16. Epilogue
Gigi
One Year Later
The most important cake of my life is giving me trouble.
It’s five a.m., and I’m in my bakery kitchen surrounded by the beautiful chaos of wedding prep, smoothing buttercream between tiers and praying for structural integrity. Sunlight catches the diamond on my left hand, sending little rainbows dancing across the counter.
Focus, Gigi. This has to be perfect.
The bottom layer is strawberry—the same recipe I used for my very first Red, White, and You cake for Phoenix. Sweet & hopeful, with a touch of the unexpected. It’s where we started, back when Phoenix was just the annoyingly handsome Hart Health spokesman who kept showing up asking for cupcakes.
The middle layer is lemon-raspberry, pulled straight from my Lemon-Raspberry & Regrets cake. Tart, complex, a little messy. Just like the fight that nearly ended everything before it had a chance to begin.
And the top layer? That’s brand new. Vanilla almond with champagne buttercream. Light and celebratory. It tastes like joy. Like forever .
It’s not the most elaborate cake I’ve ever made, but it feels exactly right. Elegant swirls of white buttercream, fresh berries, and a cascade of sugar flowers I redid three times just to get right. It’s imperfect but beautiful. It’s us .
My phone buzzes on the counter.
Phoenix: How’s the most beautiful bride-to-be this morning?
I grin and text back: Covered in frosting and mildly panicking about cake physics.
Phoenix: The cake will be perfect. Because you made it. Just like everything else about today.
Me: Flatterer.
Phoenix: It’s not flattery if it’s true. I love you, future Mrs. Wood.
Me: I love you too. Now go away so I can finish this masterpiece.
Phoenix: Yes, ma’am. See you at the altar.
I set my phone down, heart fluttering like it has every day for the past year. You’d think I’d be used to it by now.
Later, I’m standing in the reception hall of the Honeysuckle Ridge Community Center in a dress that makes me feel like a princess, watching my husband— my husband! —charm our guests with a story about the first bake sale we worked together a year ago.
The ceremony was perfect. Small, sweet, and full of happy tears. Joe was Phoenix’s best man and grinned like he personally orchestrated our entire romance. Ella, my maid of honor, sobbed through her reading even though she’d practiced it a dozen times.
But the moment I’ll remember forever? When Phoenix saw me walking down the aisle. His face lit up like sunrise, and he mouthed “ wow ” like he’d never seen anything so beautiful.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the DJ announces, “the bride and groom will now cut the cake!”
Phoenix appears at my side, dashing in a dark suit, his smile familiar and still capable of turning my insides to jelly.
“Ready?” he asks, his hand covering mine on the cake knife.
“Always.”
We cut the first slice together. As cameras flash and our guests cheer, my heart feels like it could float right out of my chest.
“What do you call this one?” Phoenix asks quietly as we plate the first piece.
“ Red, White, and I Love You, ” I whisper.
His grin could power the whole town. “Perfect.”
As we feed each other careful bite, I catch a glimpse of my mother moving toward the cake table.
I watch in amazement as she takes a slice. Not a sliver. Not a ceremonial forkful. An actual piece of cake.
She takes a bite. Closes her eyes as the flavors hit her tongue. And then she smiles.
"Your mom’s eating cake,” Phoenix whispers.
“I noticed.”
“Think she likes it?”
I watch her go back for another bite. She looks… relaxed. Happy.
“I think she’s learning.”
“Learning what?”
“That sometimes the best things in life aren’t good for you. They’re just good. ”
Phoenix spins me around, and I laugh as my dress flares around us.
“You know what I think?” he says.
“What?”
“I think you’re good for me, Georgina Wood.”
That name still feels brand-new and utterly right.
“Even though I’m probably going to make you fat with all my baking?”
He dips me low, and I squeal with laughter. “I plan to spend the rest of my life sampling everything you make.”
“Everything?”
“Everything. The perfect, the experimental, the total disasters we’ll eat anyway because they were made with love.”
I glance around at our friends and family, at Joe and Ella dancing offbeat, at my mother eating sugar without flinching, and I realize this is the happiest I’ve ever felt in my life.
“Hey, husband,” I say, beaming up at him.
“Yeah, wife?”
“Ready for the next adventure?”
“With you?” He kisses me slow and certain. “Always.”
And just like that, I know.
No matter what comes next, we’ll figure it out. Together.
With love. With laughter. And with cake.