Epilogue
Liz
Two months later
It’s a Friday night in September when Trinity and Greyson pull up outside our house.
I notice right away that something feels off, even before I’m fully in the car.
Trinity doesn’t turn around to smile at me the way she usually does, and Greyson barely glances away from the steering wheel.
They’re quiet in that careful, controlled way that usually means they’ve been circling the same argument for a while.
We pull away from the curb, and the silence stretches.
I sit back and watch the neighborhood slide past my window. Porch lights flick on one by one as dusk settles in. A couple walks their dog across the street. Somewhere nearby, a garage door rattles open. Everything feels normal, which only makes the tension inside the car more pronounced.
Trinity stares out her window as if she’s counting streetlights. Greyson keeps both hands on the wheel, posture stiff, eyes fixed on the road ahead.
I register all of it, then leave them be, instead letting my attention drift to the thing that’s been needling me since this afternoon. I really don’t want to cook tonight.
I tried calling Ric before they arrived.
Straight to voicemail. I tried again once we were halfway down the block, telling myself the first one didn’t count.
Same result. I picture him in his office, shoulders hunched as he works through charts, completely unaware that I’m irritated over something as small and domestic as dinner.
I know it’s not fair. I know he’s busy. It still gets under my skin, a low-grade irritation I can’t quite shake.
“So,” I say eventually, because I can’t sit in silence anymore. “What exactly are we doing at the courthouse?”
Trinity’s shoulders lift slightly before she answers. “Just something quick for Tarryn and Trace.”
Greyson’s sister and father. They run Paradise Hill Vineyard.
Greyson nods like that explains everything.
It doesn’t help my mood.
We’re supposed to be grabbing drinks tonight. Ric couldn’t come, which already had me on edge. My mind drifts, unhelpfully, toward Evie and the chaos she’s left behind. Even when she’s not actively causing trouble, she lingers like a shadow that never fully lifts.
The courthouse comes into view as we turn the corner, its stone facade lit from below, solid and imposing against the darkening sky. This isn’t a place you swing by casually. It’s where things get decided. Where words turn permanent.
Greyson pulls up along the curb and parks. The engine cuts off, and he gets out immediately. Trinity turns toward me, one hand already reaching for the door handle.
“You guys go ahead,” I say. “I’ll wait here.”
She freezes, like I’ve disrupted something carefully planned. “No,” she says quickly. “You should come in. We don’t know how long it’ll take.”
I glance around at the nearly empty parking lot. There’s no movement, no activity, nothing to suggest this will take more than a few minutes.
“I’m fine,” I tell her. “I’ll just sit for a minute.”
I reach for my phone again, thumb hovering as I try Ric once more. Straight to voicemail. My jaw tightens. He knows I hate this feeling, the sense of details just out of reach.
Trinity shifts closer, lowering her voice. “I’m nervous.”
That makes me look more closely at her.
Her hands are clasped together, fingers twisting slowly, like she’s working through something she hasn’t said yet. It’s subtle, but it’s not like her.
“Nervous about what?” I ask. “Has someone been arrested?”
She swallows. “I just need my best friend. Can you come hold my hand?”
Something in me softens. Trinity doesn’t get nervous like this. She’s the steady one, the person who walks into chaos and figures out how to manage it. If she needs me, I’m not staying in the car.
I let out a breath and open the door. “Fine. But if this ends with jury duty, I’m blaming you.”
She smiles faintly and laces her fingers through mine the moment my feet hit the pavement, as if she’s afraid I’ll change my mind.
Halfway across the plaza, Trinity stops.
“Maybe you should touch up your lipstick.”
I turn to her slowly. “Why would I need lipstick?”
She gives me a smile that doesn’t quite land. “It’s looking a bit faded.”
She must be more nervous than she’s letting on if she’s worried about what I look like.
Inside, the courthouse is quiet in that after-hours way that makes every sound feel amplified. Our footsteps echo as we move down the hallway.
“Are you sure they’re even open?” I ask Greyson.
“Yeah,” he says easily. “We just need to grab something from the judge.”
That explanation doesn’t help, but before I can press, Greyson stops in front of a judge’s chambers and knocks once before opening the door.
I follow them inside and stop.
For a moment, my brain refuses to cooperate. It takes in shapes and color before meaning. People standing too close together. There’s a low murmur of breath and shifting weight.
Then the room comes into focus.
Ginny stands near the window, arms crossed loosely, a smile pulling at her mouth.
