Epilogue
Three months later
Jordan leaned back on his hands on the tartan picnic blanket as he watched the harbour bustling away, the Opera House and Harbour Bridge glinting in the sun.
Springtime in Sydney was the perfect time to enjoy a picnic.
The weather was mild, usually sunny, and while nights might still be cool, it wasn’t as chilly as in Wattle Vale.
He and Emma-Jane had made another visit to Aunty Marion this morning; then he’d been surprised by her with this picnic, a collection of some of his favourite foods, like lemon tarts. And his favourite person.
Emma-Jane nudged his shoulder with hers. “So, are you having fun, Mr. Vice President?”
He grinned and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “How’s that as an answer?”
“I’m gonna take that as a yes.”
“You should definitely take that as a yes. This is perfect. I couldn’t ask for anything more.”
She snuggled closer, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “I’m so thankful that you’re happy with a celebration like this. That you don’t need the bright lights or the money.”
“Money is great but not when it’s our master.”
“So true.” She shivered, and he tucked her closer.
He was thankful for his new pay cheque. He certainly wasn’t going to argue when Dean Donwell had undertaken a major reshuffle at Donwell that saw Lionel kicked to the kerb and Jordan leapfrog several rungs of the ladder to reach VP status.
Not that it was anything he’d ever expected. But he’d take it, all the same.
“And you’re happy with how Dream Match is progressing?”
She nodded. Her sharp bob was a little softer now, just like Emma-Jane was too.
“I still can’t believe Eric and Gwen were trying to take it over, then change the focus completely.
” Something that had come out in the weeks after their failed coup, when Harriet and Maurice had received several emails from a reporter stating exactly that.
“Or maybe I can. That’s the kind of people they are. ”
“Don’t think about them. That’s all in the past now.”
She smiled up at him, her blue eyes sparkling clear like the harbour.
He smiled. “What is it?”
“I love you.”
His heart warmed. “I love you too.”
He proved it in a kiss that soon grew heated, until he heard a woman’s voice say, “Jeremy, look away.”
“Oops,” Emma-Jane murmured, her face showing anything but regret.
Of course that meant he had to kiss her again. “Oops.”
She laughed. “It’s funny how many oops we can have in one day.”
“Funny or wonderful?”
“Definitely wonderful,” she murmured, wrapping her arms around his neck.
“Jeremy!” the woman called.
Jordan had to regretfully ease away. “This park is not exactly the most private of venues.”
“But it’s right near Aunty Marion’s flat, which made it so much easier to bring all the picnic bits down.” Now she was living there again, with frequent visits from her sisters, when Elinor and Katie weren’t in England, that was. They were due back soon. “We can’t have it all.”
“Hmm, I’d say we definitely have it all. A great app? Tick. Great jobs? Tick.”
“Great families?” she said. “Tick.”
“A great God?”
She beamed. “Tick.”
It was so good to see her far more settled and confident.
She’d recently shared about some of those reasons why she’d felt the need to prove herself, and they’d talked about it, read what God had to say about it, prayed together, and determined to see themselves as God did.
Chosen. Loved. Forgiven. Created to do good works, which God had prepared in advance for them to do.
Which meant a very generous donation to a children’s ministry in the Philippines.
And another to an orphanage in Zimbabwe.
And a sizeable donation to an organisation that rescued women and children from slavery that had made the founders’ eyes nearly fall from their heads.
For what was the point in having money if they couldn’t do something good with it?
To meet needs now rather than wait for the mythical “one day.”
“You know what Katie called you the other day?”
“What?”
“She called you my Mr. Knightley.”
“Ha. I’m not precisely Mr. Knightley,” he scoffed.
“You’ll always be my Mr. Knightley. My knight in shining armour.” She hugged him.
“And you’re my Miss Bennett.” He stole a kiss. “Or is that Woodhouse?” “Woodhouse-Knightley. Just like we said all those years ago.”
He picked up her hand, wondering how long it would be until he could place some hardware on her finger. Maybe at Christmas. If he could wait that long.
She studied their hands, and he saw how their fingers fit together. Pale and freckled, soft and sturdy, yet together they were strong. Stronger together. Encouraging each other to be better versions of themselves.
“You know, I feel like we’re puzzle pieces that fit together perfectly.”
She smiled. “Almost like we’re another Dream Match success story.”
“Definitely a Dream Match success story. We are the original Dream Match, after all.”
Her face softened as she traced his cheek, making his breath hitch. “True love, huh?”
“You know it.”
“The perfect union.”
She should know, as she was the perfect woman for him.
He kissed her again, a gentle, tender kiss that spoke of years of trust and kindness. A kiss that promised that whatever might come in the future, their friendship and faith would forever lead to the perfect happiness of the union.