Epilogue
HARPER
Istood in the center of my boutique, one hand pressed to my lower back, the other resting on my very pregnant belly, and tried to believe this was actually happening.
The space looked nothing like it had seven months ago when Morgan had it destroyed in her psychotic rage.
Gone were the shattered mirrors and torn clothes, the broken displays and shredded fabrics.
In their place stood something even better than what I'd had before, a boutique reborn from the ashes.
Like me. We both rose from the ashes.
The walls were painted a soft cream with sage green accents, creating a warm and inviting atmosphere that made you want to stay and browse.
New hardwood floors gleamed under recessed lighting that I'd had installed to replace the old fixtures that had been smashed. Display racks that were made from reclaimed barn wood, built by Connor’s hands over weeks, held carefully curated clothing.
A seating area near the fitting rooms featured a velvet couch in deep emerald and a coffee table made from an old barn door held a glass top that protected the weathered wood beneath.
Everything was perfect. Better than perfect.
In an hour, I'd be opening the doors for the grand reopening.
I can't believe I'm actually doing this. I can't believe I made it here.
“Stop overthinking,” Anna said, appearing from the back room with a tray of champagne flutes and sparkling cider. “Harper, the place looks incredible. You look incredible. This is going to be amazing.”
“I look like I swallowed a beach ball,” I said, gesturing to my eight-month pregnant stomach straining against the emerald green wrap dress I'd chosen for today. The dress was beautiful, one of my own products, but no amount of strategic draping could hide the fact that I was very, very pregnant.
“You look like a successful businesswoman who's about to have a baby,” Anna corrected, setting down the tray with a definitive clink. “And that dress is stunning on you. Very 'I survived attempted murder and rebuilt my business' chic.”
Despite my nerves, I laughed. “Is that a fashion category now?”
“It should be. You'd be the poster child.” Anna squeezed my hand, the afternoon light caught on the engagement ring she wore. They had postponed and were planning their wedding for later this spring. Nothing huge, just close friends and family at the ranch. Simple and perfect, just like them.
I looked down at my own engagement ring. We'd talked about getting married before the baby came, but I'd wanted to wait and do it right. To feel fully ready, not rushed by fear or circumstances or the pressure of impending parenthood.
“Where's Connor?” I asked, looking around the boutique.
“Outside directing parking with Jaxon and Felix.” Anna moved to adjust a display of scarves near the window. “There are already people lining up even though it’s freezing outside. The whole town is excited about this.”
My stomach fluttered with nerves, or maybe that was the baby kicking. Hard to tell the difference these days when Owen seemed determined to practice his martial arts moves on my internal organs.
“What if no one buys anything? What if they're just here out of curiosity? What if they feel sorry for me and—”
“Harper Walsh, you stop that right now.” Anna turned to face me, her expression firm. “You are an incredible woman. Your pieces are beautiful. People are going to buy your clothes because they're gorgeous, not out of pity. Have some faith in yourself.”
I knew she was right, but after everything that had happened it was hard to believe good things existed. It was hard to trust that this wouldn't somehow fall apart too.
The bell above the door chimed and Emma slipped inside, her arms full of the wildflower arrangements we'd ordered for the counter and displays.
She looked beautiful in a simple navy dress underneath a thick wool trench, her dark hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, but her eyes still held that watchful quality that never quite went away.
The same watchfulness I saw in my own reflection some days.
“Felix is bringing in the rest,” Emma said, setting the flowers down carefully on the counter. Then she looked around the boutique, her expression softening with genuine admiration. “Harper, this is beautiful. You did an amazing job.”
“Thank you.” I watched as Emma started arranging the flowers in the vases I'd set out earlier. Her hands moved with practiced precision, but I noticed the slight tremor in her fingers, the one that appeared whenever she got anxious. “Are you okay? With the crowd that's going to be here?”
“I'll manage.” Emma's smile was tight, not quite reaching her eyes. “I'll stay in the back if it gets too overwhelming.”
The door opened again, and Felix appeared carrying more flowers. His eyes swept the room, landing on Emma with an intensity that made something shift in his expression before he carefully looked away.
