Epilogue
WREN
The café smells like butter and cinnamon, like warm sugar and roasted coffee beans. It’s early morning, the light pouring in through the expansive front windows, spilling gold over the freshly polished counters.
The bell above the door hasn’t even rung yet, but I’m already buzzing.
It’s been one year. One year since this place came alive. One year since I stood outside with a key in my trembling hand and told myself I could do this, even when I wasn’t sure.
One year since everything I was afraid to reach for finally became mine.
And now it’s not just the café.
A soft whimper drifts up from the sling strapped to my chest. I look down and smile at the tuft of dark hair poking out.
“Shh, sweetheart,” I whisper, rubbing small circles on my daughter’s back. Her little fingers flex in her sleep, and I can already tell she’ll be a fighter.
Beau says she has my stubborn streak. Simon insists it’s Levi’s calm that she inherited. Personally, I think she’s all of us—bits and pieces blended together, the best kind of alchemy.
The baby stirs again, so I sway gently, letting the motion rock her back into rest. She’s only four months old, still so new, still so small.
But she’s changed everything. She changed me.
I glance up when the bell over the café door finally jingles. Levi steps inside first, his broad frame filling the doorway. He’s carrying a box of decorations, balloons tied to his wrist, grinning like the proud Alpha he is.
Behind him, Beau balances a stack of chairs on one shoulder like they weigh nothing, whistling as he moves. Simon is last, adjusting his glasses as he closes the door carefully with one hand, a bouquet held in the other.
They look like home, like my whole world just walked into the room.
“You’re here,” I say softly, smiling wider.
Levi sets the box down and comes to me first, pressing a kiss to my forehead, then one to the baby’s head. His scent envelops me, a mix of cedar and smoke, instantly grounding me.
“Of course we’re here. Big day, sweetheart.”
Beau leans the chairs against the wall and swoops in to kiss me too, his lips playful, quick, his hand brushing over the baby’s back as though he can’t help but touch both of us.
“Crowds are already gathering outside. Whole damn town wants cake this morning.”
Simon slides the bouquet onto the counter, then smooths a hand down my arm, his touch quieter but no less certain. “Anniversary flowers. One year deserves something special.”
I blink at the soft blush-pink roses, baby’s breath woven between them. “They’re perfect,” I whisper.
He adjusts his glasses, murmuring, “So are you.”
I laugh under my breath because even after a year, he can still make me blush like it’s the first time.
The baby shifts against me again, a little fussier this time. Levi’s hand moves to rub her tiny back, and she calms almost immediately. He has that effect on both of us.
“Let me take her,” he offers, already reaching.
I hesitate only a second before nodding. He slips her out of the sling with practiced hands, cradling her close against his chest. She sighs as though she knows exactly where she belongs.
My eyes sting. I blame the lingering hormones—though if I’m honest, I think I’ll always tear up watching them with her. Watching the way these men love me, love her, love us.
Beau catches my expression and presses his lips to my temple. “Don’t cry, baby. You’ll smudge your makeup.”
“Too late.” I laugh, swiping at my cheek.
Simon hands me a napkin anyway, ever prepared. “Here. And drink some water. You’ll need energy today.”
I roll my eyes but sip obediently from the glass he pours.
The café is almost ready, but there’s still last-minute chaos—balloons to tie, extra chairs to set out, pies to arrange.
Beau takes charge of stringing the lights along the window, whistling a tune that makes the baby kick her tiny feet. Simon checks the cash drawer, the order slips, and the coffee beans, meticulous as ever.
Levi stays close to me, juggling the baby in one arm while helping me frost the last of the muffins with his free hand.
By the time the clock strikes nine, the street outside is already full. People wave through the glass. I wave back, my chest tight with nerves.
“You’re shaking,” Beau murmurs, sliding an arm around my waist.
“I know,” I admit, exhaling hard.
“You’ll be fine,” Simon says from behind the counter, calm as a doctor in his element. “Everything is perfect.”
“Not everything,” Levi says quietly, kissing my temple again. “It’s missing your smile.”
I bite my lip, force myself to lift my chin, and smile.
The bell jingles again. This time, it’s my mother.
She’s radiant, her hair swept up, a soft scarf draped around her shoulders. She crosses the room in three strides and pulls me into a hug so tight I almost drop the napkin still clutched in my hand.
“Mom,” I whisper, my throat thick.
She smells like lilacs, like home. “I’m so proud of you, Wren,” she says, kissing my cheek. “This place… it’s everything you dreamed.”
Behind her, the rest of the town begins to pour in, chatter filling the space, the bell jingling nonstop. The café is alive, thriving, bursting with people. But for a moment, all I see is her.
My mother is finally home. Finally free.
Her divorce from my father is still messy, still dragging through the courts. But she’s here now, papers or no papers, standing in our café as though this was always where she belonged.
She squeezes my hands. “And thank you for the grandbaby,” she whispers, her eyes sparkling as she looks over at Levi holding the baby. “She’s beautiful.”
“She’s perfect,” I whisper back.
My throat tightens again, but this time it’s joy, not nerves.
The day unfolds in a blur. The café fills, empties, fills again. Plates are cleared, coffee is poured, and cakes are sliced. Laughter spills through the room, stories swapped at every table.
Fox & Fern is alive, not just a dream anymore, but a piece of the town. A piece of me.
At one point, I catch my reflection in the wide glass window, the baby on my hip, my men at my side, my mother seated at a corner table, and I hardly recognize myself.
I look… happy. Whole.
Later, when the crowd thins and the sun sinks lower, we finally lock the doors. The balloons have deflated, the tables are covered in crumbs, and the floor needs sweeping, but I don’t care.
I’m leaning against Levi, my daughter sleeping in my arms, Beau at my back, Simon at my side.
“One year down,” Beau murmurs, his voice low against my ear.
“Forever to go,” Simon adds.
Levi presses a kiss to my hair, his voice certain. “And we’ll be here for all of it.”
I close my eyes, breathing them in, my heart so full it aches.
This is my life. My family. My pack.
And I wouldn’t trade a single piece of it for the world.
The end.