Epilogue- Love Clich
Falling for Your Boss
Zoey
Delilah sweeps the makeup brush over my cheek for the eight-hundredth time.
I swear, if she doesn’t stop messing with my face, I’m going to toss her makeup kit in the nearest trash can.
I looked ready twenty minutes ago: hair done in cascading curls down my back, wedding dress in place, and makeup perfect.
Not that that any of those details matter. Not really. All I can think about is the man I can’t wait to meet at the end of the aisle. The rest of these things are just minor details.
I duck my head when Delilah comes for me again, using the papers I’m holding to block my face. “Aren’t we done yet?”
“I’m contouring ,” Delilah says, like I have more than a vague idea of what that means. “Hold still, or you’re liable to take a brush to the eye. And watch that red marker around your dress! Do you have to help Sam edit that now?”
Sam pipes up from her spot nearby. “Zoey, I told you not to worry about it. I can talk to my agent who can explain to the publisher that I need a few more days—”
“It’s fine.” I glare at both Delilah and Sam in the mirror. “I’m contoured out. And I promised you I’d finish looking over this, Sam. I don’t mind. Almost done.”
Honestly, I’d rather not be reading Sam’s manuscript on my wedding day.
But she barely finished this chapter in time for me to look at it, and I owe her one.
Her texts when I freaked out about Gavin’s kiss were really helpful, and she’s had great advice ever since.
Go figure—Dr. Love is actually good at what she does.
Looking over her “Falling for Your Boss” chapter is the least I can do.
And I’m definitely not going to read it on the honeymoon.
Gavin and I are going to St. Thomas, and my plan is to alternate all our time between the beach and the bedroom.
Maybe stopping to eat or drink just enough to sustain us.
Gavin’s parents are watching Ella at the ranch.
Since Eleanor opted not to fight for custody (a relief to us all), the ten-day trip is going to be our little oasis of adults-only time. I plan to soak up every second of it.
I tap the red marker on the paper. “I’m done anyway.
I made a few minor suggestions. But we have to talk about this part: ‘Is it just the draw of the forbidden that makes falling for a boss a cliché? Or does it have to do with something primal? Maybe it’s the same wiring that makes a lioness want the strongest male.
Deep down, the boss trope is about wanting what we can’t have and wanting what will result in the strongest species. ’”
Harper laughs, and even Delilah is biting back a smile. I fail to see the humor.
“I don’t want to be compared to a wild animal in heat!”
Before I realize what’s happening, Delilah and Sam have double-teamed me, D plucking the marker from my fingers and Sam grabbing the draft.
“Thanks for looking over it, Zoey,” Sam says. “I promise to make sure you don’t sound like a horny lion in my book.”
I make a frustrated growl, and Harper laughs again. “If the shoe fits,” she says.
“Shut up, Harpy. Where’s Abby? I know she’d have my back.”
Delilah makes a disgusted noise. “Probably making out with your brother in a broom closet somewhere. What’s with those two and closets? I swear, I almost jumped out of my skin when they came stumbling out of one at the rehearsal last night.”
I can’t help teasing her a little. After all, she just made me suffer with multiple colors of eyeshadow. “So, you don’t plan on finding your own closet with Thayden tonight?”
“No.”
Delilah glares, but red begins to creep up her neck to her cheeks. Interesting .
“Nor anything else,” she says. “The man is a living nightmare.”
“He’s not so bad,” I tell her, mostly meaning it.
“The fact that I’m here with him is a testament to how much I love you,” Delilah says.
When Thayden agreed to fly me back out to the ranch the same day I left, the favor he called in was a date with Delilah.
But here’s the thing: it’s not like you can really force two people on a date.
Delilah protested, but she’s still here with Thayden willingly.
No matter how much she complains about it.
The door opens, and Abby waltzes in, grinning. Sure enough, all her lipstick has been kissed off, and her cheeks have a flush that didn’t come from one of Delilah’s brushes.
“What’d I miss?” Abby asks.
Delilah steers her toward the chair next to mine. “Let me touch up your lipstick, darlin’. I think Zane’s probably wearing most of it.”
A moment later, the door opens again, and Gavin’s mom glances in, her white curls bouncing around her face. “Can we get a moment with the bride?”
I grin, getting to my feet as Norah walks in with Ella, who has her acoustic guitar.
She hardly goes anywhere without it these days.
Patty and Nancy follow right behind, grinning.
