Epilogue
Lucy
“Can you believe we’re married?” I ask as Nash holds me in his arms, swaying softly to the music at our reception.
The lights above us glow warm and golden, strung across the rafters like a net of tiny stars.
The air smells faintly of citrus from the centerpieces and the last round of champagne someone popped near the bar.
The band is incredible—velvety vocals, smooth guitar, the kind of music that wraps around you like silk.
The food was delicious.
The laughter easy.
Our families have been wonderful and gracious.
I feel wrapped in a room full of people who genuinely want the best for us. I swear I couldn’t imagine a better night to celebrate our love.
“Every day I open my eyes next to you, I can’t believe how lucky I am,” Nash says. “Every day is better than the last—like a gift that keeps on giving. And today is just one more pebble in that pile.”
My chest goes warm at the edges, the way it always does when he lets his soft side peek through.
I press my cheek to his chest, inhaling the familiar blend of his cologne and clean laundry, smiling from the bottom of my toes to the top of my head.
“You know, you used to be all about the grumpy little kindness bombs. But lately? You’ve kind of dropped the grumpy. ”
Nash stops dancing, pulling back to look me dead in the eye. His brows lift, that dry, amused spark flickering there. “Don’t you dare let anyone hear you say that. I have a reputation to uphold.”
I draw an X across my chest. “Cross my heart. The secret stays between us. But… just between you and me? This version of you is pretty awesome.”
“This version of me is happy,” he murmurs, thumb brushing my cheek in a way that makes the whole noisy room feel suddenly quiet. “Happy and seen and understood by one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met.”
“Only one of?” I arch a brow.
“Okay, definitely top three.”
I shake my head with a laugh, comfort blooming low in my stomach. “I’ll have to see if I can increase my ranking.”
Nash grins and leads me around the dance floor, and the reflections of the twinkle lights shimmer on the polished wood beneath our feet.
I catch sight of Gabby talking with one of Simon and Violet’s sons—Weston, I think.
She’s smiling, bright and open, her pale-blonde hair glowing in the low light like she’s sitting beneath a halo.
It makes me happy to see her happy. She deserves that. More than most.
But then Nash twirls me, and over his shoulder I spot Grayson watching them, a scowl carved into his handsome face.
The man is famous for never being in a bad mood—it’s practically part of his brand.
And yet there is nothing friendly about the way he’s watching Gabby and Weston.
Something protective? Regretful? Possessive?
The answer presses at the back of my mind, but I don’t let myself define it.
“I can’t tell if I feel bad for him or like he’s getting what he deserves,” I mutter to Nash, jerking my chin toward his younger brother.
Nash sighs, the sound weighted but not unkind. “Whatever choice he made, he would’ve lost something. Choose the girl, lose the job. Choose the career, lose the girl.”
“Same could’ve been said for me.” The truth hits with a gentle thud. “Somehow, I got the dream job and the man I love. It’s just a shame it couldn’t happen for Gray.”
“That kid has his whole life ahead of him. Good things will happen for him.” Nash’s gaze softens as it sweeps back over Gabby. “And by the looks of it, good things are already happening for Gabby.”
We dance past my parents—Mom’s head tilted against Dad’s forehead as they sway in their own bubble of music.
The sight squeezes something tender inside me.
They’ve been… lighter since I’ve been home, like some old knot finally loosened.
Dad’s perpetually difficult demeanor has softened around the edges.
When his eyes meet mine over the dance floor, there’s no judgment. No disappointment. No worry. Just the quiet joy of a father who loves his daughter. It’s all I’ve wanted from him for as long as I can remember.
“Okay,” Nash says, steering me gently toward a corner. “Take a peek at what’s happening over here.”
The music swells into a richer, fuller chord, and Nash spins me, turning and dipping me low so I can see behind us.
The room stretches upside down for a moment—gold lights, white table linens, clinking glasses—and then my gaze catches on Stella and Bennett tucked into the shadows.
They’re talking animatedly, leaning in close, wine glasses dangling from their hands.
Their posture doesn’t say rivalry or irritation or the sharp banter they usually aim like darts at each other.
