Epilogue
Vivien
The morning sun peeks in through cracks in the drapes, casting bright lines across the carpet. Birds chirp in the distance.
I love Sunday mornings. We have nothing to do, no place to be, no calls to answer. It’s cool enough to sit on the porch in the shade in the morning, before the sun gets too high in the sky.
I stretch in the warm bed, one hand reaching reflexively for Spencer, but his side is empty. Sitting up, I blink and glance around the empty bedroom.
Before I can slide out of bed, the door opens, and he walks in.
“Hey. You’re awake.”
“You’re carrying a tray. Where did you get that? Is that breakfast?” It’s light wood, oak maybe, with handles. Thick and sturdy. A plate rests on top of it, piled with something that smells like bacon and next to it a pile of pale pancakes. A yellow rose juts out of a narrow vase.
“I found it in the pantry, hidden behind the Crock-Pot. And yes, it is.” He sits on the edge of the bed, carefully placing the tray over my lap.
“This reminds me of the first time you made me breakfast.”
“Yep. To celebrate our five-month anniversary.”
I count back six months to March. “I guess it has been five months. That’s wild.” So much has changed since then, since I left Boston in the middle of a snowstorm on Valentine’s Day.
He taps the side of the tray. “There’s a surprise under the plate.”
“What is this?” I would have missed it if he hadn’t said something. Only a tiny white triangle, the corner of an envelope is visible. “Is this another letter?”
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you about it. Or give it to you sooner.”
I’ve already pulled it out. Vivien final letter is written on the front. I look up at him. “I didn’t know there would be more.”
“Beverly wanted me to save it for after you signed the paperwork and everything was said and done.”
On Friday, everything with Beverly’s estate was formalized and completed. I signed all the paperwork and took official possession of the Palace Theater and the house. We’re going to celebrate.
“I’ll give you a minute.”
He leaves, and I slide the page out of the envelope.
Vivien,
My girl, if you’re reading this, that means you’ve completed all the tasks.
I knew you could do it. I’m so glad The Palace is yours.
Take care of it and treat it like the precious gem it is.
It’s more than just a building, it’s a place that brings people together.
Never underestimate the power of connection.
We all need each other. Which is why I’m giving you one final task: pass the list on.
Erase one of the names or add someone else and pass it along.
It doesn’t matter if they end up with the person they are listed with, it doesn’t matter what you tell them about the tasks or if there are tasks.
The point is the journey, not the destination.
Find someone who needs a hand. A change.
Their world shaken up a bit. You’ll know when you see them.
If you didn’t end up with Graham (I imagine you didn’t), he needs his world shaken too, so keeping him at the top is a good idea. He’ll hate it. It will be hilarious.
I laugh. Yes. That would be hilarious.
I hope you’ll still feel my presence in the theater. I’ll still be there, watching from the projection room, hidden in the laughter of the audience, in the gasp of a haunting moment, in the rush of a high-speed chase.
Love always,
Beverly
I swallow and set the letter aside. Pass the letter on . . . I can’t imagine who I might pick for those kinds of shenanigans.
“Hey.” Audrey appears in the doorway. “Oh, is that bacon? I thought I smelled it.” She glides into the room, wearing flowing linen pants and a white form-fitting shirt, a pale blue Bottega Veneta bag tucked under her arm.
“Are those crepes? Did Spencer cook breakfast?” She plops down next to me, picks up my fork and spears a slice of melon.
I sigh.
She flips her hair over her shoulder. “So, there’s a job fair next weekend. Do you want to go with me?”
“Why would I go with you?”
She grabs a piece of bacon, waving it in the air. “You know, moral support.”
“It would probably be better if you go alone to show everyone you know how to do things without your big sister. Could you not eat my entire breakfast?”
She grunts and the fork drops back on the tray with a clatter, “Ugh, fine. Whatever. You can keep your stupid pancake things, it’s too much processed carbs anyway, and I gotta go. Can I use your car?”
“Sure. Be back by two though. I have work to do at the theater.” She had to turn her rental in months ago, because Mother cut her off and I am no longer financing her lifestyle.
Except for letting her live with me, and feeding her, and letting her use my car .
. . but she has been helping out at the theater and actually did a decent job setting up a social media account and adding reels and photos, so I did pay her for that.
But it won’t be enough. She needs a job.
And while we’re getting along, it’s better if she works elsewhere so I don’t strangle her.
Once she gets a job, she can save for a car and then her own place to live.
I hope.
Her lips purse. “Can’t you take Spencer’s car?”
“Where are you going?”
“I’m meeting Quinn for coffee.”
My brows rise. “You’re going to Brewed Awakening dressed like that?”
She looks down at her pressed and perfect outfit that probably cost somewhere around ten grand. “What’s wrong with this?”
“It’s not a Michelin-starred dining establishment. It has a drink called Rise and Grind.”
Her nose wrinkles. “Ew.”
After she leaves, I get back to enjoying my breakfast in bed and thinking about Beverly’s letter.
A minute later, Spencer appears in the doorway carrying a mug of coffee. “Has Audrey stolen all my bacon yet?”
“Most of it.”
“Typical.” He sits beside me. “Everything okay?”
I smooth a hand over the page. “She left me one final task.”
His expression immediately becomes wary. “Oh no.”
I laugh. “Don’t worry, I won’t be bothering Graham. Well, other people might, but it won’t be me.”
“Intriguing.”
“Apparently I’m supposed to take the list, change a name, and pass it on to someone else.”
He chuckles. “Beverly’s matchmaking schemes live on.”
“According to her, the point isn’t necessarily the matches but helping someone who needs a nudge. Or a second chance. Or a place to belong.”
“Sounds familiar. Might be fun to take over her matchmaking legacy. Turn it into a pyramid scheme.”
“Wait until you hear this: She specifically suggested leaving Graham’s name on the list.”
Spencer laughs. “He would hate that.”
“Exactly. Help me finish this.”
We finish eating, and then Spencer clears away the dishes while I disappear into the bathroom. I turn on the shower and wait for the water to warm.
Six months ago, I was living in Boston. Hiding in an apartment. Letting food deliveries and streaming services and excuses shrink my world smaller and smaller.
I came to Surrender without expectations and found a home. Friends. Family.
And somehow, impossibly, I found Spencer and a future I wouldn’t have dreamed of.
The bathroom door opens.
I glance over my shoulder just as Spencer steps inside.
His gaze sweeps over me and heats, hotter than the water rushing from the showerhead. “Is this heaven?”
I laugh. “You’re ridiculous.”
His grin widens as he steps closer.
But I know exactly how he feels. It’s hard to believe he’s mine, especially when I rub my hands up his chest, lightly tanned from working on the yard over the summer.
Warm water cascades around us. His hands settle at my waist, his touch now intimately familiar, and like always, the rest of the world falls away.
Once, I thought real love, real happiness was something that happened to other people. Nonfamous people.
Spencer brushes a kiss against my temple.
Sunlight spills through the bathroom window, turning the steam gold.
And standing here in the life I almost never found, I finally understand what Beverly had been trying to tell me all along. The best things happen when you let people in.
I wrap my arms around his neck. There is nowhere else we need to be.
Nothing demanding our attention. No work, no elderly folks vying for Spencer’s attention, no tasks, no lists. Just a quiet Sunday morning with the man I love.
Everything I need is already here.
The End