Epilogue
CAMERON
“What’s the Caplan Prophecy?”
I’m not sure if I should be scared or intrigued.
Based on the looks Kennedy’s sisters are giving me, a mixture of mischief and dead-serious conviction, I’d say both.
“Let me explain.” Amelia leans forward with the enthusiasm of a woman about to explain a conspiracy theory she absolutely believes in. “You know how we all share a birthday with a historical figure?”
I nod. Kennedy’s sisters share birthdays with Amelia Earhart and Frank Sinatra, respectively.
“All Caplan women fall for someone who also shares a birthday with a historical figure,” she continues. Ah. I see exactly where this is going. “Leo was born on April fifteenth—Leonardo da Vinci’s birthday.”
“Oh dear God,” Kennedy mutters, dropping her face into her hand.
“And my fiancé Austin shares a birthday with Jane Austen,” Frankie adds with a small smile.
I side-eye Kennedy, who’s still got her face buried, yet is peering over at her sisters, clearly mortified but also not entirely dismissive of this ridiculousness.
“Who do I share a birthday with?” I ask.
“James Cameron,” Amelia says, nearly vibrating in her seat.
A grin creeps over my lips. “So what you’re saying is that Kennedy and I were destined to be together because we both share a birthday with someone who has the same name as us?”
“When you say it like that, you make it sound ridiculous,” Amelia says with a sniff.
“And it’s not just any name, but someone important,” Frankie adds. “Unless you don’t think Avatar, The Titanic, and The Terminator are movies that had a cultural impact and—”
“You’re being ridiculous,” Kennedy says, dropping her hand from her face.
“It’s not ridiculous when it’s three for three,” Amelia counters, holding up three perfectly manicured fingers. “That’s not a coincidence. That’s destiny.”
“It’s officially a pattern,” Amelia agrees. “That’s how prophecies work.”
Groaning, Kennedy shakes her head. “Please ignore them. They’ve had too much wine.”
“I think it’s kind of amazing,” I say, catching her eye. “Not the prophecy part, which is objectively insane. But the fact that they’re so invested in your happiness that they’ve created an entire mythology around it. That’s… sweet.”
Amelia and Frankie high-five while Kennedy looks at me like I’ve just betrayed her.
“Don’t encourage them,” she warns.
“Too late,” Amelia singsongs.
“The prophecy,” Frankie intones dramatically, raising her wineglass, “is never wrong.”
I catch Kennedy’s hand under the table and squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I don’t need a prophecy to know I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”
Amelia clutches her chest. “Oh my God, he’s perfect. The prophecy really outdid itself this time.”
Kennedy drops her head to my shoulder with a defeated laugh. “I’m so sorry. This is our life now.”
“I’ve faced worse.” I press a kiss to her temple. “At least your family’s delusions are creative.”
“That’s the spirit!” Amelia cheers.
Kennedy’s phone dings with the distinct sound of an email notification, and her eyes go wide.
It’s the sound we’ve been waiting for all night—the reason Frankie flew in from San Francisco for support and why Kennedy turned Amelia’s kitchen into the set of The Great British Bake-Off this week.
She hosted Blake Hollis and Ella Gold for a tasting yesterday, and we’ve been impatiently waiting for news about whether she landed the commission.
I rest my hand on her thigh and give a small squeeze. “If they say yes, we celebrate with more wine, and if they say no… then they’re fucking stupid and we still drink wine.”
With a small smile, Kennedy grabs her phone and swipes open the email. She looks like she’s holding her breath as she scans the screen, blue eyes moving rapidly.
“Oh my God,” she whispers, lips parting and cheeks flushing.
“What?” her sisters demand simultaneously.
Kennedy’s hand trembles slightly as she holds the phone, her focus still locked on the screen. “I got the job.”
“Share with the class,” Amelia shouts, the command so loud it echoes around the kitchen. “Sorry. Wow. Someone should have cut me off after my second glass.”
Kennedy hands me the phone, her whole body now trembling. “You read it.”
I lift a brow but do as she asks. “‘Hi, Kennedy, I hope this message finds you well. Blah, blah, blah.” I pause, scanning the email until I get to where the niceties stop and the good stuff begins. “Blake and Ella absolutely loved your vanilla cake, but your “till death do us part” dessert table featuring their death row desserts is what really blew them away. They’re thrilled to have you be part of their special day.’”
“Kennedy,” Frankie shrieks, bouncing in her seat. “Oh my God.”
“There’s more, but it’s mostly logistics,” I tell them, scrolling with a smile on my face.
My girlfriend looks up at me, eyes glassy with tears. “I’m so glad they thought the dessert table idea was creative and not really fucking crazy.”
She breaks into laughter and also tears.
I pull her into my arms and bury my face in her hair.
Kennedy learned that Ella, Tyler’s sister and the bride-to-be, asks all her podcast guests what their death row meal would be.
Morbid, but creative, and it’s officially been added to Kennedy’s get-to-know-you questions list on her phone.
She listened to hours of her podcast and scoured magazine interviews to compile information about both Ella and Blake so she could create a mini “till death do us part” dessert table featuring all of their favorite death row desserts for the tasting.
“You did it, baby,” I cup her cheeks in my hands. “You. Not because of me, not because of any publicity, but because you blew them away with your talent. This is all you, Kennedy.”
“I’m calling Mom,” Frankie says, already dialing. “She’s going to lose her mind.”
Kennedy looks at me, her smile so bright it could power the entire New York City grid. “I can’t believe it.”
“Believe it.” I kiss her forehead. “You’re a fucking rockstar, sweetheart.”
She kisses me, then, right there in front of her sisters, and I can taste the salt from her happy tears mixed with her smile.
“The prophecy has blessed us all,” Amelia says solemnly.
“Oh my God, stop with the prophecy.” Kennedy laughs, but she’s holding on to me like an anchor, like she needs me here to make this moment real.
And honestly? There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.