Epilogue The Best Stories
RHIANNA
I'm spinning in a circle, humming Fleetwood Mac's ‘Dreams’ in the middle of a tiny bookshop in Edinburgh, flipping through books, when someone taps my shoulder. When I turn, I already know who I'll find.
Eli Lancaster stands there in his navy sweater with leather patches on the elbows (which should look pretentious but somehow just looks adorable on him), holding what appears to be the most touristy guidebook I've ever seen.
His hazel eyes dance with amusement behind the black-rimmed glasses I've grown to love.
"Are you the Rhianna who's supposed to be on vacation?" he asks, and my heart does that funny little flip it's done since the first time I saw him.
"The very one." I grin, pulling out my earbuds. "Can't keep me away from books, you know."
He smirks. "Well, good to know. Otherwise, I might’ve mistaken you for the Rhiannon from Welsh mythology—the one our tour covers in less than an hour."
"Only the very best mythological figure that's ever existed." I say this part with extra dramatic flair.
"I could make a few arguments of mythological figures you’d approve of even more." His eyes are twinkling now, and I want to kiss him senseless right here between the Celtic mythology and Scottish folklore sections.
"Please." I roll my eyes playfully. "Fine, name one that's better."
“What about Athena? Goddess of wisdom, war strategy, and crafts. Patron of heroes. Born fully formed from Zeus's head. Plus"—he taps my nose—“she was often depicted with an owl, which is basically the librarian of the bird world.”
I pause, letting my mouth drop open in mock horror. "Oh my god, you might be right. But don’t tell Rhiannon I agreed with you.”
He laughs then kisses my nose. These past six months have been more than just a dream come true.
I’ve helped librarians in over a dozen different libraries across the globe, hosted glitter-drenched story hours in four languages, and discovered that magic isn't tied to one place. It’s tucked into the tiniest corners of the world, if you’re willing to look.
Grandma Ida would’ve adored this trip. She would’ve danced in every plaza, sketched in every journal she picked up in each country, and collected every train ticket like a relic.
And maybe we didn’t get to go on this trip together, but I think—no, I know—she’d be happy that I’m here.
That I’m letting myself live it with someone who makes me feel completely breathtakingly alive and deeply grounded and safe at the same time.
With Eli, every new city is its own kind of magic. Even his obsessively organized travel itineraries have started to grow on me. I still throw in one completely unplanned adventure every weekend, just to keep things interesting. He pretends to sigh about it, but he always smiles when I do.
We’ve had a few unfortunate adventures too.
He held my hair back when I got food poisoning in Marrakesh, then ran through the streets armed with a language guide, and somehow returned from the pharmacy with just what I needed.
I’ve wandered through at least a thousand used bookstores by now, and I’ve watched him linger reverently over ever brittle page.
I’ve fallen in love with him in train stations and temples, over terrible instant coffee and candlelit dinners, and with every quiet look and shared laugh.
And when we stood on a sun-drenched bridge in Paris and left locks behind to honor Mark and Grandma Ida we held each other as the tears came.
The love bloomed there too, tender and fierce, in the safety of someone seeing me fully and loving every inch of me.
The fun parts. The hard parts. The parts I used to hide.
Somehow, every step of the way, he’s kept his promise.
And I’m keeping mine, too.
After all, I promised to find him the love of his life.
And I have.
I reach into my bag and pull out a weathered volume I'd spotted earlier. Eli's breath catches as he recognizes the binding.
I smile, the soft hum of my magic still tingling at my fingertips. I'd known the moment I brushed past it on the shelf—the way my energy snagged and settled—that it was meant for him. Some books just know where they belong. Some hearts do too.
"Is that...?"
"A first edition Cyrus Whitlock? With annotations?" I dangle it in front of him. "Maybe."
He takes it reverently, his fingers trembling slightly as he opens it. "Rhianna, how did you—"
"Let's just say I have excellent matchmaking skills. Even when it comes to connecting book collectors with their white whales."
My phone rings, interrupting my thoughts. Alex's name flashes across the screen. I wiggle it in front of Eli then click to answer and shove the phone against my ear. “Hello?”