Delilah helps me smooth out my train as I meet them all halfway across the room where we’ve been getting ready.
Norah’s eyes are already wet by the time I reach them.
Mine are too. Thank goodness for waterproof mascara.
Norah hesitates rather than going for a hug. “I don’t want to wrinkle your beautiful gown,” she says.
“Nonsense.” I give her a tight squeeze, comforted by her warm scent, which has become familiar over the past two months.
Gavin, Ella, and I have spent many weekends visiting the ranch, and Norah moved into Gavin’s house temporarily to help with Ella.
I’ve got a great new job. Not a director—yet—but I’ll get there.
With the sale of Morgan-Beckwith, Gavin will be working from home while helping Ella settle into her new school and life in Austin.
He has taken to fatherhood so naturally, so enthusiastically, that it’s given me a whole new reason to love him. As if I needed one.
And Ella has become the daughter I never would have expected or asked for. I’m still surprised by the way my life shifted so dramatically in just a few months. I wouldn’t change a thing.
After Nancy and Patty give me hugs and fuss over my makeup and hair, I’m left with Ella.
“Are you ready?” I ask her, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
“I was born for this,” Ella says, looking every bit the precocious girl I met. Confident, and a little bit surly, like she can take on the world by herself.
I know better now. And when Abby distracts Norah with a hug, Ella leans close to me.
“What if I forget the words? Or sing a note wrong?”
I don’t blink or look away, not for a single moment.
“You might forget the words, though I doubt it. You could sing off key, but I haven’t heard you do so once while practicing.
If the worst thing happens and you forget the words and sing off-key, the rest of the song will still be beautiful.
Your dad and I will still get married. And the next time you perform, it’s a fresh start. Okay?”
It’s a lot to let an eight-year-old sing a solo at a wedding. Especially when there are so many emotional factors at play. Gavin and I had some long discussions about the pros and cons.
But it was clear from the moment he put a guitar in her hands that music is a part of Ella, one that Eleanor didn’t foster.
We aren’t going to ship her off to Nashville or anything, but honestly, it wouldn’t surprise me if that’s the direction she wants to go someday.
Our own little Teffy. So, when Ella asked to sing at the wedding, we ultimately had to say yes.
“I’m so glad that you’re going to sing,” I tell her. “You’re going to blow everyone away.”
I’m toeing the line with her, the one that butts up against emotional overload.
I can see it in the clench of her jaw and the glittering in her eyes.
Ella needs to know how much we love her, but it’s also hard for her to take sometimes.
Like everything else with the three of us, it’s a work in progress.
I step back, offering her a fist bump. With a grin, she touches her knuckles to mine. “I better go warm up,” she says.
“You’ll be great,” I tell her. “I can’t wait to hear you.”
Norah gives me one last hug. “I don’t want to ruin your makeup. So, I won’t tell you how much I love you. Or that you’re already a part of my family. But you are.”
I’m so choked up that when my dad appears in the doorway, I think I might lose it altogether.
He’s barely keeping the tears back, and he doesn’t have to say how much we both wish Mom were here.
It’s at that moment that Taylor Swift’s “Love Story” starts to play.
I glance at Abby, who gives me a sheepish grin.
“You know I hate it, but you look like you could use a good Swifting. Love you, bestie.” She pats me on the bottom and gives my dad a quick kiss on the cheek. “Is it time for this wedding yet?”
I take my dad’s arm. We exchange a long glance, and I don’t think either of us could speak if we tried. There’s no need. We’ve said a lot over the past few months, and I know that he and Gavin have had talks of their own. Only the first talk also included Daddy’s shotgun.
Our story isn’t perfect. It’s not the norm. But it’s ours , and I couldn’t be more excited about writing the next chapters. Together.
That’s what I’m thinking about as the ceremony begins in a blur.
All I know is that when I see Gavin’s face at the end of the aisle, that’s all I need.
I barely notice my friends standing up front, the family and the people who have become like family surrounding us in the small church.
When my daddy places my hand in Gavin’s, something slides into place deep in my soul.
The only time my focus shifts away from Gavin is when we watch Ella sing a perfect and perfectly unique rendition of “Ave Maria.” A surge of pride that I’m starting to get used to makes my heart feel full to overflowing. When Gavin and I exchange teary-eyed glances, his look mirrors mine.
We exchange our vows, we give our rings, and we finally seal it with a kiss, but the ceremony confirms what I already know in my heart.
I’m his, he’s mine, and she is ours.