Chapter Thirty-Nine Better Than Fiction
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Better Than Fiction
Scarlett
I didn’t want an engagement party.
I said it multiple times. Loudly. In writing. Possibly even in all caps.
Harper ignored me, obviously.
Which is how I’ve ended up in Chase’s backyard—correction, our backyard—surrounded by twinkling lights, overfed athletes, and roughly thirty people shouting, “Kiss! Kiss!” every time we stand within three feet of each other.
Rip is wearing a bow tie. It’s clip-on. He looks thrilled.
“You doing okay?” Chase asks, slipping his arm around my waist as I rescue my third mini cupcake from a dangerously wobbly tower.
“Define okay.”
He grins. “Are you going to bolt before Harper gives her toast?”
“Unclear. She’s had two margaritas, and I saw her holding a microphone earlier. It’s not looking good.”
Chase’s family is here—his parents, Evie, and even Owen. My own parents are here too—tolerating each other. Weird.
Just then, Harper clinks a glass with a fork, and every molecule in my body prepares for flight.
“Everyone!” she shouts, swaying slightly in heels she definitely can’t walk in. “I just want to say a few words before I black out!”
The crowd cheers like she’s a rock star. I drop my head into Chase’s chest.
“Kill me now,” I whisper.
“You love this.”
“I love you. I tolerate this.”
Harper winks at me from across the yard.
“I’ve known Scarlett since college, and I can say with full confidence that she is terrifying, brilliant, allergic to vulnerability, and definitely did not believe in love until this man over here”—she points wildly at Chase—”broke through her cold little heart like an emotionally intelligent linebacker. ”
I choke on my champagne.
Everyone cheers.
Traitors.
Chase chuckles under his breath and pulls me tighter, kissing the top of my head.
Harper keeps going. “I knew they were endgame when her writing changed. One day, it went from I-can-do-it-all-on-my-own to learning how to let someone in. That was the moment I realized she was done for. Her editor probably knew before we all did.”
The crowd erupts with laughter. Chase is full-on shaking with silent laughter beside me. I’m going to die. This is how I go.
Prepare my casket now.
I’ve heard you can get one at Costco nowadays.
Harper holds up her glass. “To Scarlett and Chase—may your love be big, messy, book-worthy, and full of snacks. I love you both. Please don’t divorce each other unless it’s for a really good plot twist.”
Everyone cheers. I wipe at my eyes, attributing it to the wind. Or allergies. Or the fact that I somehow found the exact person I didn’t think existed, and now I get to marry him.
Chase turns to me, eyes soft and warm, as if the world has shrunk down to just this moment.
“You really love me,” he murmurs.
“Unfortunately.”
“Tragically.”
He kisses me, and the crowd erupts in full rom-com-level applause.
Rip barks once, as if giving his blessing.
And just like that, I stop caring about speeches or parties or anything else.
Because this? This is my definition of perfect.
Bennett strolls up, clapping Chase on the back to congratulate him. “Are you crying?” he asks.
Chase wipes his cheek. “No. I got something in my eye.”
Bennett grins. “Yeah, it’s called a tear.”
Chase gives him a firm look. “Must be allergies.”
I snuggle into his side even more. My own personal hockey-playing teddy bear. He’s a total softie. And I love him completely.
Gag, I know.
Later, there are tacos and cake and drunken speeches by more of our friends. But then it’s just me and Chase getting ready for bed, and I’m happier than I’ve ever been.
The house is quiet. We bought a place together a few months ago—enough space for Rip to roam, and possibly even for babies, though the jury’s still out on that one. I love our life as it is, so we’ll see. We’re in no rush.
I’m standing in our bedroom, still wearing the dress Harper made me buy, staring at my reflection in the mirror and trying to process the fact that I’m engaged. To a man who makes me laugh, makes me feel safe, and knows when to argue with me and when to just… hold my hand.
The door creaks open, and I see him in the mirror—leaning against the frame, tie undone, shirt sleeves rolled up.
“You look like a dream,” he says, soft and low.
I smile. “That’s just the champagne talking.”
He walks over and wraps his arms around me from behind. His hands settle on my waist like they belong there. Like they always have.
“I didn’t drink that much,” he says into my neck. “You’ve always looked like this to me.”
I turn slowly in his arms. “Like what?”
He brushes a strand of hair behind my ear. “Like the rest of my life.”
I should make a joke. Deflect. Run my usual playbook. But I don’t.
Because tonight, I just want to feel it.
“You’re sappy when you’re in love,” I murmur, fingertips skimming the back of his neck.
“I’m sappy because I’m in love with you.”
He kisses me, gentle and lingering, like we have all the time in the world—and maybe we do now.
I let him walk me back toward the bed, the dress slipping over my shoulders and puddling to the floor like it knows its work here is done. He looks at me like I’m his whole world. It’s a little overwhelming.
“I still can’t believe you said yes,” he says, his voice thick with wonder.
“I still can’t believe you asked,” I whisper back.
“Are you happy?”
His forehead rests against mine. I nod, my eyes stinging.
“I didn’t think I could be. Not like this.”
He kisses me again, and it’s everything—soft, slow. Like he’s memorizing every part of me he already knows by heart.
We move together like we’ve done this a hundred times but still want to savor it like the first. His touch is reverent, his words quiet and constant—You’re beautiful… I’ve got you… You’re mine…
Afterward, we drift off to sleep, limbs still tangled, fingers still linked. I think—
This is it.
This is what all the books tried to explain.
And for the first time in my life, I don’t need to write the ending.
Because I’m already living it.