Epilogue One #2
“You see me, Audrey. The anxious, overthinking, socially disastrous mess that I am. The man I am when the world is on the other side of the door and it’s just you and me.
You accept all my different parts, and you love me anyway.
That’s—” I have to stop, swallow hard. “That’s the most extraordinary thing that’s ever happened to me. ”
“You’re going to make me ugly cry in front of everyone.”
“I’ll cry with you. We can be ugly together.” I open the box. The ring catches the light—a simple band, a princess-cut diamond, chosen after hours and hours of research and one very patient jeweler. “Dr. Audrey Greene, will you marry me?”
She’s already nodding before I finish the question, tears streaming down her face. “Yes. Yes, obviously yes, you ridiculous man—”
I slide the ring onto her finger, and then I’m standing and she’s in my arms and the deck explodes with cheers. Michaela is yelling, “I CALLED IT!” at maximum volume. Someone—probably Dominic—wolf-whistles. Audrey’s brothers are pounding on the railing like it’s a drum.
And then her lips are on mine, and nothing else matters.
“I love you,” she whispers against my mouth.
“I love you too.” I pull back to look at her, this woman who rewrote my entire existence. “Thank you for saying yes.”
“Thank you for asking.” She’s laughing and crying at the same time, clutching my shirt like she’s afraid I’ll disappear. “Even without the bullet points.”
“I can still show you the bullet points. I have them saved—”
She kisses me again, which is becoming her preferred method of shutting me up. I’m very OK with this.
After twenty minutes filled with congratulations, photos, and social media announcements, Audrey’s brothers announce that the fireworks are ready.
We all gather around and watch the chaotic, beautiful display that Mike orchestrates with surprising competence, while Tony provides color commentary and Chris keeps running back to refill the cooler.
Audrey is tucked against my side, her left hand catching the light every time a new burst illuminates the sky.
We’re surrounded by our people—Layla crying happy tears into Bennett’s shoulder, Serena and Caleb slow-dancing even though there’s no music, David watching Michaela wave her finally lit sparkler with the fond exhaustion of single fatherhood.
It’s perfect. It’s everything I never knew I wanted.
Which is, of course, when my parents appear.
I spot them first—two figures walking up from the driveway, their postures unmistakable even in the dim light.
My mother’s careful stride. My father’s rigid shoulders.
They’re dressed like they’re attending a board meeting, not a Fourth of July party, and they stop at the edge of the deck like they’re not sure they’re allowed to come closer.
Audrey feels me tense. “What is it?”
“My parents.”
She follows my gaze, and I feel her hand tighten on mine. “Do you want me to—”
“No. Stay.” I press a kiss to her temple. “I’ll handle it.”
I walk toward them, aware that the group has noticed, that conversations are trailing off. Dominic moves slightly closer, preparing to intervene. David’s expression has gone carefully neutral.
My mother speaks first. “Logan. We heard about the engagement.”
“News travels fast.”
“We live in the age of social media. Dominic posted pictures of the party, and Audrey, well. We saw the ring, and we thought—” She stops, uncharacteristically uncertain. “We wanted to offer our congratulations. In person.”
My father clears his throat. “What your mother is trying to say is that we’d like to make amends. The dinner—the things that were said—” He looks like the words are costing him something. “We could have handled it better.”
A year ago, this would have undone me. I would have fallen over myself to accept their olive branch, desperate for any scrap of approval. I would have convinced myself that this was enough, that I should be grateful, that family means forgiving everything, no matter the cost.
But I’m not that person anymore.
“I appreciate you coming,” I say, and I’m surprised to find that I mean it. “And I appreciate the effort. I do.”
My mother’s face brightens. “Then you’ll—”
“But I hope you’ll forgive me for not immediately rushing in with declarations of reconciliation.” I keep my voice steady. Kind but firm. “Too much has happened for too long. The way you’ve treated me—the way you treated Audrey—that doesn’t disappear because you showed up to a party.”
My father’s jaw tightens. My mother’s smile falters.
“If you genuinely want to rebuild something, I’m open to that.
