Epilogue
Avery
Six Months Later
The bell over the bakery door chimed, a bright, cheerful sound that still made Avery smile every single time.
Sweet Treats smelled like cinnamon, sugar, and home.
Sunlight streamed through the front windows, catching the soft pastel paint she’d chosen, the handwritten chalkboard menu, the framed photos of her aunt, the Saints, and the community that had rallied around her.
The place was full — it always was now — with locals chatting over coffee, kids pressing their noses to the pastry case, and the occasional biker lounging at a corner table like they owned the place.
Fish sat in his usual spot by the window, pretending he wasn’t babysitting the place while Rook was on a run.
Grim was fixing the loose leg on one of the chairs because he’d noticed it wobble once and declared it “a hazard.” Havoc was teaching a kid how to flip a coin and absolutely cheating at it.
Ledger had installed a tiny camera in the back hallway “for safety,” but everyone knew it was because he liked tracking which pastry caused the highest spike in customer satisfaction.
On the counter beside the register sat a small stack of envelopes — donations the club had collected for the youth center fundraiser Avery was running.
Stone had dropped them off earlier with a gruff, “For the kids,” and left before she could thank him.
The Saints didn’t just protect her. They showed up for her.
Avery wiped her hands on her apron and stepped back to admire the morning rush. Six months ago, she’d been terrified she wouldn’t make it. Terrified she’d fail and never feel whole again.
Now? She was thriving. Confident. Steady. Happy. Healed.
The door chimed again. And there he was.
Noah — Rook — filled the doorway like he always did, broad shoulders framed by sunlight, cut hanging open, hair a little too long, jaw a little too sharp. He scanned the room automatically, protective instinct never fully turned off, then found her.
His whole face softened.
Grim muttered, “Here we go,” looking up from fixing the chair leg.
Havoc elbowed Fish. “Watch this. He’s about to get all domestic.”
Fish sipped his coffee. “He already is.”
He walked toward her with that slow, deliberate stride that still made her heart flip. When he reached the counter, he leaned across it and kissed her, soft, warm, familiar.
“Morning, Aves.”
She smiled. “Morning.”
His hand brushed her waist, thumb tracing the chain around her neck, the one that held his ring. She wore it every day. She never took it off.
“You eat yet?” he asked.
“Not yet.”
He frowned. “Avery.”
She laughed. “I’ve been busy.”
He muttered something about stubborn women and stepped behind the counter like he owned the place. Which, again, in a way, he did. He grabbed a muffin, tore it in half, and handed her a piece.
“Eat.”
She took a bite just to make him stop glaring. “Happy?”
“Not yet,” he said, leaning in to kiss the crumb from her lip. “Now I am.”
Her cheeks warmed.
A customer at a nearby table whispered, “They’re disgustingly cute.”
Avery pretended not to hear.
Rook didn’t bother pretending. “Damn right we are.”
She swatted his arm, laughing.
He caught her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm.
Later, after closing
The bakery was quiet now, the last of the chairs flipped onto tables, the lights dimmed to a warm glow. Avery locked the front door and turned to find Rook leaning against the counter, watching her with that look, the one that said he still couldn’t believe she was his.
His cut hung open, his chest bare from just walking down from the upstairs apartment, revealing the tattoo on his ribs.
Her bakery logo.
Ink over bone. Permanent. Claiming her as much as she claimed him.
She walked toward him slowly, fingers brushing the edge of his cut. “You know, you never told me if that hurt.”
He smirked. “Didn’t feel a thing.”
She raised a brow.
“Okay,” he admitted, “it hurt like hell.”
She laughed softly, tracing the ink with gentle fingers. “You didn’t have to do this.”
He caught her hand, pressing it flat over the tattoo. “Yeah, I did.”
He tugged her closer, hands sliding to her waist. “You wear my ring,” he murmured, brushing his thumb over the chain at her throat. “I wear your mark. Fair trade.”
Her heart squeezed. “Noah…”
He kissed her, slow, deep, reverent.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. “We’re building something, Aves.”
She nodded. “I know.”
“Messy,” he said.
“Beautiful,” she added.
“Real.”
“Us.”
He smiled, soft, rare, just for her. “Yeah. Us.”
She cupped his jaw, thumb brushing the faint scar near his cheekbone. “You’re softer now.”
He snorted. “Don’t tell the club.”
“And calmer.”
“Don’t tell Havoc.”
“And still possessive.”
He grinned. “That one you can tell everyone.”
She laughed, leaning into him.
He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her easily, settling her on the counter as if she belonged there, in his arms, in his space, in his life. His hands slid to her hips, warm and sure, grounding her in a way nothing else ever had.
Avery traced the tattoo on his ribs again, softer this time, her fingers lingering over the lines of her bakery logo inked into his skin.
“You really did this,” she whispered.
He looked down at her, eyes warm, steady. “I wanted something permanent. Something that says I’m not going anywhere.”
A warmth unfurled low in her chest at the quiet certainty in his voice.
She touched his jaw, thumb brushing the faint scar near his cheekbone. “You’ve changed.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “You make me better.”
“No,” she said gently. “You made yourself better. I just… got to watch.”
His expression softened in a way that still unraveled her.
Avery slid her hands up his chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath, the strength beneath her palms, the man he’d become.
He pulled her into his arms, not desperate, not drowning, but steady. Certain. Whole.
Avery melted into him, her forehead pressed to his, her hands fisting in the back of his cut.
This wasn’t the frantic, terrified embrace of two people afraid to lose each other. This was the embrace of two people who had already chosen each other.
Every day. Every storm. Every quiet morning and messy night. They weren’t clinging anymore. They were building.
A life. A home. A future.
Messy. Beautiful. Theirs.