Epilogue #2
"I do." The words still felt new, precious, like a gift she hadn't quite gotten used to receiving. "I really do."
Three Months Later…
The harvest festival had come and gone, giving way to the bright colors of fall. The first real frost had arrived last week, painting Harmony Glen in shades of red and gold, and Bloom & Vine had been busy with fall arrangements and winter wedding consultations.
Marigold sat in the passenger seat of Thallos's truck, watching the streets of the city slip past the window.
They'd spent the morning at a supplier meeting in the city—boring for him, she suspected, but he'd insisted on coming along anyway—and now she was looking forward to getting back to the shop and his cozy cabin and maybe a cup of that spiced wine he'd been perfecting for the holiday market.
"You're quiet," he observed, navigating around a slow-moving tractor.
"Just thinking about everything I need to finish before the Jenkins wedding on Saturday."
"The one with the ice sculpture centerpieces?"
"The one with the ice sculpture centerpieces and the three hundred white roses and the mother-of-the-groom who changes her mind every five minutes." She rubbed her temples. "I may need to buy stock in aspirin."
"Or you could let Jenny handle Mrs. Jenkins and focus on the creative stuff."
Jenny was the pixie assistant she’d recently hired, and in spite of her fiery temper, she’d proven to be a godsend.
"Jenny threatened to set something on fire the last time Mrs. Jenkins called to discuss napkin folds."
"That does sound like Jenny."
They drove in comfortable silence for a few minutes, the heater humming quietly, the winter landscape unspooling outside the windows. She let her eyes drift closed, enjoying the warmth and the steady rumble of the engine and the simple pleasure of being near him.
She didn't realize anything was wrong until she noticed the sun was in the wrong place.
Her eyes snapped open. They were on an unfamiliar road, winding through countryside she didn't recognize, heading decidedly away from Harmony Glen.
"Thallos." She sat up straighter, scanning the scenery for landmarks. "Where are we?"
"Hmm?"
"This isn't the way back to town."
"Isn't it?" He sounded entirely too innocent.
"Thallos."
"Marigold."
"We passed that barn twenty minutes ago. I remember it because it had that weird rooster weather vane. Why are we going the wrong direction?"
He was quiet for a moment, his hands steady on the wheel, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
"It's been three months."
The words landed like a stone in still water. Her brain stuttered, trying to catch up.
"What?"
"Three months." He glanced at her, golden-brown eyes bright with barely contained excitement. "To the day, actually. I've been counting."
"You've been—" The pieces clicked into place with an almost audible snap. Her jaw dropped. "Thallos, are you kidnapping me?"
"I prefer to think of it as a surprise elopement."
"That's—you can't just—I have the Jenkins wedding!"
"Jenny’s handling it. I called her last week. And Lila’s on standby if she needs backup."
"The shop—"
"Closed for a long weekend. I put a sign in the window."
"My apartment—"
"I packed you a bag. It's in the back."
She twisted around to look. Sure enough, her familiar overnight bag sat on the back seat, along with a garment bag she didn't recognize.
"Is that a wedding dress?"
"I may have enlisted some help from the Sanderson sisters." He had the grace to look slightly sheepish. "They were extremely enthusiastic about the project."
Her mind was reeling, trying to catch up with the reality of what was happening. He'd planned this. For weeks, apparently, he'd been plotting behind her back, coordinating with her assistant and her best friend and three ancient magical women, packing her bags and making arrangements and—
"Wait." A terrible thought struck her. "My mother. Did you—"
"Daisy is currently in Bali." He reached over to take her hand, squeezing gently. "I may have suggested the trip. Along with a generous travel gift card."
"You bribed my mother to leave the country?"
"I prefer to think of it as a strategic investment in our future peace."
She stared at him, emotions warring for dominance—shock, disbelief, indignation at being so thoroughly outmaneuvered, and underneath it all, a bubbling spring of something that felt suspiciously like joy.
"You're insane," she said finally.
"Possibly."
"This is crazy."
"Almost certainly."
"I can't believe you planned all this without telling me."
"To be fair, that's rather the point of a surprise."
The road curved, and suddenly they crested a hill and the landscape opened up before them.
A valley stretched below, golden in the winter sunlight, with a tiny village nestled at its heart.
She could see a church steeple, a covered bridge over a winding stream, hills rolling away into the distance like a painting.
"What is this place?"
"Little town called Willowmere." He pulled the truck to the side of the road, parking so they could take in the view.
"A mostly human community, but they've got a minister who's performed a few monster-human weddings.
Very discreet, very welcoming." He turned to face her, taking both her hands in his.
"If you want to, I mean. If you're ready. "
She looked at him—really looked. At the vulnerability beneath the confidence, the hope carefully held in check, the way his thumbs traced nervous circles on the backs of her hands.
Three months ago, she'd asked for time. Time to be sure. Time to trust. Time to believe that this was real and solid and not just another beautiful thing that would crumble the moment she put her weight on it.
And now, looking at him in the fall light, she realized she was ready.
She'd been ready for weeks, actually. Maybe longer. She just hadn't let herself admit it.
"You really packed me a wedding dress?"
"Winnie Sanderson helped choose it. She said something about 'sartorial destiny,' which I didn't fully understand, but she seemed very confident."
"And Jenny’s actually covering the Jenkins wedding?"
"She has detailed notes. Color-coded, obviously. I may have borrowed your system."
"You borrowed my—" She laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep in her chest. "You're completely ridiculous, you know that?"
"I've been told." His voice softened. "Is that a yes?"
She looked out at the valley below, then back at him.
At this impossible, wonderful, scheming male who'd played his heart out on a stage for her, who'd sent her mother to Bali, who'd somehow understood that what she needed wasn't a grand wedding with months of planning and drama, but this—a choice made together, a leap of faith, a beginning.
"Yes," she said, and the word felt like sunrise. "Yes, let's get married."
His grin was incandescent. He pulled her across the truck's bench seat, kissing her thoroughly while the fall sunlight poured through the windows and somewhere in the valley below, church bells began to ring.
"I love you," he said against her lips.
"I love you too." She pulled back just far enough to meet his eyes. "But if this wedding dress has a train, we're having words."
"No train. Winnie was very clear about that." He started the truck again, steering them down the winding road toward the village. "She did mention something about 'strategic lace placement,' though."
"Oh God."
"I'm choosing not to ask questions."
She leaned her head against his shoulder, watching Willowmere grow closer, and let herself feel the full weight of her happiness.
It wasn't the kind of happiness she'd imagined growing up—it wasn't careful or controlled or earned through constant vigilance.
It was messy and surprising and slightly chaotic, like everything involving him seemed to be.
It was perfect.
"Hey," she said softly. "Thank you."
"For kidnapping you?"
"For waiting. For giving me time to be ready. For—" She struggled to find the words. "For seeing me. The real me. And choosing me anyway."
His hand found hers, squeezing tight.
"Always," he said. "Today, tomorrow, and every day after that."
The truck rounded the final curve, and Willowmere opened up before them—a postcard-perfect village with slate rooftops and smoke curling from chimneys and a little white church with a steeple that caught the winter sun like a beacon.
Marigold Bloom had spent her whole life being careful, playing it safe, protecting herself from the chaos that seemed to follow her mother like a shadow.
But sometimes, she was learning, the best things happened when you stopped playing it safe.
Sometimes you just had to trust the fall.