Epilogue
Cole
Who would’ve thought this girl from Seattle would be the love of my life? Gave birth to my daughter, Stella all within two years?
I still catch myself staring sometimes, like right now, sitting on the edge of the pool in the late-afternoon sun, elbows on my knees, watching Layla float on her back with Stella cradled against her chest. The water glitters gold around them, little waves lapping at Layla’s shoulders, Stella’s tiny fists splashing and giggling every time she kicks.
Layla’s hair is wet and dark, clinging to her neck and collarbone; her bikini top is black and simple, the same one she wore the night she came back to me, the night everything finally clicked into place.
Stella’s got her mama’s dark eyes and my stubborn chin, already bossing the water around like she owns it. She’s perfect. They’re both perfect.
The ache in my chest isn’t painful anymore.
It’s full. The kind that makes it hard to breathe sometimes because I still can’t believe this is mine.
I almost lost it. Almost let silence and fear steal the only woman who ever made me feel whole.
I can still see her walking away that night, red dress, red heels, shoulders squared like she was forcing herself to keep moving.
I can still feel the way my throat closed up when I realized the guest house was empty, her manuscript sitting on the desk like a goodbye I didn’t deserve.
I read every word that night. Cried like a damn fool in her chair, surrounded by her scent, knowing I’d been too scared to say the only thing that mattered.
I don’t know if it’s written in the books, but cowboys get their happy endings too.
Layla glances over, catches me staring. Her smile is slow, soft, the one she saves just for me, the one that still makes my heart stutter after all this time. She shifts Stella higher on her chest, presses a kiss to the baby’s wet curls, then paddles toward me.
“You’re doing it again,” she says when she reaches the edge, voice warm and teasing. “Staring like you’ve never seen me before.”
“Never gonna stop,” I murmur, reaching down to brush a wet strand off her cheek. My thumb lingers, her skin warm from the sun, soft as ever.
“You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”
She rolls her eyes, but her cheeks flush pink. “Flatterer.”
“Truth teller.”
Stella squeals, tiny hands slapping the water, splashing us both.
Layla laughs, that full, bright sound that still hits me square in the chest every time.
I lean down, scoop Stella out of her arms, small, slippery, perfect and hold her against my shoulder.
She grabs a fistful of my shirt, babbling nonsense, drooling on my collar.
I kiss the top of her head, soft baby curls, the sweet scent of baby shampoo and milk and feel something settle deep inside me.
This is it. This is everything. Dad and Nancy are obsessed with her, Nancy knits tiny blankets and sings old lullabies, Dad carries her around the ranch pointing out every animal like she’s already running the place.
Maggie and Lanie are building their house on the east pasture; Bella and Stella are already inseparable.
Luke and Steph are getting married in the fall, right here, in the barn.
They moved into an apartment in the city close to Steph’s tattoo shop, but Luke still rides out every morning, still works the ranch like he was born to it.
Everyone is great. Life is everything it’s supposed to be.
I look at Layla—wet hair, sun-kissed skin, eyes shining—and feel the truth settle into my bones: she changed everything for the better.
She taught me how to speak up, how to stop holding things in, how to stop letting fear decide my life.
Therapy helped too, her words, not mine, but mostly it was her.
Her patience. Her stubbornness. Her love.
I set Stella on my hip, reach down with my free hand, and help Layla up out of the water. Water drips from her hair onto my shoulders, cool against my heated skin.
“Hey,” she whispers, forehead resting against mine.
“Hey,” I whisper back.
She kisses me, slow, deep, tasting like chlorine and summer and forever. I kiss her back the same way, hand cradling the back of her head, thumb stroking the soft skin behind her ear, the other arm secure around our daughter.
“I love you,” she says against my lips, quiet, certain.
“I love you,” I say back, voice rough, but steady. No hesitation. No freeze. Just the truth.
Stella babbles between us, smacking my cheek with a wet hand. We both laugh, low, happy, the sound mixing with the gentle lap of pool water and distant cicadas.
This is it. This is home. And yeah… me, holding my girls, my heart so full it hurts and finally understanding that happy endings aren’t just for books.