Epilogue
OSCAR
“Alice, where’s your passport?” I call into the other room. “It’s not in the satchel.”
“Right here… wait, no, hang on. It was right here…”
I hear her rifling through the bedroom drawers like a raccoon in a recycling bin, and I bite back a laugh as I shove a charger into my duffel bag and grab her sun hat off the kitchen table.
“We’re going to be late,” I call out.
“No we’re not,” she yells back. “Your own jet can’t leave without you.”
True. But I’ve still never been late to anything in my life — until I got with her.
All morning, we’ve been racing around the house like lunatics, flinging clothes into bags and checking items off the world's most chaotic packing list. Somewhere between her kimono coverup and my favorite sunglasses, we’ve lost both track of time and any semblance of cool.
This is how most of our life is now. Half madness, half magic. A year in, and I’m still not used to how good it feels to be in the middle of it.
She finally appears at the bedroom door, her hair in a rushed braid, phone charger in one hand, her passport triumphantly held in the other.
“Found it!” she grins. “Did you pack your toothbrush?”
“I packed three,” I tell her as she vanishes down the hallway. “You always forget yours, and I’m not sharing again.”
“That was one time!”
“And it was traumatizing!”
She appears again in the doorway, a shoe in one hand, a curling iron in the other, her hair already frizzing slightly from running around.
I take a second to just look at her — this whirlwind of a woman I somehow convinced to build a life with me.
Even though we’ve been going strong since we officially got together, I still can’t believe I get to call her mine.
“Do you have your sleep mask?” I ask her.
“Yes.”
“Sanity?” I grin.
She grins right back at me. “Barely.”
We laugh together, and I kiss her on the forehead before heading to grab her tote bag.
The house still smells like the sandalwood incense she insists on burning when she’s packing - “for focus”, ironically – and I’m kind of sad to leave now that this place actually feels like a home, but I’m also excited for our anniversary trip… as well as other things.
One year ago, I almost lost her. Now she’s stashing her shoes next to mine in the hallway closet and leaving half-eaten protein bars in my car.
We live together in my lakefront house now — our lakefront house, really — and it’s amazing how a space changes when love lives in it.
There are plants in places I never noticed were empty.
Warm light. Laughter in the kitchen. Talks about getting a dog or two.
We tumble out the front door in a tangle of duffel bags and airport snacks, me holding her suitcase and her carrying an iced coffee she’ll no doubt forget in the car.
“This is so us,” she says as we climb into the car. “Always early for work meetings, but somehow late for our own damn vacation.”
“I blame the incense ritual.”
“I blame your sock-counting obsession.”
As I start the engine, we’re both grinning. My hand finds hers between the seats and squeezes once. Simple. Certain.
The drive to the private airfield isn’t long. Outside, the trees blur past, spring in full bloom, the lake just visible behind us through the rearview mirror. Inside, my thoughts drift.
Rooted Pantry is thriving. The San Diego facility — what we’re calling our southern baby — is exceeding projections.
We have a strong, compassionate leadership team.
We’re sourcing from farms I used to only dream about partnering with.
Alice’s influence is everywhere, from the new mentorship program she created to the subtle changes in how we manage staff wellness.
We’re working less and living more. And for the first time in my career, I’m not panicked about it. I’m proud.
Because Alice taught me how to breathe again. She made me want to breathe again. Gave me something to live for rather than something to work for.
At the airport, my jet waits on the tarmac, sleek and luxurious. Alice lets out a happy sigh as we walk across the runway, wind catching her hair.
“This will be good,” she says, bumping my shoulder. “We need this.”
“You mean being late?”
She rolls her eyes. “Very funny. You know what I’m talking about.”
“Yes.” I wrap my arm around her shoulders and pull her closer. “I’m looking forward to having you to myself for a whole week.”
“You’ll have to share me with my new paperback… and the pool… and the spa.”
“Maybe you can pencil me in for thirty minutes the day before we leave?”
“Have your assistant call mine.”
The pilot gives us a polite wave. “Mr. Glynn. Ms. Mackie.”
“Good to see you again, Paul,” I say, returning the nod.
Once inside the jet, the cabin door seals behind us, shutting out the world. The soft hum of the engines, the sleek leather seats, the gentle scent of citrus in the air — it’s all familiar. And none of it compares to the woman beside me.
Alice is already talking a mile a minute, flipping through her phone and rattling off all the things she wants to do in Bali.
“I want to hike to a waterfall, like a real one,” she says, bouncing slightly in her seat. “And see the Ubud monkey forest. And I have to pick up a really big visor and just lay around by a pool drinking fruity drinks with… what do you think they put in the cocktails there?”
“Fermented dragonfruit?”
“Perfect. Fermented something. And I want a massage every day. I want to forget what day it is. I want—”
She stops when I don’t respond, her eyes narrowing.
“You’re quiet,” she says, leaning toward me. “What’s going on in that overly strategic brain of yours?”
I smile, but my hand slides to the inside pocket of my jacket.
There it is.
A small velvet box.
I’ve rehearsed this moment a dozen times. Replayed every version of how to ask her. But none of them felt quite right.
So I’m going with the truth – the one that’s always on the tip of my tongue, ready to spill forth at the slightest asking.
“This has been the happiest year of my life,” I say.
“Oh, Oscar.” Her expression softens instantly. “Me too.”