It says a whole lot of something else.
Nash lifts me out of the dip. My eyes are wide; his match mine.
“That does not look like what I expect from them,” I say.
“Two seconds ago, I could have sworn they were about to kiss,” Nash mutters. “Hold onto your horses. We’re going in to investigate.”
He sways and spins us closer to the edge of the dance floor, just in time to hear Bennett grumble, “How long are you gonna hold that night against me?”
“Hold it against you?” Stella murmurs, incredulous. “You’re the one who ran away and has been acting like I’m public enemy number one ever since.”
I meet my new husband’s eyes. He looks as shocked as I feel, and there’s something else there too—something like oh boy, here we go. He guides us back toward the middle of the floor before either of them can notice us hovering.
“Let’s give them a little privacy,” he says.
“I can’t believe I’ve been friends with Stella this long and never heard a whisper about any of that.”
The music ends and applause breaks out, washing over us in warm waves.
Nash releases me with a gentle brush of his thumb across my knuckles, and as the crowd shifts, I spot Gideon sitting alone at a table near the back.
Quiet, elbows on his knees, hands pressed together, eyes fixed on the floor like he’s miles away.
Of all the Kincaid brothers, he’s the one I’ve gotten to know the least. He’s gone a lot.
He’s quiet. He holds himself close. And somehow that makes me like him even more.
Despite all that distance, I know he’s a good man. And I hate seeing him alone.
Nash’s hand finds mine again as the applause fades, grounding me instantly.
His thumb rubs a slow arc over my new wedding band, as if he’s memorizing its edges, its weight, the meaning behind it.
He leads us back to our place at the head table, then taps a fork against a glass instead of sitting.
A hush rolls through the room. Nash exhales, slow and steady, then lifts our joined hands just slightly—enough to draw eyes, not enough to let go.
“I wasn’t planning on saying anything,” he starts, voice low but carrying, “because Lucy knows I’ve never been great with public declarations. Emergency operations in a hospital parking lot? Sure. Speeches… not so much.”
Laughter ripples through the room, warm and familiar.
He swallows once, then continues. “But today… I keep thinking about how life has a way of closing doors we weren’t ready to lose, and opening others we didn’t know we needed.
For a long time, I thought part of me was gone for good—burned out, worn thin, given away.
Then this woman walked into my life.” He glances at me, and everything inside me stills, like the music has paused just for us.
“Lucy didn’t just bring joy back into my world.
She brought light. Hope. Purpose. Things I didn’t even realize I was running out of. ”
His fingers tighten gently around mine, and I swear the whole room leans in at once.
“She’s the bravest, most stubborn, most extraordinary person I’ve ever known,” he says.
“And somehow, she chose me. So today, in front of everyone we love…” His voice softens.
“I want to promise that I’ll keep choosing her.
Every day. Every season. Every storm.” He lifts our hands a little higher, our rings catching the glow of the string lights.
“Lucy Kincaid, being yours is the greatest gift of my life. And I plan to spend the rest of it making sure you feel as loved as you make me feel.”
A quiet chorus of awwws sweeps the room, followed by warm applause. Nash leans down and presses a lingering kiss to my forehead, sealing the moment, grounding me in him, in us.
When everyone begins to clap again, he lowers our hands—but he doesn’t let go. He never seems to let go. And maybe that’s the part that hits my heart the hardest.
Because as the room spins with soft lights and laughter and the sound of silverware against champagne flutes…
I look down at our joined hands, at the way our rings catch and hold the light.
His band is new and unfamiliar on him, but it feels like it’s always belonged there—like he has always been meant to stand beside me, anchor and soft place and everything in between.
My fingers lace with his, instinctive and sure, and something inside me settles with quiet certainty.
This is home.
Not the room. Not the town. Not the celebration swirling around us.
Him.
His hand in mine. His vow wrapped in gold. His steady warmth against my palm, promising a lifetime of mornings where neither one of us has to wonder if we’re chosen.
I squeeze his hand once more, letting the moment imprint itself somewhere deep and permanent.
From this day on, we walk through every doorway together. And as long as my hand is safe in his, I’ll never doubt where I belong.
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