Epilogue
Five Years Later
Scarlett
“Rip, no—that’s not food, that’s Aunt Evie’s baby!”
I lunge across my parents’ living room, trying to intercept our golden retriever before he can lick Owen Jr.’s face for the thousandth time. The baby—Chase’s nephew, officially the chunkiest, happiest six-month-old in existence—squeals with delight and grabs a fistful of Rip’s ear.
“Some babysitters we are,” Chase mutters, extracting dog fur from Owen’s chubby fingers. “We’ve been here twenty minutes and already lost control.”
“Speak for yourself,” I say, then immediately trip over the diaper bag, sending both myself and its contents sprawling. “Okay, yeah, we’re both disasters.”
My mother watches from the kitchen doorway, trying and failing to hide her amusement.
It’s Thanksgiving again—our new tradition of actually spending holidays together instead of avoiding each other like the plague.
Dad’s in his usual chair, pretending to read the paper while obviously eavesdropping.
“You know,” Mom says, bringing over a tray of coffee, “when you were Owen’s age, you once ate half a houseplant while I was on a conference call.”
“That explains so much,” Chase says, earning himself an elbow to the ribs.
“I turned out fine,” I protest, finally managing to separate dog from baby. Owen Jr. immediately starts crying about the loss of his fuzzy friend.
“You wrote three bestselling books about not needing anyone,” Dad points out, lowering his newspaper. “Then married a hockey player and got a dog. ‘Fine’ is relative.”
“And now I’ve written six romances,” I counter. “The seventh comes out next month.”
“Seven romance novels?” Mom blinks. “I thought you were on five.”
“Time flies when you’re writing happily ever afters,” I say dryly, bouncing Owen on my hip.
He stops crying and starts blowing spit bubbles instead. “This one’s got a single dad hockey player. I wonder where I got that inspiration.”
Chase grins, reaching over to tickle Owen’s foot. “I better get royalties.”
“You get dinner. Same thing.”
“Your cooking has not improved in five years.”
“Neither has yours,” I shoot back.
My parents exchange a look—one of those weird, loaded glances that used to make me uncomfortable but now just makes me curious.
“What?” I ask, switching Owen to my other hip when he starts getting heavy.
Mom sets down her coffee cup, something soft in her expression. “It’s just... you did it.”
“Did what? Gained ten pounds from Chase’s pancake obsession? Because yes, guilty.”
“No.” She shakes her head, smiling. “You proved us wrong. Both of us.”
Dad clears his throat. “What your mother’s trying to say is—we spent so many years showing you all the ways love could fail. How it could make you lose yourself. How it could break you.”
“Super fun childhood memories,” I mutter, but there’s no heat in it anymore.
“But you found a way to have both,” Mom continues. “Your independence, your career, your voice—and him.” She nods at Chase, who’s now making ridiculous faces at Owen. “You built something we couldn’t.”
“We’re proud of you,” Dad adds quietly. “For showing us it’s possible.”
I freeze, Owen now glued to my hip, because my parents don’t do this. We don’t have Hallmark moments. We have sarcasm, carefully maintained boundaries, and the occasional shared meal where no one throws anything.
“I—” I start, then stop because my throat is doing that annoying tight thing.
Chase, because he’s Chase and always knows when I need saving, swoops in and plucks Owen from my arms. “Good thing too, because I already put a deposit down on a puppy, so she’s stuck with me.”
“A WHAT?” I spin toward him.
He grins, all dimples and mischief. “Kidding. Mostly. Seventy-thirty kidding to not kidding.”
“Chase Remington—”
“Sixty-forty?”
“We are not getting another dog!”
“Rip needs a friend,” he protests, gesturing to where our dog has now sprawled across my mother’s feet, demanding belly rubs. “Look how lonely he is.”
“He’s literally getting attention from three people right now.”
“Four,” Dad corrects, reaching down to scratch Rip’s ear. “And I wouldn’t mind a grandpuppy. Since actual grandchildren seem to be off the table.”
“DAD.”
Mom laughs—really laughs, the way she didn’t for so many years. “Leave them alone, Richard. They’re young.”
“I’m thirty-five,” I remind her. “Chase is thirty-six. We’re basically ancient.”
“Ancient people who can’t even babysit one infant without chaos,” Chase adds, gesturing to Owen, who has somehow gotten yogurt in his hair despite us not giving him yogurt.
“Where did he even GET yogurt?” I ask.
Chase shrugs. “Babies are magic. Weird, sticky magic.”
And standing there—in my parents’ living room that used to be a battlefield, holding a yogurt-covered baby that isn’t mine, arguing about hypothetical puppies with the man who was supposed to be everything I stood against—I realize something.
My parents were wrong about love making you lose yourself.
But they’re right about one thing.
I did build something they couldn’t.
I built a life where love doesn’t mean sacrifice.
Where independence doesn’t mean loneliness.
Where you can write romance novels about hockey players and still roast them in real life.
Where your dog becomes everyone’s grandchild, and your in-laws become actual family, and somehow, impossibly, it all works.
“Fifty-fifty on the puppy,” Chase whispers in my ear.
“Ten-ninety,” I counter.
“Deal.”
I know he’s going to show up with a puppy anyway. Probably next week. Definitely named something ridiculous like Zamboni Jr. or Slap Shot.
And I’ll pretend to be mad for exactly five minutes before falling completely in love with it.
Because that’s what we do. We bicker, we compromise, and we build something messy, chaotic, and absolutely perfect.
“For what it’s worth,” Mom says quietly, watching us with Owen, “you two are going to be wonderful parents. When you’re ready.”
“Mom—”
“Or puppy parents. Whatever comes first.”
Chase beams. “See? Your mom’s on board with the puppy plan.”
“I’m divorcing all of you,” I announce.
But when Chase wraps his free arm around me, Owen babbling happily between us, Rip wagging his tail at our feet, and my parents actually smiling at each other across the room...
Yeah.
I’m not going anywhere.
Even if he does come home with that puppy.
(He definitely will.)
(I’ll definitely love it.)
(But he doesn’t need to know that yet.)