Epilogue
Troy
Three Years Later
I wake to the sound of my cat screaming in my ear and the full, heavy weight of my oversized boyfriend sprawled across me.
“Jesus,” I croak, voice rough with sleep as I blink my eyes open.
Cryptid lets out another sharp, demanding meow right by my head.
“Yeah, yeah, I hear you,” I grumble.
Beside—well, on top of—me, Ashton barely stirs.
He’s dead asleep, his blond hair a mess against the green sheets, one arm slung lazily over my chest like I’m a body pillow he has no intention of giving up.
Sunlight filters in through the half-closed blinds, striping across his bare shoulders, soft and warm.
I try to shift, carefully easing myself out from under him, but he immediately huffs in protest, tightening his hold.
I stifle a laugh. “Seriously?”
He makes a low, annoyed noise, face pressing further into my shoulder.
I lean in and press a kiss to his cheek. “I gotta feed Cryptid. He’s starving. You hear him?”
As if on cue, Cryptid lets out another dramatic wail.
Ashton groans, finally loosening his grip just enough to let me slip free. “Make coffee while you’re up.”
I grin, already swinging my legs off the bed. “Anything for you, Prince Charming.”
Behind me, I hear the soft thump of movement. I glance back just in time to see Cryptid making his way down the little wooden ramp leading to the bed, his steps slow and careful, joints stiff.
My chest tightens a little, like it always does.
Not long after I moved in, Ashton built that ramp with his own two hands when he noticed Cryptid struggling to jump up. I hadn’t even said anything about it. He just saw the problem, and fixed it.
That’s the kind of person he is.
I shake the thought off with a soft smile and head into the kitchen, Cryptid trailing behind me with determined little steps.
“Alright, alright,” I mutter, grabbing a can from the cabinet. “You’d think I never feed you.”
I crack the can open and scoop the soft food into his bowl. The moment it hits the dish, he starts digging in like he hasn’t eaten in days. I crouch beside him, running a hand gently down his bony back, feeling the soft rumble of his purr vibrate beneath my palm.
I stay crouched there for a moment, listening to the steady sound of him eating, before pushing back to my feet.
The bitter smell of grounds fills my nose as I scoop them into the filter. I grab the coffee pot, fill it at the sink, and switch on the machine. The familiar gurgle settles something in me as the coffee begins to drip, dark brown and rich.
When it’s finished, I pour two mugs, the steam curling up into the air, and head back toward the bedroom.
Ashton’s still exactly where I left him—sprawled across the bed, half-buried in the blankets, hair even messier now. He squints at me as I walk in, one eye cracking open.
“Coffee?” he rasps.
I nod, pressing the warm mug into his awaiting hands.
He takes it with a soft hum, immediately lifting it to his lips.
I climb back into bed beside him, settling against the headboard. The mattress dips under my weight, and Ashton shifts closer on instinct, his shoulder bumping mine as he takes a slow sip.
I glance over at him. “We’ve got a long day ahead of us.”
“Mm,” he hums, dragging a hand through his wrecked hair. “Barn’s gonna look good.”
“It already does,” I say, nodding toward the window. “Especially with the orchard blooming like that.”
Staring at the blossoms that extend to the horizon, I see the promise of harvest and the long, grueling months of work ahead.
Cherry season always brings a different kind of pressure into Ashton’s life, but over the past couple of years, he’s learned to loosen his grip on the things he can’t control. Therapy’s helped his anxiety more than I ever could’ve imagined—and the new medication too. I couldn’t be prouder of him.
Ashton nods faintly, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “Weather’s on our side too. No rain. That’s a miracle.”
“Don’t jinx it.”
He snorts softly into his mug.
I take another sip, letting the warmth settle in my chest. “You nervous?”
He tilts his head, considering. “A little,” he admits. “We’ve done weddings before, but…” He trails off, shrugging.
“But this one’s different,” I finish.
He nods.
Two summers ago, when Mason Burke was in town visiting his sister, Ashton finally met up with him and explained what happened that day at the farmers market.
He told him it hadn’t been personal—that the way he’d acted had everything to do with his own fear.
