the bookstore and step out into the warm April evening. The French Quarter is alive with music and people and the smell of fried food from every direction. I take Scarlett’s hand and lead her down Royal Street toward Jackson Square.
My heart won’t slow down.
We walk past restaurants and bars and street performers. A man is playing saxophone on the corner, and I drop several dollars in his case. Scarlett is happily taking everything in, and she has that look on her face like she’s memorizing each moment.
I’m memorizing how her hand feels in mine, along with that beautiful smile on her face.
When we turn onto St. Peter Street, Jackson Square comes into view. The white spires of St. Louis Cathedral rise up against the early evening sky.
“This is beautiful,” Scarlett whispers, stopping to admire the cathedral as I admire her.
We continue toward the center of the square, where there’s a clear space in front of the church. This is it. This is the moment I’ve been planning since the day she came back to Charleston.
I turn to face her and take both of her hands in mine.
“Scar, I need to tell you something.”
“Okay…” Her voice is uncertain, and I can see the question in her eyes.
“When you showed up at my door seven months ago, I thought I knew who I was. I had my studio, my routine, my safe little life where I didn’t have to risk anything or feel too much.
” My voice shakes, but I keep going. “I spent years thinking the only way someone could love me was if I became someone else because no one would ever love me for who I was.”
“Ezra…” Her voice breaks.
“Then you wrote our story. You wrote Jordan, and I saw myself through your eyes for the first time.” My throat tightens, and I have to stop for a second. “You didn’t want me to be different or better. You wanted me exactly as I am without trying to change me.”
Tears are streaming down her face now.
“You gave me the proof I couldn’t argue with.
Right there in black and white. Because of you, I learned I was worth loving.
Thank you for wanting the real me. The version of myself I’d been protecting for years because I didn’t want to get hurt again.
” I blink hard because my own eyes are burning.
“I love you so much it steals my breath away. You make me want to be brave, even when I’m terrified. ”
“I love you,” she whispers.
“I don’t want to wait any longer for our forever,” I say as I let go of her hands and drop to one knee.
She makes this sound that’s between a gasp and a sob.
I look up at her and see tears streaming down her cheeks.
She’s staring at me like I’m her entire world.
I pull the velvet box from my pocket with trembling fingers.
The lid opens with a soft click, and I think about my next words, the ones I’ve been wanting to say for months.