Epilogue
Georgie
No professional athlete looks comfortable climbing out of a minivan, but as awkward as it looks for Lucas and Coop, it is so much worse for Bruce Fischer.
He’s the largest man I’ve ever seen in real life, not height-wise, but in sheer muscle.
He looks like he could be lifting buddies with The Rock and John Cena.
Yet here he is, practically unfolding himself from the back seat of the minivan Scottie drove from the airport to Alma and Julio’s place in Mullet Ridge.
“Who is the silver fox?” Liv asks me. I wrap my hands around the to-go cup I have waiting for Scottie, borrowing the warmth before I give it to her.
“That’s Logan’s dad.”
“Dang, girl. Your man is going to age very well.”
I smile. “I know. Is it bad that that makes me excited to grow old with him?”
“Not remotely,” she says. Then her eyes widen. “And who’s the brooding bad boy?” she asks, looking at Jake in a way that makes me elbow her.
“Whoa, I didn’t know you had a thing for bad boys.”
“Olivia did. Liv does not.”
“Well, Jake’s actually a great guy, although I think he may be the last one to know it.”
Scottie and Liesel were in the front seats, and they both walk over to me. Scottie starts jogging when she sees the to-go cup in my hands.
“Is that for me?”
“It is,” I say, handing it to her.
“You are my favorite person in the whole world,” she says, hugging me.
“She says that like she didn’t stop at Meant to Bean on the way here,” Liesel says, and Scottie doesn’t deny it.
“That was my travel latte,” Scottie says, even though Alma and Julio’s place is only ten minutes from Meant to Bean. She must have chugged it to be done already. “This is my lunch latte. Try to keep up.”
Liesel smirks and gives me a hug, too.
“Liesel, Scottie, this is my dear friend, Liv,” I say. “Liv, this is Liesel, Logan’s sister, and Scottie, his twin brother’s girlfriend.”
They both shake her hand, but Scottie holds it for a beat, adjusting her tortoiseshell glasses. “Have you always had bangs? They look amazing on you. Very Ella Langley.”
“Oh, thanks,” Liv says, touching her hair. “And, no. Maybe six months? I don’t know. It was one of those ‘I need a life change and bangs are cheaper than therapy’ moments. But also I started therapy.”
We all laugh.
“I like your style, Liv,” Scottie says. “Is that short for Olivia?”
Liv nods. “Yeah. Is Scottie short for something?”
“Prescott. And yes, my parents are … those kind of people.”
Liv and Liesel snort, and I look between them all. “I don’t get it.”
Scottie smiles. “My brothers’ names are Dallas and Hudson.”
“Okay?”
“We’re all named after cities that my parents visited. For romantic getaways.”
“Oh! Got it,” I say, laughing through the fire burning my face. “Sorry. I’m a little slow.”
“You’re not slow,” Liv, Liesel, and Scottie all say.
“You’re sweet,” Liv says with a smile.
“That feels like the same thing,” I say wryly.
“It isn’t,” they say in unison.
Scottie’s gaze lingers on Liv, like she’s trying to place her, but before she can, Bruce Fischer is waiting behind his daughter.
“Out of the way, girls,” he says with a smile. Then he pulls me into a big bear hug. “There she is,” he says, squeezing me.
It’s easy to assume that being hugged by Bruce Fischer would make a person feel small, but it’s the opposite: His hugs make you feel important and cared for and always—always—protected. Every time he hugs me, I think this is how dads are supposed to make their daughters feel.
We watched the entire World Series together, along with Liesel and Scottie. Bruce wasn’t allowed to officiate, for obvious reasons, and he said he liked getting to watch the game as a dad a lot more than he did as an ump.
And even though it’s crazy, I got the feeling he was including me in that statement.
And I let myself believe it.
I squeeze him back, because it feels so good to be hugged by someone who so obviously loves me.
“I’m glad you made it, Mr. Fischer,” I say. “Thank you so much for coming.”
“We’ve been over this, Georgie. It’s Bruce,” he says. “Or Dad, if you want to get a head start.”
