Epilogue
We leave the following Friday. Beckett upgrades us to first class.
When we get back to the States, Beckett and I are deluged by an onslaught of media inquiries and requests from bookstores. BookScan numbers show that sales for Holiday Island have skyrocketed. I’ve never heard Evan so excited in the whole time I’ve known him.
“Cabaret’s going to have to do another print run!” he exclaims when I finally get to speak to him on the phone.
“I can’t believe you talked to People magazine without me.”
“Not my fault, Mel. It was a hundred percent the idea of your beau.”
“He’s something else,” I say.
We discuss events on a Zoom call at my dining room table. The call includes me, Beckett, Evan, Shelby, my publicist Adriana, and the entire marketing team at Hudson Yards. I share that I have one bookstore appearance left on my calendar: a little shop on Cape Cod called the Brewster Book Store.
“I’d like to keep it, if that’s okay,” I tell everyone. “They believed in me when no one else did.”
“We envision a big tour, though,” the Hudson Yards head publicist says.
“The Ripped Bodice, Meet Cute in San Diego, the Last Chapter in Chicago, Grump and Sunshine in Maine, Happily-Ever-After in Toronto, the Strand in New York City. We’ve got a call with Books-a-Million set up for next week and Barnes & Noble the Monday after that.
People fall all over themselves at a real-life happy ending. ”
I look at Beckett. He shrugs. “I’d like to do the Cape one too,” he says, squeezing my hand under the table.
“Of course, B,” Shelby says. “It’s already a thing. What was the date for that?”
“End of this month. The 27th,” I say.
“That can be your kickoff date, then,” Adriana suggests.
“I’m sorry. I just don’t understand why this feels like such a rush,” I ask.
“Gotta capitalize on the moment,” Evan explains. “Right now, you’re the ‘it’ couple. And it’s summer. Readers will flock to stores to see you. Also, out of respect for your job, Mel, we don’t want to push into September when you go back to school.”
“Oh. Right.” I nod.
“Nothing like this has ever happened before,” Adriana goes on. “Two authors writing essentially the same book, you know? It’s a big deal.”
So they do their thing. They plan a crazy tour. We’ll be in seventeen different states during the last five weeks of the summer.
As promised, the Brewster Book Store, an adorable little shop in the inside elbow of Cape Cod, is our first stop.
And, true to their word, the line is around the block.
There’s a table set up in the front where a sweet girl named Emma hustles to give out Post-it notes and collect people’s names and inscription requests.
The owner, Jessica, hides me and Beckett in a gorgeous apartment above the shop with a lovely charcuterie board and a four-pack of High Noon lime-flavored vodka seltzer on ice, because I’m picky and don’t like wine.
She chats with us about our books, rehearses some of the questions she’s going to ask us in the garden behind the shop where the event will be held, and thanks us profusely for making her our first stop.
“It’s my pleasure,” I say. “To be honest, you were the only bookstore that didn’t pull out on me when the whole world thought I stole his book,” I say, pointing at Beckett.
“I read both of your books,” Jessica replies, “and I knew there was more to the story.”
“There usually is,” Beckett offers, smiling.
“Well,” Jessica says, checking her watch. “I’d say it’s about time. Is there anything else you need before we head downstairs?”
“No, thanks. This has already been nicer than any event I’ve ever done.”
Jessica smiles and leads us downstairs.
There are only enough seats for about a hundred people, and everyone else stands in the back, clutching our books to their chests.
“Holy shit,” I whisper to Beckett. “Standing room only. Can you believe it?”
“Get used to it. You’re a big deal now.”
“Oh, right. You’re familiar with all this,” I say with a smirk.
“You’ve always been the biggest deal to me,” he replies. He kisses me on the forehead.
We sit side by side on a pair of wicker chairs, with Jessica standing beside us, fumbling with a wireless microphone.
She welcomes everyone and thanks them all for coming. “It’s such a huge pleasure to welcome to the Brewster Book Store our special guests: Melody Adams and Beckett Nash!” Cheers and applause fill the garden and the parking area behind it.
“It’s customary with these kinds of events for our authors to begin with a short reading. So”—Jessica goes on, handing me a copy of my book and Beckett a copy of his—“would you mind doing us the honor?”
Beckett looks at me. “Ladies first?” he offers.
I shrug. I always get nervous reading my work out loud.
I flip the copy of Holiday Island open to the first page. A Post-it note has been stuck inside to mark the page. It’s got something scribbled on it.
Hey, it reads, before you read, just a quick question. Will you marry me?
I gasp. “Is this from you?” I ask Beckett.
“What is it?” Jessica asks, concerned. A little crease forms between her eyebrows, as if I’ve discovered something inappropriate.
I hold it up and read it to the crowd, but I already know the answer.
His smirk says it all.
He gets down on one knee and the crowd literally explodes. “I should have done this the first time around,” Beckett says, when they finally quiet down. Cell phones are up everywhere, recording this moment for the whole internet to see.
“What do you mean?”
He takes a ring out of his pocket. No box.
The diamond is mammoth. He holds it up to me.
“The book proposal,” he explains. “I knew I wanted to marry you after knowing you for just the first week. I should have proposed at the end of my book. Maybe if I had gone about it differently, sent the manuscript to Evan, you know? Maybe this all could have worked out with fewer complications…”
I start to cry. I raise my hands to my mouth so as to not have my face look horrific in all these people’s videos.
“Please tell me these are happy tears.”
I nod. “I love you so much,” I say.
“Then you should say yes,” he smiles.
“Yes,” I reply. “Yes! Obviously, yes.”
He slides the ring on my finger. We kiss, and more cheering ensues.
Beckett returns to his seat beside me. I’m beside myself.
The ring is gorgeous. My heart is pounding.
I wish my mom were here to see it all, but I look at the two bon bini bracelets adorning my wrist and remember that she’s always with me. The crowd watches us with wide eyes.
“What now?” I ask. Everyone laughs.
“Now you read,” Beckett says.
“Are you kidding me? You want me to read after all that?”
“I do,” he encourages me. “It took us a long time to figure out how our story would end. So now that we know, just go ahead and start at the beginning.”
I shake my head, but I can’t stop smiling.
“Fine,” I say. I move the Post-it to the inside cover. “I can’t believe this,” I laugh.
“Go on.”
I clear my throat and will my body to make my hands stop shaking.
Beckett places his hand on my knee, and I settle in, take a deep, cleansing breath, and begin:
“I never dreamed I would meet the great love of my life at a JetBlue counter…”