“I didn’t know it could be like this,” I continue. “Coming home to someone who knows all my moods and still chooses me. Building something real. Waking up next to you freezing because you’ve taken all the blankets.”
She laughs, eyes gleaming. “Sorry. I need to work on that.”
“You know what?”
“What?” She leans even closer.
“I used to think I needed work to feel whole. But it turns out… I just needed to really live life… outside of all the ambitions. Don’t get me wrong, I love what I do. Especially with Rooted Pantry.”
“I get it,” she says softly.
I nod, my throat thick with emotion. “I don’t ever want to go back to the life I had before you came back into it.”
“You don’t have to. I’m right here.”
“I know,” I whisper. “And I know that I can count on that.”
Her lips part slightly, like she’s about to say something. But I shift, pulling the box from my jacket, and open it between us.
Her breath catches.
Inside is a simple, elegant ring — gold band, oval diamond, timeless. Just like her.
“Alice,” I say, heart hammering. “Will you marry me?”
She stares at me for a second. Just stares. Then, with tears springing into her eyes, she nods so hard I’m afraid her head might fall off.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, yes, yes.”
The ring trembles in my fingers as I slide it onto her hand. It fits perfectly.
And then she’s kissing me — hard, deep, frantic.
She climbs into my lap before I even register what’s happening, her hands in my hair, her breath hot against my cheek.
We’ve kissed a hundred times. A thousand. But this one is different.
This one feels like fire. Like desperation mixed with assurance.
It feels like home.
I kiss her back, hands roaming over her waist, her thighs. She’s wearing one of those flowy travel dresses, soft cotton that lifts easily as she straddles me. I tug the hem up, groaning as I feel the bare skin of her legs wrap around me.
“Are we really doing this?” she murmurs against my lips. “Mile-high club on your own jet?”
“I was hoping,” I say, nipping at her neck.
She lets out a soft laugh that turns into a moan as I slide my hands under her dress and over the curve of her ass.
Clothes disappear quickly. My shirt is the first to go, then her dress. She’s not wearing a bra, and the sight of her — flushed, smiling, mine — is almost enough to undo me just by itself.
She grinds her hips against me, slow and teasing, her hair falling loose in little tendrils around her face .“You’ve been thinking about this, haven’t you?” she whispers. “Me and you… up here on the plane.”
“I could tell you no,” I whisper back. “But I would be lying.”
She reaches her hand between us, wrapping her fingers around my length. I hiss in pleasure, my entire body responding to her touch. She strokes me slowly, gently squeezing and teasing. She’s trying to drive me crazy, and she’s doing a damn good job at it.
I dig my fingers into her ass, nails biting into her flesh. Her sweet smell smothers me, and my mouth waters with the need to lick every inch of her. She’s in charge right now, though, so I’ll let her take the lead… for the first round, anyway.
Releasing my length, she adjusts on my lap and lowers herself onto me, taking me in with one smooth move. We both suck in a breath, overwhelmed by the magic of it all. It’s always like this — hot, electric, impossibly close – but it never gets old, never stops being shockingly good.
She rides me slowly at first, her hands braced on my shoulders, our foreheads touching. Every move, every gasp, every shift of her hips is wrapped in something deeper than lust.
It’s love. Pure, overwhelming love.
She arches into my touch, her eyes fluttering shut, lips parted. She’s an angel, a perfect creature that I couldn’t have dreamed up in a million years. But she’s here. She’s real.
She’s mine.
I hold her tighter, thrusting up into her as she rides me harder, faster. We move in sync, tangled in limbs and breath, her name on my lips.
“Fuck,” I breathe, holding her hips. “You feel so good.”
She rolls her hips against mine, slow and deep, her body moving with mine like we were designed for this. My hands roam her body — her waist, her breasts, her back — memorizing every curve, every gasp, every tremble.
She rides me faster now, chasing something we both know is coming. Her lips find my neck, my jaw, my mouth again, and I kiss her back like I’ll never get enough.
“Look at me,” I whisper. “I want to see you when you come.”
Her eyes meet mine, wide and glassy, her lips parted. I slide a hand between us and circle her clit with my thumb, and she shudders hard.
“I’m close,” she whimpers.
“Me too.”
Her rhythm falters for a second as her body starts to tighten, her thighs trembling against mine.
Then she falls apart — back arching, eyes fluttering shut, mouth open in a silent cry as her orgasm crashes through her. She clenches around me, and I follow her over the edge seconds later, groaning her name as I come deep inside her.
With a big sigh, she collapses against me, both of us sweaty and shaking, still tangled in each other. For a long moment, we don’t speak. Just breathe. Her head rests on my shoulder, one hand over my heart.
We cling to each other, still joined, still breathless.
Minutes pass.
Maybe hours.
Eventually, she rests her forehead against mine and smiles.
“You really know how to propose,” she murmurs.
“I aim to please.”
She laughs, slow and warm, and I press a kiss to her shoulder.
“You’re my dream come true,” I whisper. “You know that?”
Her smile fades into something softer, something earnest. She nods.
“I know. You’re mine too.”
“We’ve built so much already,” I say. “And I can’t wait to see what else we make together.”
She brushes a thumb over my cheek. “Just promise me we’ll keep doing it the messy way.”
“The only way I know.”
We stay this way, wrapped around each other as the jet soars above the clouds, carrying us into a future I never dared to dream of.
But it’s ours now.
And we’re just getting started.
The End
I hope you’ve enjoyed Alice and Oscar’s story!