“I prefer Papa Fisch,” Coop says, coming around to give me a hug. His nose has a bump in it now, but that’s the only indication of the concussion that made him sit out the first three games of the World Series. Sadly, the Firebirds couldn’t quite rally without him. They lost in game seven.
None of us has quite recovered.
Especially Jake, whom Scottie asked to invite, on account of her parents being on a cruise and her brothers being with their significant others for the holiday.
He gives me a quick hug, shakes Liv’s hand without looking up, and walks through the backyard gate.
Jake doesn’t have any other family to speak of, and when Alma heard, she insisted he come.
She really is the best.
Logan’s family has been so lovely—including his extended family: aunts, uncles, and cousins who invited me to a family game night when I was staying with Scottie throughout the World Series.
They instantly treated me like I was one of their own.
It was sweet and a storybook kind of wonderful, but it also made me realize something.
I missed Alma.
Being folded so seamlessly into another person’s family, it struck me how much I’ve held her love for me at arm’s length—keeping her and her family at a safe distance, excluding myself even when I was included, only participating when she insisted, not accepting that I never needed an invitation at all.
As hard as it is for me to believe I’m wanted, I think it’s a million times harder for Liv. But Alma and I are making it hard for her to deny it.
We guide everyone into Alma’s backyard, which is still decorated from Ava’s quince in the most beautiful autumn colors, with its jeweled pumpkins, hay bales, and string lights. It’s perfect for an outdoor Thanksgiving—complete with the industrial warmers.
Logan has been helping Alma and Julio’s sons deep-fry the turkeys, but when he sees his family come around the corner, he bounds over and gives one hug after the other. Even Jake pats him on the back. The two start talking, and they look like they’re getting deep fast.
“We’ll get ’em next year,” Logan says to Jake in a quiet voice. I only hear them because I’m setting the table six feet away. “We’re not going down like that again.”
“I should have been enough to carry the team without Coop,” Jake grumbles.
“That’s not how teams work. You’re one of the best players in baseball, man. You’re already basically a lock for the Hall of Fame.”
“If there’s a Hall of Fame left to make,” Jake mutters. “Bruce says the new collective bargaining fight is gonna be ugly. Might not even have a normal season next year.”
“Sufficient unto the day, man,” Logan says, and Jake snorts.
“Using my own words against me? You suck,” Jake says, but he seems lighter.
I walk to the far end of the table and miss whatever else they’re saying, but I can’t help looking up to catch Logan’s eye. I smile at him, and his eyes crinkle back at me.
I’m so thankful for a boyfriend who builds people up and invests in relationships, a boyfriend who cares about people.
He can quote Robert Frost and Twilight in the same breath and has unironically watched two seasons of Gilmore Girls with me while we’ve packed up my apartment and another while I’ve made him sample every variation of drink for the stadium.
He really is a dream man.
After I finish setting the last of the utensils, I join Liv and Alma and Julio at the food table, where Alma is staring openly at Bruce.
“Who is that action hero?”
Oh my lanta, Alma is blushing.
Julio elbows his wife, and he starts teasing her in Spanish about her crush, reminding her that this man isn’t the Terminator and she needs to close her mouth because she’s letting flies in, and she insists she doesn’t have a crush and he’s being foolish, and he’s asking why she’s sweating …
Yeah, I understand every word.
“That’s Logan’s dad,” I tell Alma.
“He should marry Marta,” Alma says, speaking of one of her daughters.
“Marta is married,” Julio says.
“So? Ernesto is weak. That is a real man.”
“You just want access to the eye candy,” Liv says with a snort.
Julio and I both laugh. After a few more minutes, Alma’s children and grandchildren arrive, and then we’re sitting, saying grace, and eating.
“How did your meeting with Jane & Co go yesterday?” Scottie asks from across from me as we dish up. “Are you still on track for a January third launch?”
“Yes, still on track. I’ll have you well-caffeinated again in no time,” I say. “And the meeting was good. I love the new Meant to Bean logo, and they have a solid marketing plan for our stadium rollout next spring.”
