EPILOGUE
Phoebe
It’s nearly noon. Evander should be here any second.
“Have fun,” my dad says.
I pat his hand and rise from the bedside chair. “Can I do anything for you before I go?” I ask.
Finn and Emma’s wedding wore him out something awful, but I think he’s looking a little better today. I’m grateful for that.
“Yes, there’s one very important thing you can do for me.”
“Of course.”
“Enjoy the hell out of yourself, kid. Have the time of your life. And don’t you dare worry about me. I’ll be here when you get back.”
I pull my coat tight across my front and feel a huge smile spread over my face. “I will. Love you. See you in a couple weeks.”
I race down the steps. Mama and my brothers are waiting for me in the foyer, coats on.
“Oh, no.” I shake my head. “No one needs to escort me out to the porch. I’m good. Love you all. Bye!”
I grab my overnight bag, wave cheerfully, and shut the door behind me.
Then I take a deep breath of the cold air. And I wait. Inside my bag are my passport and ID, toiletries and birth control, my dress of seduction, and one change of clothes. Because I have absolutely no idea what’s happening.
What if Evander’s late? What if I end up standing out here looking like a…
My eyes try to focus on what's coming down the ranch lane. I’m already laughing as I run down the porch steps.
Evander does a U-turn, the shiny red convertible sparkling in the sunlight. He leans across the white leather bucket seat and throws open the passenger door.
“Ready?”
“Definitely not.”
He takes my bag and tucks it into the backseat. I slide in, and immediately, Evander crooks an arm around my neck, pulls me in, and kisses me.
“Buckle up, baby.”
“You’re crazy, Evander.”
“Crazy for you. Crazy like a fox.”
He leans his head back and produces a self-satisfied chuckle, then puts the car in drive. We take off with the top down, heading south along the lane toward the state highway. When we hit the pavement, my hair goes flying everywhere and it’s absolutely freezing, but I find myself laughing anyway.
Because whatever we’re doing or wherever we’re headed, I know I’m in good hands. The best hands.
I’m with the best man I’ve ever known.
About a half mile down the road, Evander pulls over. It’s a turnaround that’s been neatly plowed in advance, almost like he planned it.
He taps the button to raise the roof of his classic red convertible and cranks the heat to maximum. He reaches up to lock the vinyl cover in place.
“Thanks for humoring me.” He gives me a crooked grin. “I pictured it happening this way, but when I imagined it, it was summer.”
“Pictured what?”
“This. You. That I’d pick you up and tell you we’re headed to the feed store.”
“The feed store.”
“Yeah, but I wouldn’t actually be taking you to the feed store.”
I shake my head. “What is this, exactly?”
“Whatever you want it to be. I have a present for you, Phoebs.” He reaches around his seat to grab something. “Close your eyes.”
I do, and my whole body begins to vibrate. Something important is happening. Something life-changing. I tell myself to rein it in. I know my imagination can go completely crazy. I can fantasize all kinds of outrageous stuff.
Like Evander doing a double take when he sees me in my dress.
Like Evander loving me.
Wait. That all came true.
“You can open now.”
It’s not what I imagined, but it’s a lot funnier.
“Evander, you shouldn’t have.”
He laughs and places the can of Beefaroni in my hands, a big red bow stuck on the lid. “Go ahead. Open it.”
I examine the can. It’s light, but when I shake it, I hear rattling. I remove the bow to find that the aluminum lid is attached with clear tape.
I look from the can to Evander and back again.
“Go on. I taped all around the rim so it wouldn’t cut your fingers.”
“If I did, you could suture me up.”
“Too soon,” he says. “Please open it before I lose my mind. I’m a little nervous.”
“You? Nervous?”
He nods.
I raise my hand to caress his scruffy face. It’s the face I love.
I pop the lid to discover that the can is stuffed with a bunch of little pieces of paper, folded into squares. On the outside of each is a handwritten label: I.O.U.
A laugh escapes my lips, as I reach in for the one on top. I unfold it.
Cinnamon cereal in 2% organic milk.
“Oh,” I say, lifting my gaze to Evander. He’s smiling at me with his hand out.
“I’ll hold them for you. Keep going.”
My king-sized bed, with soft flannel sheets and central heating.
Concerts, beach weekends, fine dining.
Warm, fluffy towels.
Jacuzzi bathtub in front of the fireplace with surround sound.
The Peninsula Hotel, London.
Good enchiladas in mole sauce, fresh trout with lemon butter and herb sauce, and peaches right off the tree.
I’m having trouble reading now because my eyes have filled with tears. He remembered all these things. How did he remember all this?
I turn to him, blinking.
“Don’t stop, baby. I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
Paella in Barcelona, kebab in Berlin, sushi in Tokyo, and the gambero rosso di Sicilia in Dubai.
A lifetime of Yosemite Ranch Wagyu ribeye steak.
“You’re making me hungry,” I say, handing over another slip of paper.
Ravishment or ravagement, whatever the hell it is.
I laugh out loud.
Shameless depravity and disorderly conduct.
“Oh, boy.”
Whisky that isn’t from the blanket chest of a surveyor’s shack.
But never any bungee jumping, skyscraper dinners, or aerial rescues.
I giggle.
Anything else you desire, always and forever.
I look at him. I’m barely holding it together.
“So there’s one left, Phoebe. And it’s the kicker.”
My fingers are shaking as I reach into the can. I pluck out the last slip of paper. It isn’t labeled as an I.O.U. It has no label at all.
But just as the little folded square clears the rim of the can, something falls out from its folds. I peer down to see a dainty silver chain coiled at the bottom. I pull it up and then hold it out in front of me.
It’s the Beefaroni pop top looped through the chain.
“Um…?”
“Do you like it?” Evander takes the chain from my hand and slips it over my head, then pulls my hair free.
“I…”
“Read the last one, please. The pop top is just a placeholder—at least that’s my hope. It’s important that you have exactly what you want.”
Evander places the sweetest and softest of kisses on my lips. I know he’s tasting my tears.
I’m afraid to look. This can’t be real. I just stare at the little piece of paper and try to breathe.
“Hey, baby.”
I look up into those loving violet eyes and know that whatever he’s written—whatever my future holds—all I’ve ever wanted is him.
“Remember.” He rests his fingertips under my chin. “I’m yours. You’re mine. That’s where we’ll start.”
I unfold it. Here’s what Evander’s written:
You’re perfect, Phoebe. Marry me.
THE End
Continue to read the first two chapters of Declan and Summer’s story, THE Wedding HANGOVER!