Seeing Mason so open, so unapologetically himself with his boyfriend, had caught him off guard.
Not because there was anything wrong with it, but because Ashton hadn’t known how to be that brave yet. And it scared the hell out of him.
Mason told Ashton he understood—more than he probably realized. That there’d been a time, not that long ago, when he would’ve done the same thing. When fear made him sharp around the edges too. They let it go after that. Started over. And they’ve been friends ever since.
And now, Mason wants Ashton to host his wedding.
For some reason, it feels bigger. Not more important than any other wedding we’ve hosted, just… heavier. Like there’s more riding on it. More pressure to get everything exactly right.
When Mason and Hunter first toured the barn, they fell in love with it immediately.
I remember Hunter—who’s a botanist—absolutely lighting up the second he saw the orchard, launching into an excited ramble with Ashton about the cherry trees.
The two of them went back and forth about pollination and plant diseases like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.
Mason didn’t interrupt. Didn’t try to pull him away or smother his sparkle. He just stood there and watched Hunter with this soft, awed kind of smile.
That’s when I knew our venue had already won both their hearts.
I nudge Ashton’s knee with mine. “It’s gonna be a perfect day.”
He glances at me, a flicker of apprehension in his eyes. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I hope so.”
“You’re not alone, Ash,” I remind him gently. “We’ve got you.”
He bites the inside of his cheek. “You’re sure you can step away from Black Cat today? I told you, you don’t have to. I can handle it—”
“Hey,” I cut him off, shaking my head. “For the hundredth time, it’s fine. My crew’s got the brewery covered for one day.” I soften, nudging him again. “And yeah, I know you can handle this on your own. But you don’t have to, baby. I’ve got your back. And so does the entire Tremblay army.”
That earns a real smile. “All four of ’em,” he says, his voice softened with relief. “Even Liv’s coming to town for it.”
All his siblings are grown up now, free to make their own choices. To show up for each other without hesitation. To step out from under the shadow of their parents and into something brighter.
Their own kind of family, built on love and acceptance.
I rest a hand on Ashton’s warm thigh. “Luke’s probably just coming for the free food and because he’s friends with Mason,” I tease.
Ashton huffs a laugh. “That’s true.”
“But still,” I say, softer now. “They’re also showing up for you.”
He goes quiet for a second, looking down at his coffee. “Yeah. They are.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about.” I bump his shoulder with mine. “It’s gonna be a good day.”
He takes another sip, eyes drifting closed for a moment, like he’s holding on to that thought.
“Yeah,” he finally says, lighter this time. “A really good day.”
The barn has transformed into something out of a fairy tale.
Twinkling string lights wrap around the beams overhead, casting everything in a warm, golden haze.
The long tables have been pushed back, leaving space for a makeshift dance floor that’s already packed with Mason and Hunter’s family and friends.
Music hums through the space, low and steady, blending with the sound of voices and clinking glasses.
I lean against one of the support posts for a moment, just taking it all in.
Luke is dancing around with zero coordination, dragging a very drunk, very giddy Mason along with him.
Mason’s laughing so hard he can barely keep up, his crisp black suit already a little rumpled, his floral tie loosened at the collar.
His honey-brown curls brush just below his ears, a few loose ringlets falling across his freckled face.
Across from them, Hunter watches with a soft, glowing smile.
His floral suit is perfectly tailored, clinging to every curve of his body.
His dark hair is slicked back neatly, a delicate yellow flower tucked behind his ear.
Behind his round glasses, his eyes shine with quiet, lovesick adoration as he watches his newly wedded husband, his gap-toothed grin warm and unwavering.
They both look… incredible.
My chest tightens a little.
This is exactly what we wanted to give them.
My gaze drifts past the chaos of the dance floor and lands on Ashton. Being as tall as he is, he’s hard to miss in a crowd—but it’s not just that. It’s him. It’s always him.
He’s standing off to the side, teeth gnawing into his lower lip. Arms crossed loosely, posture a little stiff, eyes scanning the room like he’s still mentally checking off boxes.