But it’s going to take time. Real time, with real effort, not just a single conversation when it’s convenient for you.
” I take a breath. “You’re welcome to stay for the fireworks.
Have some food, meet Audrey’s family. But for tonight, I’d like to spend time with my fiancée. We can talk more later.”
The silence stretches. I wait for the explosion—the cold dismissal, the wounded retreat, the cutting remark that lets me know I’ve overstepped.
Instead, my mother nods slowly. “That’s... fair.”
My father looks like he wants to argue, but something in my expression must stop him. “We’ll stay for a bit. If that’s acceptable.”
“It is.”
I turn and walk back to Audrey, who’s watching me with an expression somewhere between pride and concern. When I reach her, she takes my hand and squeezes.
“You OK?”
“Yeah.” I’m surprised to find it’s true. “I think I am.”
“That was very mature of you.”
“Don’t get used to it.” I attempt to deflect with a crooked smile, though I know she sees right through me. She always does.
She tucks her hand through my arm, nestling in like we’ve been built to fit this way forever. “I like you this way.”
“Emotionally self-actualized?”
“I like it when you’re bold—alpha Logan.” I laugh, but the look she gives me is sly, proud, and charged with the private language that’s just ours. “Defiant is a good color on you.”
Over her shoulder, I can see my parents awkwardly accepting drinks from Tony, who’s launched into what appears to be an enthusiastic explanation of firework safety protocols. They look uncomfortable. Out of place. But they’re trying.
Maybe that’s enough for now. Maybe it’s the start of something. Or maybe it’ll fizzle out like a damp sparkler, and we’ll go back to polite distance and holiday cards that say nothing real.
Either way, it doesn’t define me anymore.
“Dance with me,” I say.
Audrey raises an eyebrow. “There’s no music.”
“There’s fireworks. That’s basically music.”
“That’s not how music works.”
“I’m a tech billionaire who built a chatbot to practice talking to you. I think we’ve established that normal rules don’t apply.”
She laughs again and lets me pull her into my arms. We sway slowly, out of time with the explosions overhead, while our friends and family cheer, and my parents stand awkwardly on the periphery, and the lake reflects a thousand points of light.
I think about the person I was a year ago. Terrified of connection. Convinced I was fundamentally broken. So certain that love was a bug in other people’s programming, not something my system could run.
I think about the night after the club when I panicked and blocked her kiss with my hand.
The months of misery that followed. The chatbot.
The spreadsheets. The moment I finally told her the truth—that I was a virgin, that I’d never been kissed, that I’d spent my whole life believing I was defective.
And I think about now. My ring on her finger. Her body in my arms. A future stretching out ahead of us, full of houses to fill and lives to build and probably at least three more PowerPoint presentations about optimal wedding planning timelines.
“Hey, Logan?” Audrey murmurs against my chest.
“Hmm?”
“I’m really glad you blocked my kiss with your hand.”
I pull back to look at her. “You are?”
“Yeah. The timing wasn’t right. We weren’t ready.” She reaches up to touch my face. “But because you panicked, we had to actually talk. Figure things out. And we built something real.”
“So my social catastrophe was actually a relationship strategy?”
“The most effective one I’ve ever seen.” She grins. “Remind me to thank your anxiety sometime.”
“I’d rather you didn’t.”
She kisses me—soft and sweet, a promise rather than a demand. Above us, the finale begins, a cascade of light and sound that drowns out everything else.
When we break apart, she’s smiling. “Ready for whatever comes next?”
I look at her—this brilliant, beautiful, impossible woman who saw through every wall I built and decided I was worth the effort. The woman who taught me that being different isn’t the same as being broken. The woman who gave me a home when I didn’t know I needed one.
“With you?” I say. “Always.”
The fireworks reach their crescendo, painting the sky in colors I don’t have names for, and I hold my fiancée close and let myself feel it all. The joy, the gratitude, the bone-deep certainty that this is exactly where I’m supposed to be.
For the first time in my life, I’m not running calculations about what could go wrong.
I’m just happy.