Ryker leans against the wall beside her, posture casual but eyes sharp, watching me more than the room.
Addie stands closer to the center, hands clasped in front of her.
Josie’s eyes are glossy, and Sera looks like she’s vibrating with contained energy, rocking slightly on her heels.
Against one wall, Mark and Sam stand shoulder to shoulder. Why on Earth would they be here? Sam gives me a small nod, like she’s silently telling me I’m not in trouble, that this isn’t bad news.
But this is too many people for a courthouse office. Too much intention packed into a space that’s supposed to be neutral.
My pulse picks up.
Then Nicky spots me. “Aunt Izzie!”
He launches himself across the room, a burst of movement that breaks the tension instantly. He skids to a stop in front of me, arms flung wide, face lit up like this is the best surprise he’s had all week.
“Did you see?” he asks breathlessly. “I’m dressed up. Uncle Ric said I had to be very good today, and I am being very good.”
Laughter ripples through the room. Nicky spins once, then twice, bowing so deeply he almost tips over before dropping into a dramatic crouch, clearly waiting for applause.
I laugh despite myself. “You look very handsome.”
He beams, then darts back to Mark and Sam, whispering loudly that he nailed it before flashing me a thumbs-up.
When I finally look up again, my gaze finds Alaric.
He’s standing a few feet away, hands at his sides, watching me carefully, like he’s giving me time to take all of this in.
He looks different. Not dressed up exactly, but nicer than what he wears to work. Intentional. His expression is open, steady, and entirely focused on me.
My mind scrambles for an explanation. This isn’t a hearing. No one looks tense or defensive—no anger, no bracing for fallout. “Is everything okay?” I ask because it feels like the only safe question. “Is someone sick?”
Ric shakes his head. “Everyone’s fine.”
I glance back at the others, trying to read their faces. Ginny’s smile softens. Josie wipes her eyes as if she’s already lost a quiet battle with emotion. Sera bites her lip, clearly fighting the urge to say something.
I become suddenly aware of myself again—of my dress, perfectly acceptable for work but not exactly…this. Of my flats. I smooth my hands over my skirt, then stop when I realize I’m doing it.
“What’s going on?” I ask quietly.
Ric steps closer, but he doesn’t touch me yet. “I don’t want you to feel rushed,” he says. “I want you to have a minute.”
My throat tightens. The room feels very still now, like everyone else has faded into the background. I can hear my heartbeat. The quiet rustle of clothing as someone shifts.
Whatever this is, it’s about me.
“This probably feels like a lot,” Ric says quietly.
I let out a shaky breath. “That’s one way to put it.”
A few people smile behind him, but no one interrupts.
“I know you didn’t wake up this morning thinking you’d be standing in a courthouse after hours with your entire life staring back at you.”
That earns a small, helpless laugh from me. “I didn’t even change my shoes.”
His mouth curves, but his eyes stay serious. “I noticed. You still look beautiful.”
The words land gently, not like flattery but like fact. I glance down at my dress again, aware of how ordinary it is. How unceremonious. How me. A part of me wonders if I should feel embarrassed. Another part realizes I don’t want to change anything.
Ric steps closer and takes my hands. “I didn’t want this to feel hurried,” he says. “But I also didn’t want to wait for some future version of our lives where everything is magically quieter and easier.”
My chest tightens.
“We keep saying we’ll slow down someday,” he goes on. “After the next deadline. After the next crisis. After the next thing settles. But life doesn’t work that way, and I don’t want to look back and realize we kept choosing later when what we meant was afraid.”
I swallow hard.
“I know this is fast,” he says. “And it’s okay if you need a second to catch up to it.”
I nod. My mind races ahead, tripping over practical thoughts I didn’t invite. Tomorrow. Work. My calendar. His schedule. The fact that I didn’t call my mother. The absurdity of being here in flats, hair pulled back, no warning, no buildup.
And underneath all of it is another truth. I’m scared, not because this feels wrong, but because it feels like something I could lose.
Then I look at him.
The man who knows how I take my coffee. Who leaves the light on for me when I work late. Who doesn’t flinch when things get complicated. Who shows up, even when it’s inconvenient.
Fear loosens its grip.
Ric exhales and lowers himself to one knee.
The room quiets, not in shock, but in recognition.
“I didn’t choose tonight because it was easy,” he says. “I chose it because it’s real. Because it looks like us. Busy. Slightly imperfect. Surrounded by the most important people in our lives.”