I grab a drink from the table and make my way over to him, weaving through the crowd until I’m at his side.
“Hey,” I say, nudging his hip gently.
“Hey.”
I hold out the can. “Drink.”
He eyes it like I’ve just handed him a live grenade. “I can’t,” he says immediately. “I’m working.”
I tilt my head. “Just one sip. Relax.”
He hesitates, then glances down at the can in my hand. Recognition flashes across his face.
“Cherry Moon?” he asks.
I shrug sheepishly. “Figured it was appropriate.”
His expression softens, something warm flickering there. He takes it from me, cracking it open with a quiet hiss before lifting it to his lips. The moment he swallows, some of the tension drains from his shoulders.
We stand there side by side, watching the dance floor.
Luke nearly trips over his own feet, dragging Mason down with him into a fit of laughter while Hunter just shakes his head, smiling.
Nearby, Hunter’s twin brother dances with his girlfriend, the two of them moving easily together.
Across the room, Mason’s little sister spins with her friends, their laughter carrying over the music while their father watches from his seat, his expression soft with quiet adoration.
I glance over at Ashton, the way the light catches in his hair, the quiet focus still lingering in his eyes.
“C’mon,” I say, plucking the cider from his hand and setting it on a nearby table.
He blinks at me. “Huh?”
I shrug, offering him my hand. “Dance with me.”
He lets out a soft laugh, color rising to his cheeks. “Troy…”
“Please, baby,” I urge, squeezing his arm. “You’ve been working all day. One dance isn’t gonna ruin anything.”
He hesitates, chewing on his bottom lip, eyes flicking between me and the crowd.
“C’mon,” I add, softer now. “We’ve gotta practice.”
He raises a brow. “Practice?”
I roll my eyes. “For our own wedding. Duh.”
He huffs like I’m joking—but I’m not.
There’s a small ring box tucked away in my sock drawer, waiting for the right moment. And when it comes, it won’t be half-assed. Not for him.
It’ll be big. Bold. Probably a little unhinged.
A proposal worthy of the way he’s changed my life.
“Alright.” He sighs reluctantly, but his eyes twinkle with delight. “I’ll try not to step on your toes.”
“Thanks, baby.” I tug him forward.
We step onto the edge of the dance floor just as the music shifts to a slow ballad. The crowd adjusts with it, couples turning inward, drawing closer.
Perfect timing.
I pull Ashton in, one hand settling at his waist, the other guiding his arm up around my shoulders.
He goes a little stiff at first, then exhales and melts into me as we begin to sway.
I press a kiss to his hair, holding him a little closer as we drift beneath the lights, the music carrying us gently through the moment.
His head dips, his forehead brushing mine before it comes to rest near my temple. I tighten my hold just a fraction, tracing slow circles along the small of his back.
And as we move together, everything else fades. The laughter, the music, the movement around us—it all blurs into the background until it’s just him.
The warmth of his body.
The steady rhythm of his breathing.
The way his fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt like he needs something to anchor himself.
I pull back just enough to look up at him and—God. He’s beautiful.
A faint flush warms his cheeks, and his hair is soft and tousled from running his hands through it all day. I lift a hand and brush my thumb along his jaw. He leans into the touch without hesitation, his eyes fluttering for just a moment before settling on mine.
“I love you, blondie,” I say, my heart tight with it.
He smiles, the low light catching in the shadows of his dimples. “I love you too.”
I press a soft kiss to Ashton’s cheek, holding him a little closer as we sway. My gaze drifts around the barn, taking in everything he’s built—how he turned a place of abandonment and decay into something warm, alive, and full of love.
Over his shoulder, beyond the wide windows, the orchard stretches into the night. Rows of trees glow pale beneath the moonlight, blossoms trembling softly in the breeze.
In a few weeks, those branches will be heavy with fruit, marking the start of another harvest. Early mornings. Long, sun-soaked days. Late nights spent working the land his family has tended for generations, honoring old traditions while building new ones of our own.
But he won’t be doing it alone.
I tighten my hold just slightly, grounding him against me.
I’ll be right by his side, through every changing season of his life.