“Where do you want these?” he asked, his voice gruff.
“Counter, I think,” Emma said quietly, moving to help him.
Their fingers brushed during the transfer, barely a touch, over in a second, but I saw Emma pull back like she'd been burned, saw Felix's hand tighten on the box he still held.
Then the moment passed, and they were both busying themselves with flower placement on opposite sides of the room, carefully maintaining distance.
Oh, you two. I raised an eyebrow out of curiosity and pointed the look at Anna, knowing she had seen the interaction between the two of them too. It was their journey to figure out. And it would take time, lots of time, before either of them was ready.
Connor entered through the back door, and my heart did that stupid flutter thing it still did every time I saw him, like I was sixteen instead of twenty-nine.
He wore dark jeans and a button-down shirt in deep blue that made his brown eyes even more striking, his hair was slightly wind-mussed from being outside in the wind.
When he saw me, his whole face lit up with that smile that was just for me.
“There's my beautiful fiancée,” he said, crossing the boutique in a few long strides. His hands found my waist, or where my waist used to be before pregnancy turned me into a walking watermelon and pulled me gently against him. “How are you feeling?”
“Nervous. Excited. Terrified. Like I might throw up or cry or both.” I leaned into his solid warmth, breathing him in. “Normal grand reopening emotions, I think.”
“You're going to be incredible.” Connor's hand moved to my stomach, and our son immediately kicked against his palm like he recognized his father's touch. “And this little guy is excited too. He's been doing gymnastics all day.”
“Tell me about it. I think he's trying to break out early.” Another kick, stronger this time, made me wince. “Owen, you have two more weeks. Please stay put for two more weeks.”
We'd decided on the name three weeks ago, after going through hundreds of options that all sounded wrong. Owen Connor Whitaker. It felt right the moment Connor suggested it. Strong and perfect for our son.
“He'll stay put,” Connor said with confidence I didn't share. “He knows today is important to his mama.”
The next hour passed in a blur of final preparations.
Anna set out the champagne and sparkling cider in crystal flutes.
Emma finished with the flowers, transforming the space with touches of natural beauty that made everything feel alive.
Felix and Jaxon brought in the sandwich platters and desserts from the local caterer.
Nothing too fancy, just enough to make the reopening feel like a celebration.
And through it all, Connor stayed close. Not hovering, exactly, but near enough that I could feel his presence. Near enough that if I needed him, all I had to do was reach out.
At exactly eleven o'clock, I unlocked the front door and turned the sign from closed to open.
The response was overwhelming.
People flooded in. Friends, neighbors, customers who'd shopped here before the destruction, new faces drawn by curiosity or the advertisements I'd placed in the local groups on social media.
They exclaimed over the renovations, admired the new displays, and ran their hands over the fabrics with appreciation that made my chest tight with emotion.
They bought things. Lots of things.
Mrs. Patterson purchased three scarves and a jacket, declaring each piece “absolutely divine.” Sarah bought two dresses. Even Sheriff Davies showed up, looking uncomfortable in the feminine space but purchased a bracelet for his wife.
“Harper,” Davies said, pulling me aside while Connor rang up his purchase with the new point-of-sale system I'd installed. “The place looks fantastic. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Thank you, Sheriff. That means a lot.” I shifted my weight, trying to ease the ache in my lower back that had been building all morning. Typical pregnancy discomfort making itself known at the worst time.
Davies glanced around the crowded boutique, then lowered his voice. “I wanted to tell you, we haven't had any new developments on the case. It's been four months since we found Morgan and Armand's bodies in that warehouse, and there's still no sign of Silas.”
The name sent a chill down my spine despite the warmth of the crowded shop. “Nothing at all?”
“Not a whisper. FBI thinks he might have left the country. New identity, new operation somewhere far from here.” Davies's expression was sympathetic.
“I know that's not the closure you wanted.
But Harper, the fact that he's been silent this long is actually a good sign.
It means he's not coming back and he's moved on to easier targets.”
“Or he's just biding his time,” I said quietly, voicing the fear that woke me up at three in the morning sometimes.