Epilogue #2
The familiar scents of home greeted me—the lemon oil he used on the wooden countertops, the faint sweetness from the flowers I’d arranged in a vase by the window, and the earthy smell of the herbs growing in pots along the windowsill.
The kitchen was easily my favorite room in the house, warm, inviting, and designed to accommodate both his height and mine, with clever solutions for our considerable size difference.
He released my hand and moved to the drawer beside the refrigerator, pulling out what appeared to be a ball of red yarn.
“Close your eyes,” he instructed.
I gave him a skeptical look. “Seriously?”
“Humor me.”
With a dramatic sigh, I closed my eyes, feeling slightly ridiculous but also intrigued. I heard him approach, felt the warmth of his body as he stood before me.
“Hold out your hand.”
I did as he asked, and felt him place something in my palm—the end of the yarn ball, I realized.
“Open your eyes.”
When I did, I found him watching me with an intensity that made my breath catch. “What’s this about?”
“It’s a guide,” he said. “Follow it. Don’t let go.”
“A guide to…?”
“You’ll see.” He gestured for me to start following the yarn, which I now noticed extended out of the kitchen and into the hallway beyond.
“You’re being very mysterious,” I observed, but began following the red thread nonetheless.
“It’s part of my charm.”
I snorted but continued walking, letting the yarn lead me through the house.
It wound through the hallway, past the living room with its oversized furniture built to Rion’s scale, and towards the eastern wing of the house—an area that had been largely unused when I first visited.
We’d discussed potential uses for the space, but hadn’t settled on anything concrete before I moved in.
The yarn led to a door I didn’t recognize. A new door by the look of it, made of rich, dark wood with intricate carvings along the frame. Architectural designs, I realized as I looked closer. Labyrinths within labyrinths, spiraling patterns that drew the eye inward.
“When did you…?” I began, running my fingers over the carvings.
“Open it,” he urged, his voice low and slightly rough with emotion.
I turned the handle and pushed the door open, the yarn continuing inside.
What I saw made me gasp.
The room beyond was a perfect blend of library and study, with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering three walls.
But not ordinary bookshelves. These had been crafted with loving attention to detail, with delicate carvings similar to those on the door running along the edges.
Rolling ladders—sturdy ones, I noted with amusement—were attached to rails that ran the length of each wall, allowing access to even the highest shelves.
The fourth wall was almost entirely windows, flooding the space with the golden light of sunset and offering a view of the woods beyond. A window seat ran beneath them, wide and cushioned, the perfect spot for reading on rainy days.
In the center of the room stood a large desk, its surface clear except for a small stack of books—my favorite classics, I realized—and a slender vase containing a single red rose. Beside the desk was a comfortable-looking chair, scaled perfectly to my height.
The yarn led me further into the room, around the desk, and towards the windows, where it ended tied around the stem of another rose placed on the window seat.
I turned back to Rion, who stood in the doorway watching me with an expression that made my heart squeeze.
“You built this,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “For me.”
He nodded, stepping into the room. “You needed a space of your own. Somewhere that fits you, not just me.”
Tears pricked at my eyes as I looked around again, taking in all the thoughtful details.
The lower shelves already held my books, arranged by the same system I’d used in my apartment.
The desk had drawers with labels in my handwriting—he must have salvaged them from my old desk.
Even the cushions on the window seat were covered in fabric that matched my favorite reading throw.
“When did you do all this?” I asked, moving towards him. “I was just here yesterday and this room was empty.”
A smile played at the corners of his mouth. “I may have enlisted some help. Brenda kept you busy at the library while my contractor friends worked through the night.”
“Brenda was in on this?” That explained her knowing smile this morning when I’d complained about the extra cataloging work she’d assigned me.
“She was very enthusiastic about the conspiracy,” he confirmed, taking another step closer. “She also helped me rescue your organization system. Apparently I had shelved Austen under romance instead of literature, which she assured me was a crime against literary classification.”
A laugh bubbled up through my tears. “It absolutely is.”
“I’ve been appropriately educated on the matter.” Another step, bringing him within arm’s reach. “Do you like it?”
“Like it?” I shook my head, overwhelmed. “Rion, I love it. It’s the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”
Relief softened his features. “Good. Because there’s one more thing.”
Before I could ask what he meant, he lowered himself to one knee before me—a position that, given our height difference, still left him nearly at eye level. My heart began to race as he took my hands in his.
“Clara,” he began, his deep voice resonating with emotion. “Before you, my life was a labyrinth with no center—complex but empty. I built walls to keep others out, convinced that solitude was safer than connection.”
My vision blurred with tears as I realized what was happening.
“Then you texted the wrong number,” he continued, a smile touching his lips, “and somehow found your way to the heart of my maze. You saw me—truly saw me—when I’d spent my life hiding. You brought light and laughter and literature into spaces that had known only silence.”
He reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box, opening it to reveal a ring unlike any I’d ever seen.
The band was intricately carved with a labyrinthine pattern that matched the door and shelves, and the stone was a deep blue that caught the fading sunlight, sending prisms of color dancing across the walls.
“This room is just a small reflection of what I hope to build with you—a life where both of us fit perfectly, where neither has to diminish to accommodate the other.” His hands, so massive and strong, held the delicate ring with infinite gentleness.
“Clara Bellweather, would you do me the extraordinary honor of becoming my wife?”
For a moment I couldn’t speak, too overwhelmed by the depth of emotion flooding through me.
This incredible being, who had endured isolation and prejudice, who had built himself a fortress against a world that feared him, was offering me his heart with such vulnerability that it took my breath away.
“Yes,” I finally managed, the word emerging as a whisper before I found my voice. “Yes, Rion. Of course I will.”
His exhale was shaky, as if he’d truly feared I might decline. With careful precision, he slid the ring onto my finger—a perfect fit, of course. Rion never miscalculated measurements.
“It’s beautiful,” I said, admiring the way the stone seemed to hold depths within it, like a tiny ocean captured in crystal.
“Blue labradorite,” he explained. “It reminds me of your eyes when you’re excited about a new book—full of possibilities and hidden treasures.”
I threw my arms around his neck, nearly knocking him off-balance despite his solid frame. “I love you. So much.”
His arms encircled me, strong and secure. “And I love you. More than I have words to express.”
I leaned back to look into his eyes, my heart so full it felt like it might burst. “Then show me,” I suggested with a smile.
He understood my meaning instantly, rising to his full height and lifting me effortlessly into his arms. “With pleasure,” he rumbled, carrying me towards the door. “Though perhaps not in your new study. The desk isn’t properly reinforced yet.”
I laughed, burying my face against his neck. “Always the practical architect.”
“I prefer to think of it as planning ahead,” he countered, carrying me down the hallway towards our bedroom. “After all, we have a lifetime of load-bearing furniture to design together.”
“Is that a proposal or a promise?” I teased, nipping lightly at his jaw.
His answering growl sent a delicious shiver down my spine. “Both.”
As he kicked the bedroom door closed behind us, I caught one last glimpse of the red yarn trailing through the house—a thread that had led me not just to a beautiful room, but to the culmination of a journey that had begun with a wrong number and ended exactly right.
From misdirected text to marriage proposal, I thought as Rion laid me gently on our bed. Who would have thought a ladder emergency would lead to this?
But then his lips found mine, and all thoughts scattered like pages in the wind. There would be time for reflection later—for now, there was only this moment, this man, this improbable love that had turned my orderly life into the most wonderful kind of beautiful chaos.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.