Epilogue Eden
Eden
Foster takes my hand and leads me into the house, his grip a little tighter than usual.
I can feel the slight tremor in his fingers, and worry starts to fester.
He’s off. He’s not being distant, just different, and that worries me.
It’s almost as if he’s bracing for something.
I wait for him to ask how the interview went, wait for the normal rhythm between us to settle in, but he doesn’t say a word.
The foyer is dark when we step inside, shadows pooling in the corners, but the air is thick with a warm vanilla scent that wraps around me like a blanket. It’s comforting and unfamiliar all at once.
“Are you baking something?” I ask, mostly because I need to break the silence, as my chest feels too tight.
He chuckles softly, though it sounds a little strained. “No, baby, I’m not baking.” He slows, then stops completely, turning me toward him. I can’t name his expression in the low light, but I can feel his focus on me. “Can you close your eyes for me?”
My stomach flips. “Foster, what’s going on?”
“Please?” he says, and there’s something raw in that single word that makes my heart stumble.
I nod. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do for him, and whatever this is, it matters. I close my eyes, my lashes brushing my cheeks just as I feel him move behind me. His hand gently covers my eyes, warm and familiar.
“No peeking,” he rasps, his breath close to my ear, while his other arm slips around my waist. He guides me forward, our steps awkward and careful, until he murmurs, “Stop here.”
I obey, my senses sharpening in the darkness.
His lips press softly to my neck, sending a shiver down my spine, and then he’s gone.
The loss of his touch is immediate and startling.
My pulse pounds as the air shifts around me, as if the room itself is holding its breath.
This moment feels heavy. It feels important in a way I can’t explain.
That’s when realization washes over me. He’s nervous.
I just don’t know why.
“Open for me,” he rasps, and his voice is lower now, closer to the floor than my ear.
I open my eyes.
Foster is kneeling in front of me, one knee pressed into the hardwood, his shoulders squared like he’s holding himself together by sheer force of will.
He takes my hands in his, thumbs brushing over my knuckles, grounding us both to this moment.
My eyes well with tears, because I’m pretty sure I know what this is.
He offers me a shaky smile, his eyes glistening with emotion.
“I love you, Eden.”
“I love you, too,” I reply, my voice cracking.
“I want every day of forever with you. I want to share my life, from the small things to the larger, important moments. I want to fill this house, our home, with love and laughter. I want to make babies with you, and… fuck, baby, I want it all. I want you. I want us.” He pauses, takes a deep breath, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out the most beautiful emerald cut diamond—the biggest I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Be mine, baby. When you’re wearing my jersey, I want it to be our name.
Build a life with me, a family of our own. ”
A sob falls from my chest, but I’m smiling so hard, I fear my face might crack.
“Eden, love of my life, will you do me the incredible honor of being my wife? Marry me, baby? Spend forever with me.”
I nod. I try to answer, but the lump in the back of my throat is too large. My hand trembles as he holds the ring close to my ring finger.
“Need your words, Eden,” he rasps.
I know what this moment is for him. He’s risking the rejection that held him hostage for years to ask me to be his.
I swallow hard and nod again, but this time, my words, although gravelly, fill the air around us.
“Yes, Foster Vaughn. I’ll marry you. I want that, all of it, so much. I love you,” I cry.
He slides the ring onto my finger, stands, and his lips crash with mine. I lose track of time, of everything but this moment.
Us.
When he finally pulls back, he’s breathing heavily. “Eden Vaughn,” he murmurs, and my damn heart squeezes so hard, I fear it might explode inside my chest.
“I love the sound of that,” I tell him.
“Me too, baby. Me too.” He steps back, and I lift my hand to look at my ring, and slowly, the world around us comes back into focus. I see the candles and the roses, and I fall in love with him all over again.
“Explains the smell.” I smile.
He chuckles. “Vanilla is your favorite,” he says, letting me know he listens.
“You’re my favorite.”
“I’ll take that,” he says, wrapping his arms around my waist and pulling my chest to his. “How was the interview?” he asks.
I smile. “You’re looking at the new director of activities for the Nashville Children’s Home.”
“Fuck yes! I knew it. I knew you would get it. Eden, I’m so proud of you.”
“Thank you. Thank you for giving me the strength to try something new, for giving me the ability to reach for a career I can be proud of.”
He shrugs. “I just love you, babe. The rest is all you.”
I lean into him, breathing in vanilla and home and all the quiet promises we’ve kept. “You didn’t just love me,” I say softly. “You believed in me when I forgot how.”
He tilts my chin up, forehead resting against mine. “I’ll always believe in you.”
And I know he means it, because here we are. Because I’m standing in a life I chose, with a man who chose me back. The future hums between us, warm and steady, and for the first time, I’m not afraid of it or what happens next. I know that no matter what it is, this man will be by my side.
I wrap my arms around his neck. “Whatever comes next,” I say, smiling, “we’ll do it together.”
He kisses me slowly. This is our moment. Wrapped in vanilla and love and the simple truth of us, knowing we are exactly where we are meant to be.