EPILOGUE
WESLEY
OCTOBER
The house still smells like fresh paint and sawdust.
It’s softened now—less sharp than it was when we moved in a week ago—but every time I breathe in, I’m reminded that this is really ours. Something I almost lost before it even started.
A chilly October breeze slips through the cracked kitchen window behind me as I stir the pot on the stove.
It’s a Friday night, but we’re staying in. No Lucky’s. No loud music or crowds. Just us.
The Princess Bride is playing on the TV mounted above the fireplace, the living room washed in the soft glow of the flames. Sadie’s curled up on the couch, burrowed beneath the quilt she stole from the main house—the one she “accidentally forgot” to give back.
Iris is curled at her feet, blissfully asleep. The new leather couch was supposed to be a no-dog zone, but Iris has been too good lately to kick her off. I’ve given up pretending I stand a chance saying no to either of my girls.
Sadie’s laptop sits open on the coffee table, her course textbooks stacked beside it.
She still works on the ranch—she insisted—but Dad moved her to part-time for the off-season, claiming “education comes first.” She argued, of course, but he didn’t budge.
I’ve never seen someone so grateful and annoyed at the same time.
For a moment, I just watch her—tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear like she always does—and the thought hits me all over again: I almost didn’t get this. Didn’t get her.
I don’t know what I did to deserve a second chance, but I’ll spend the rest of my life paying back every person who helped me get here.
I wipe my hands on the non-decorative dish towel—because according to Sadie, there is a difference—and head for my phone on the end table so I can put on a playlist while I finish cooking.
When I pass behind the couch, I glance at the TV to see it’s paused at one of my favorite parts. I lean down and press a kiss to the top of Sadie’s head.
She’s on FaceTime with Mia, who’s ranting not so quietly about wigs or something.
“Hey, Mia,” I call, giving a small wave before walking back to the stove. The pan sizzles as I stir, scrolling through my playlists. I’m not trying to listen, but Mia is…theatrical.
“She’s dead set on a PR relationship,” she groans through the speaker.
“Wait, I thought you got to pick the guy?” Sadie asks.
I try to tune them out, focusing on dinner—until I hear:
“They’re pushing for Landon.”
I choke on a laugh, loud enough that Iris lifts her head and Sadie twists around, eyes sparkling with amusement.
“Good luck with that. Landon would rather eat glass than play Hollywood arm candy,” I say, and I hear Mia’s muffled snort on the phone.
“I already told them no. There’s no way it would work. It would be so obvious it was fake,” Mia says.
Sadie throws off the blanket and stands. “You know what? I’m going to go ask him. Right now—”
“He already knows.”
Sadie stops mid-step. I freeze right along with her.
He already knows?
Since when? And why the hell hasn’t he said anything?
Mia keeps ranting, oblivious. “He’s an asshole. How can Robyn think he’s the best option?”
Sadie wanders into the kitchen and climbs onto a stool at the island so she can watch me while she talks. “I mean…I get it. That picture of you two was hot. You saw the comments. Mystery cowboy is intriguing.”
Mia groans again. “Well, it’s not happening. But could you still give me his number so Robyn can drop it?”
Sadie hesitates, wrinkling her nose.
“I’ll give it to you,” I call out before she can say no.
Both Sadie and Mia go silent—then Sadie bursts into giggles, waving her finger at me.
“Wesley Morrow, you are going to be in so much trouble.”
I grin, leaning over the island and kissing the tip of her nose before whispering against her skin, “You can punish me later, Sadie baby. Dinner’s almost ready.”