It was a hard decision, but I’ll be leaving Meant to Bean in Alma’s and Liv’s capable hands.
And Nicolette has offered to consult, as needed.
She was horrified when she found out that our parents weren’t forthcoming about my inheritance.
She’s still talking to them, but she told them in no uncertain terms that she was on my side.
I know, because it’s the last text in our family thread before I blocked my dad and Marlowe.
“You have been such a good sister to me,” she told me tearfully when we met up for coffee a few days after she found out.
“But I wasn’t a good one to you. I ignored the way my mom treated you and let you become a second-class citizen in our own family,” she said.
“I’m sorry, Georgie. I don’t want to lose you because of what our parents did to you.
What my mom did to you. I will never forgive myself if I lose you.
Lulabelle will definitely never forgive me. ”
“Never,” I said, holding my sister close. And then there was a lot more crying.
Liesel is going to let me take over her lease when I move to Chicago after the holidays—she and Coop are getting married next weekend—but Logan’s already hinting that he’s happy to follow in their footsteps whenever I am.
I’m not there yet, partly because our relationship is still new and partly because I have a lifetime of holding back. But if I let myself—
He grabs my hand under the table, and my stomach swoops as much as it did the first time.
If I let myself, I could marry this man tomorrow.
As dinner continues, the cold wind stirs around us, sending the red and brown leaves swirling where Logan and I danced all those weeks ago. The warmers keep most of the chill away, and Logan’s presence next to me takes care of the rest.
Across the table, Jake takes off his sunglasses and finally looks around, his eyes roaming around the table.
When they stop on Liv, I watch him blink and crane his neck forward, like he’s getting a closer look.
He leans over to Scottie, who glances at Liv, and then the two talk in hushed tones for maybe twenty or thirty seconds.
Do they know Liv somehow? Or is Jake interested in her?
I don’t know him well enough to have opinions about the latter possibility, but I know he’s been a surprisingly good friend to Logan and Lucas. He talks a big game, but he has an even bigger heart. Anyone who wants to get close to Liv will have an uphill battle ahead of him, though.
Jake excuses himself after he finishes his plate, and he does Scottie proud by thanking Alma and Julio for dinner. As he walks away from the table, his eyes catch on Liv one more time. And this time, hers lift to his.
He looks away quickly, but she cocks her head, watching him.
Scottie watches him, too.
I wonder what all that’s about.
When dinner is cleared and dessert is served, Logan and I lean back together and take in the perfect evening.
The string lights from the quince are glowing now against a colder, darker sky than the one they were hung for.
We watch as Logan’s family and friends joke and mine laugh—and they are my family.
Not by blood or by law, but by service and sacrifice.
Alma and Julio, Liv, Logan and his family—these are people who have already proven to me that I matter.
They don’t have to say it, although they do.
But they show it. They make it safe for me to wish and want. They make it possible for me to dream.
Logan dreams with me.
“So, after Chicago, what city is Meant to Bean going to take over next?” he asks, his arm around my shoulders. “Maybe Boston? ‘Meant to Beantown’ has a good ring to it.”
“It really does,” I say, cozying into the crook of his arm. “Ask me again once phase one’s actually done. I’ll let myself dream about Boston after I’ve survived Chicago.”
“For now,” he concedes with a kiss to my temple, which makes me love him even more. “But I have big dreams for you, Georgie.”
“I have big dreams for us, Logan.”
“Mine are bigger.”
I smile and let him pull me closer. “Ha. Dream on.”
He threads our hands together—his right and my left—and his fingers tickle my ring finger. Then he puts his lips to my ear and whispers in a way that makes my spine turn to jelly. “I will.”
I angle my face up to kiss him, and his promise lingers in the air around us, warming me, comforting me, convincing me …
That some promises are worth believing.
Some dreams really do come true.
Wonder what books Logan and Georgie will read to their babies one day? Check out this exclusive bonus scene to find out!
And read on for a BONUS EPILOGUE featuring everyone’s favorite reforming bad boy, Jake!