“Hey, Rhianna!” Her voice is high pitched and rushed. Strange for her.
"What's up?" I ask, watching Eli as he carefully examines each page of the Whitlock book, completely lost to the world. There aren’t words in any book that could ever come close to how much I love this man.
"Well..." Alex draws out the word. "Remember how you said you'd kill me if I got engaged while you were gone?"
"You’re kidding me!" I screech loudly enough that several customers turn to stare. Eli finally looks up from his book, eyebrows raised. "He didn't!"
"He did! Last night. There were cinnamon rolls involved."
"Of course there were." I'm bouncing on my toes now, unable to contain my excitement. "Was there magic? Please tell me there was magic."
“Officially I’m not allowed to say. Dean Markham didn’t approve it. Unofficially… a few stars might have fallen from the sky.”
After a few more minutes of squealing and details, I hang up and turn to Eli, who's watching me with a soft smile that makes me want to kiss the expression away.
"We're going to have to make some travel plan changes this winter," I say, trying to keep my voice casual.
"Why?"
The smile that slides up my face almost hurts. "Because Ethan proposed! Alex and Ethan are getting married!"
“What? That’s wonderful… that’s great, I mean, but I’m surprised he beat me to it.”
Wait. What?
Eli's eyes go wide as he realizes what he's just said. A blush creeps up his neck, and he runs a hand through his hair. "I mean... I didn't... That wasn't how I planned..."
I step closer and slide my hands up his chest until they rest on his shoulders. "Planned what, exactly?"
He takes a deep breath, then reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small jewelry box.
"I was going to do this properly," he whispers. “After the Rhiannon tour today. I thought that would be the perfect place.” He huffs out a laugh, a little self-conscious. “I had this whole speech planned. About how you taught me that the best stories aren’t the ones you plan—they’re the ones that surprise you.” His gaze softens.
“I’ve been carrying this ring around, holding out for the perfect moment.
But maybe it’s not about perfect. Maybe it’s about this. Us. And that’s even better.”
I jump on my toes and kiss him, pouring everything I feel into it—all the love and joy and certainty. When we break apart, we're both a little breathless.
"Is that a yes?" he asks.
"That's a yes so big I can't even find the right words." I throw my arms around his neck. “Also, over-analyzing the situation? For weeks? That’s so typical of you, it’s adorable.”
He laughs as he slides the ring onto my finger. It's vintage, with a small moonstone instead of a diamond. Perfect.
"So," he says, pressing his forehead to mine. "Ready for our next adventure?"
I think about how I almost missed this—missed him—by chasing emotional safety. By trying to protect my heart at all costs. By clinging so tightly to the idea that if I just didn’t risk my heart again, I could avoid the pain.
But maybe that's not what makes a life beautiful.
Maybe it's not about avoiding pain at all. Maybe it's about building something so full of joy and laughter and love that, yes, losing it will hurt—but it will also mean it was real. It was good. It was worth it.
And here, with Eli looking at me like I'm his favorite story, I realize... that's what I want. A life rich enough to grieve someday. A life wild and bright and messy enough to leave a mark.
A life that feels like magic—because it is.
"You know what?" I say, reaching up to adjust his glasses just because I can. "I think I'm ready for all of them."
We buy the Whitlock book (of course we do), and step out into the Edinburgh afternoon. The sky is a shade of blue that reminds me of the night we watched meteors together. Eli's hand is warm in mine, and my new ring catches the light.
I think about the letter in my bag—the one offering to extend my fellowship for another year.
Just yesterday, I was uncertain about what to do.
Now I know exactly what I want: to go home to Magnolia Cove with Eli.
To build a life there, knowing we can travel whenever we want.
To have movie nights with Alex and Ethan, planning their wedding while we plan ours.
To create the kind of love story that would make even Stevie Nicks proud.
I reach for his hand, and he laces our fingers together like it’s something he was always meant to do.
Maybe the bravest thing isn’t chasing something new.
Maybe it’s letting yourself be seen—fully, wildly, messily—and facing the fear of heartbreak to take all the beauty of life with it.
And maybe, just maybe… that’s where the magic really begins.