Epilogue & BONUS Scene
Jude and I spend the week together.
He’s there when Marsha calls to say I got the job. We celebrate by making dinner in Jude’s gorgeous kitchen, where he bakes me a heavenly pavlova with heavy cream.
Next, Jude and I host a celebration dinner at my place with Nellie, Mr. Bruce, and Jinxy. There, I announce that I’m ready to be a cat mom, specifically to one of the hairless breeds, a venture that Jude wholeheartedly supports.
Mr. Bruce jumps to his feet. “Jinxy’s a stud,” he announces.
Nellie scrunches her face. “What the Sam Hill does that mean?”
“It’s like a sperm donor in the animal kingdom,” Mr. Bruce explains. “It makes us some extra cash on the side, and Jinxy gets to have a little company.”
I gasp. “You mean there are little Jinxys out there?”
“Indeed.” He goes on to explain that the mama gave birth to kittens thirteen weeks ago, and he gets the pick of the litter or the price equivalent.
It’s all sounding too good to be true. Especially considering that, according to the local animal shelters and pet stores, there’s been a rash of hairless cat inquiries since the live show.
“Are you taking the money or picking a cat?” I ask.
“I’ll take the pick of the litter if you want to give him a good home,” Mr. Bruce offers, and I’m so happy, I hug him.
On Christmas Eve, Jude and I go see the kittens with Mr. Bruce and Jinxy.
They’re so tiny and adorable I squeal at the sight of them.
“Well,” Jude says, “which one is it going to be?”
My gaze lands on the one that looks most like Jinxy. I point to her. “That one.”
“Got a name in mind?” Mr. Bruce asks.
“JJ,” I say, “for Jinxy Junior.”
Jude puts his arm around me. “I like it.”
I’m glad because if all goes well, Jude and I will make for the altar one day, and JJ will be Jude’s baby, too.
The tiny thing licks my thumb, and Jinxy moves in to lick her head. I gush and sigh because the sight is so sweet I can barely take it.
“Jinxy’s going to love having a little friend,” Mr. Bruce says through tears.
“JJ will love it too.” We hug Mr. Bruce and Jinxy goodbye, and Jude helps me into the car with our new, precious bundle.
I stare at her in awe, smiling because she doesn’t look real. Gratitude flows through me; while Jude is the best gift I’ll get all year, Jinxy Junior is a close second.
“We need to get in touch with Bruce’s mum,” Jude says as we ease back onto the street.
I glance over. “What for?”
“You don’t know?”
I shake my head.
“We need to reach out because our baby needs booties.”
I laugh. I never saw myself as the type to put clothes on an animal, but Jude has a point. “Maybe we’ll get her a sweater, too,” I say, cooing at the cat while I speak.
“Now you’re talking.” Jude places his free hand on mine. “To start, I’m thinking something green.”
The End
But wait—this edition includes a little more to the story.
I hope you enjoy this bonus scene!
Ever paced yourself into a stupor?
I’m not sure I had—until today. As I loop around Mr. Bruce’s office for the fiftieth time, I realize I just might be.
“Mind slowing your roll, Ginger?” Mr. Bruce pleads.
“I’m trying, but my feet won’t let me.”
Nellie flattens against the wall as I pass. “You do know you’re in charge of those feet, right?”
“Nope. Slave to my spinning mind. My feet just reflect the chaos. If I stop, I’ll implode.”
“Now you’re just being dramatic,” Mr. Bruce mutters.
“I don’t think you heard me.” My voice rises. “The man I love—the man I want to spend my life with—might be trying to break up with me.”
“No way,” Nellie says.
“It’s obvious he’s crazy about you,” Mr. Bruce adds. “He’s been talking about marriage for months.”
“Exactly! He was talking about it. We both were. Until suddenly... he stopped. Now, whenever I bring it up, he changes the subject.”
We’re a triage trio when it comes to crises. Just last week, Jinxy got sunburned at a barbecue—hairless cat problems—and though we got him treated, Mr. Bruce blamed himself for days.
And Nellie? Her perfect post–New Year’s guy admitted he had “strict rules against monogamy.” There went her Moderate-Language March.
We all take our turn on the gurney. I just didn’t expect mine so soon, after seven and a half months.
“Have you talked to him about it?” Mr. Bruce asks.
My head spins. I grab a chair and collapse. “No. I’m only just admitting it’s a problem. I’ve been in denial.”
Nellie plunks down beside me. “Okay. Now that you’re acknowledging it, give him a chance to explain.”
My eyes widen. “No! What if he confirms it? What if he says he doesn’t love me anymore?”
Their looks scream irrational, but before Mr. Bruce can respond, fingernails clack at the door.
“Knockety-knock-knock,” sings Patty, peacock proud in purple polka dots. “I overheard you guys on my way to my daily segment. Funny—I moved into a daily slot, and you’re stuck with a once-a-week schtick.”
She conveniently omits that my show: A) airs nationally, B) pays twenty times more, and C: is the show she was gunning for when I beat her.
“If you want my advice—” she begins.
“I don’t.”
“I say you’re onto something. If Jude were really into you, you wouldn’t feel this insecure, honey.”
“Honey?” I squeak.
Nellie tenses, but I place a hand over hers. Don’t feed the beast.
Mr. Bruce rises. “Nellie, go do your show. Ginger, it’s almost time for yours.”
“Bye, Purple-Dot Patty,” Nellie chirps.
“Let me know if Jude becomes available,” Patty sings, backing out.
“Eat Pat!” Nellie hollers, then shrugs. “What?”
They gather me into a group hug.
“I’m sure he’s still in love with you,” Mr. Bruce says. “Just talk to him. Clear the air.”
I nod, not mentioning that today is our seven-month anniversary—the day Jude asked me to be his girlfriend. Every month, like clockwork, flowers appear at my door.
But not today.
My heart sinks as I trudge next door to the studio.
I hope my melancholy doesn’t show, but there’s no pep in my step to fake.
On set, I pull on my floral apron and glance at my notes.
What if Jude really is done? What if the future I imagined is gone?
You’ll be okay, whispers a soft inner voice. Whatever happens, you’ll be okay.
I nod, half-believing it. I could move on—but it would break me for while.
Still, I wouldn’t want someone who didn’t want me back.
The crew sets up, and the countdown begins.
Whatever happens, you’ll survive, I remind myself.
I square up, eyes on the lens. “Greetings, fellow foodies, and welcome to Spice It Up with Ginger. Today, we’ll be—”
“Excuse me,” says a man holding flowers. “Are you Ms. Finley?”
My heart grins before my face does. “I am.”
“These are for you.”
“And so are these,” adds another man with a second vase.
“And these,” says Linda from the crew, arms full.
Patty appears, pouting in her polka dots. “These are yours too.”
Nellie steps in behind her. “And these.”
Mr. Bruce joins the parade. “As are these.”
Then Jude Sting—the Culinary King—strides in, bouquet in hand.
He sets the flowers down and drops to one knee.
My heart somersaults.
“These past seven months have been the best of my life.” He opens a small box. Inside, my dream ring gleams.
“Lady G, will you make me the happiest chef alive—and be my bride?”
Elation crashes over me. “Yes!”
Jude pulls me into his arms and kisses me. “Good answer.”
A soft meow echoes nearby.
“How would you feel if JJ and I joined you?”
A crew member steps in, cradling Jinxy Junior—big ears topping her pinched little face.
“Join me for the show?” I lean in for another kiss. “Nothing would please me more. Let’s get cooking!”