Epilogue
ANDILAND
Andi
“Cole!” I yell, balancing the world’s squirmiest baby on my hip while trying not to get pureed banana in my hair. “This one is yours. I did the last blowout. I’m officially on a diaper strike.”
Across the yard, Cole looks up from the grill—shirtless, tongs in hand, baseball cap on backwards, grinning like a man who has no idea his daughter just redecorated her onesie with something suspiciously green and gelatinous.
“Happy to take my turn,” he calls back, voice all sunshine and smugness. “That’s how parenting works, babe.”
“Not when she’s leaking that.”
Kate snorts from her lounge chair, sipping iced tea like she’s watching a comedy special. “Oh, honey. You think it gets better once they’re potty trained, but then they just start peeing on purpose.”
Jack’s beside her, flipping through a dog-eared paperback, the baby monitor from their house somehow clipped to his belt like he’s the new sheriff in town. They’re newly married and disgustingly cute about it—he calls her ‘darlin’’ now like he was born in a Hallmark movie.
“Well,” Jack says without looking up, “at least Beef’s housebroken.”
Beef, the thousand-pound fluff monster, is currently curled up under the picnic table with our two-year-old daughter asleep across his back like a tiny, drooling queen on a furry throne.
Her sippy cup is in one hand, half a graham cracker in the other, and I’m ninety percent sure she bribed him with food scraps to stay perfectly still.
“They’re co-conspirators,” Cole mutters as he approaches with a fresh diaper and his patented I got this, babe smirk. “I’m starting to think she speaks fluent dog.”
“She does,” I say. “That’s her first language. English is her second.”
Cole takes her gently from my arms, not even flinching as she gurgles and snorts and proceeds to smear banana across his shoulder.
“Hi, angel,” he coos, kissing her cheek and pulling a face when he gets baby drool in his mouth. “Wow. Okay. That’s... earthy.”
“She’s got your aim,” I say, rubbing my temple. “And your weird love of chaos.”
He beams. “High praise.”
Kate waves a baby wipe in the air like a flag of surrender. “There are more in the bag under the stroller. And for the record? This is the best entertainment I’ve had in weeks.”
“Glad we can be your sitcom,” I grumble, plopping into the chair beside her.
She pats my leg. “You’re a great mom, Andi.”
I narrow my eyes. “Is that what you said after I cried over accidentally buying non-organic puffs?”
“You care,” she says, simple and true. “That’s the whole job.”
Across the yard, Cole is narrating the diaper change like he’s hosting a nature documentary.
“Here we have the elusive Wild Poop,” he says, voice low and reverent. “It’s cunning. It’s fast. It’s everywhere.”
“Cole!” I bark, trying not to laugh.
He grins back at me over his shoulder. “You’re the one who didn’t want to do this round. You gave up naming rights.”
I groan, burying my face in my hands.
“Don’t worry,” he adds. “I’ll name it something classy. Like... Sir Stinks-a-Lot.”
Kate leans over. “Still dreamy.”
“I know, right?” I say, peeking at him. “Best dad ever. Total weirdo. I’m stuck for life.”
Later, the baby’s clean, the toddler’s been bribed with cookies, and Beef has consumed five unauthorized mini hot dogs.
We gather on the porch—Jack and Kate in their matching rockers, Cole and I tangled together on the swing, the baby asleep across both of our laps and our toddler digging in a potted plant with a stolen spatula.
I don’t have the energy to stop her.
“She’s gonna be just like you,” Cole says, watching our daughter methodically destroy my begonias. “Stubborn. Determined. Completely unable to leave well enough alone.”
“Good,” I say. “Someone needs to keep you on your toes when I’m tired.”
He chuckles.
The sun’s slipping behind the trees, painting the sky with soft gold and cotton-candy pink. The air smells like charcoal, sunscreen, and baby shampoo. This messy, noisy, perfect little moment is everything I never knew I wanted.
I glance over at Cole, who’s stroking the baby’s hair with that soft look he gets when he thinks no one’s watching.
“I love you,” I whisper.
“Love you more.” He doesn’t look away from her. “Still can’t believe you let me knock you up twice,” he murmurs against my hair.
I elbow him gently. “Behave.”
Kate sighs happily. “Alright. But next week, it’s our turn to host.”
“Deal,” Cole and I both say at the same time.
We stay like that until the stars come out, our weird, patched-together little family held together by hot dogs, baby wipes, and unconditional love.
Who knew that a meet-cute in a morgue could lead to this? To banana-covered chaos and stolen spatulas and a love so big it barely fits in our messy little yard.
Honestly?
It’s perfect.
Thank you so much for reading Cole & Andi’s story! I have another standalone you might love. Dean is incredibly grumpy and broken, and Poppy is his medicine. There’s also a very naughty goat.
THE GRUMP NEXT DOOR