29. Epilogue
Epilogue
KATE
Sunlight drapes across my lap, warm and familiar, and the breeze through the open window carries the scent of grass, sawdust, and something new.
Parker’s outside hammering away at his lopsided birdhouse, giggling with each crooked nail, while Blaze lets out a long-suffering sigh that rattles the porch floorboards.
I can’t see them from here, but I don’t need to. I know the poor dog already has enough of Parker’s incessant pounding; still, I know he won’t leave his side.
My brush moves in slow, steady strokes. Blue first, then a soft gray that bleeds into it, the shape of wind in the sky, each stroke carries ocean salt and old memories.
Our wedding invitation is beside me on the table.
Cream card, hand-painted blue flowers curling around our names. It’s the only copy we kept. The rest are already sealed and sent, tucked away into mailboxes for everyone who is special to us. But this one's staying with us. A reminder of everything it took to get here.
I sense Noah beside me even before he speaks.
The shift of the floor under his weight, the pause just behind me. The way my skin warms without his fingers even touching.
“I dropped the invite at the post office this morning,” Noah says, his voice brushing against my neck like a thumbprint. “For your parents.”
My brush hovers midair as I wonder if they will honor the invite and attend our wedding or if the expectation they have will hold them back. But I don’t voice any of it out, because Noah is already worried about them.
We both let the moment sit between us, like the simmering tension before a first kiss.
“And…” He shifts his weight from foot to foot. “I also gave one to Tara.”
Now I glance over my shoulder.
His brows are knit, eyes tracking my face as if he’s trying to gauge a reaction. “She surprised me…”
“How so?” I ask, facing him fully now.
“She uh…she apologized. Said she’d had a crush on me for years. Thought maybe something would happen before you came into town. That she felt… threatened, I guess.”
I set the brush down gently. “You’re surprised she said that?”
“Why would she ever think, I would have something with my first love’s sister?” Noah squints at me. “What really surprises me is that you’re not surprised.”
I smile a little. “I already knew.”
“What?”
“Emily and Rachel told me. Back when she attacked me when I first got into town.” I stand, stretching my legs. The hem of my dress brushes the tops of my bare feet. “I figured it wasn’t my place to say anything.”
He stares at me, eyes narrowing like he’s trying to solve a puzzle.
“You’re something else,” he mutters, almost to himself.
“Hmm,” I hum, brushing past him. “Come on. I want to show you something.”
NOAH
She takes my hand, the same way she’s done it a thousand times now, fingers cool and easy around mine, and leads me up the stairs toward the attic. The attic door creaks and sticks on the left, just like always. I make a mental note to fix it.”
Warm light spills across the dust and canvas as she opens up fully, and the space smells like cedar and old dreams.
There are paintings everywhere. Against the walls, propped on old wooden crates, half-covered with sheets. Some I’ve seen in glimpses of while she paints around the house, or some that she lets dry out. But everything is…..it’s an entire world.
The first visible painting is of Parker in the hammock, head tipped back in a summer nap, Blaze curled beneath him like a watchful shadow. The next is of the cliffs at sunset, the brushstrokes wide and wild as if the wind was painted in too.
Then, a still life of the mug I always leave by the sink, half full, a smear of her red lipstick on the rim I never quite wipe away.
Then I see the one that makes my jaw drop.
A man’s back. Broad, a little hunched, bathed in firelight. But the magic is in the way the woman in the painting looks at him, as if he’s the beginning and the end of something she thought she'd lost. That look hits like a punch to the ribs.
“She’s in love,” I say, barely louder than a breath. “She’s you…”
Kate’s standing behind me, hands clasped in front of her. Her cheeks are flushed. “Yes, she’s me and I think… I think I’m ready to go public.”
I turn slowly.
“With all this?” I gesture around us, as if it’s not obvious.
She nods. “I’ve been procrastinating on it for so long, and now it feels like—like I’m ready to be seen.”
I don’t say anything right away. I’m trying to swallow the lump in my throat. She’s so perfect in every sense that matters.
“You made all this while I wasn’t looking?” I finally ask, stepping closer. “How did I not see it?”
“You weren’t supposed to,” She smiles, a little shy now, like this means more than she can admit. “Not until now.”
I wrap my arms around her before I even think about it, anchoring her to my chest. She’s soft, warm, all color and breath.
“I’ve always known,” I say, stepping closer. “You were so much more than a schoolteacher.”
She leans back enough to look up. “Really?”
I brush my fingers over the paint smudges on her wrist. “Yes. Really. You’re the whole gallery, Katie. You always have been.”
I brush a strand of hair from her cheek. “You’re the one who taught me how to see again.”
"You don’t just paint what you see, Katie. You paint what you feel. And loving you feels like color after a lifetime in grayscale.”
Her hand finds the side of my face. She doesn’t say anything.
I press a kiss to the inside of her palm, right where her pulse flutters, and my thumb runs along her delicate wrist, slow and reverent. She feels warm against me, sunlight, brushstrokes, and quiet strength wrapped in softness.
I look past her shoulder, letting my eyes sweep the attic again, the colors, the movement, the emotion hanging in the air like dust caught in golden light. Every canvas is a confession. A risk. A piece of her.
“I want to help,” I say. “Whatever you have in mind. Showings, galleries, online — hell, even a pop-up in the city. You name it. I’ll be there.”
She blinks, lips parting like she didn’t expect that. “You mean it?”
“Of course, I mean it. You’ve been hiding a whole world in this attic, Katie.” I cup her face, my thumb tracing beneath her eye. “The world deserves to see what I’ve been lucky enough to witness up close.”
She leans in before I can say more, her mouth meeting mine in a kiss that’s as much gratitude as it is love.
Slow, lingering. It’s not hungry—it’s steady, reverent, like she’s tethering me to something sacred.
Her fingers slide into my hair. I wrap both arms around her and deepen the kiss, letting it say the things I don’t always know how to.
When we finally part, she rests her forehead against mine, her breath brushing my lips.
“I thought about maybe starting small,” she whispers. “A website, maybe. Emily’s offered to help set it up. And then maybe a booth at the arts festival after our wedding.”
I nod, my hand smoothing down her back. “That’s perfect. We’ll make it happen.”
She pulls away gently and walks back to the painting of Parker in the hammock. Her fingers trail the edge of the frame like she’s still part of the painting.
“I used to think this part of me had to stay hidden,” she says quietly. “Like showing it would take away its magic. Or people wouldn’t see it the way I did.”
I step behind her, slipping my arms around her waist again. “I see it, Katie. And it’s nothing short of magic.”
She smiles and tilts her head, resting it against my shoulder. “Thank you. For always saying the right things. It still scares me, a little. But it scares me more to hide it forever.”
I kiss her temple. “You’re worth everything.”
Downstairs, we hear Parker calling out something about the birdhouse roof falling off again, followed by Blaze barking in agreement.
She laughs softly. “We should find him a new project, before he nails the mailbox to the porch.”
"Good idea," I tell her, "maybe he can help me with my next painting project?"
"I'm sure he'd love that! What are you going to paint?"
"I was thinking...a nursery," I say, watching her face.
She blushes and her face softens in that way I’ll never get over, the way it only does when she’s feeling everything at once.
We kiss again, slower this time, and I let it carry everything: the promise, the quiet relief, the future we’ve built with careful hands.
When we finally descend the attic stairs, her hand finds mine. Fingers intertwined. A grip that says we’re here now and we're ready for whatever comes next. Sunlight still spills through the windows, soft and golden, casting the shape of our future in light.