EPILOGUE ONE – ROSEMARIE
TWO WEEKS LATER
There are no more ladders, exposed drywall, buckets of paint, or electrical wires sticking out from the walls here and there.
The shop is … the shop again. And now, as of tomorrow, it will officially be reopened.
Resurrected. Not just patched together, but transformed—rebuilt with warmth, detail, and so much care that it made my chest ache when I looked around. There was so much more of me in it now.
To celebrate the fact I hadn’t gone fully off the rails during the whole experience, Elodie was coming over tonight for a girls’ night and to help put the final touches on the front window display.
She said I needed one more night of too much wine, all-night gossip, and coma by carbs before I became responsible again.
I was currently standing in line at the grocery store, staring down into my cart with a small amount of pride.
Two pints of ice cream—one triple chocolate fudge (mine) and one key lime pie swirl (Elodie, obviously).
Two bottles of wine. Three frozen pizzas, because how can you just pick one topping option?
And a box of those sparkly fairy lights she swore would make the display “look like a Hallmark movie threw up, but in a good way.”
I pulled out my phone and sent Gavin a picture of the cart, followed by a caption:
ME
Survival kit.
His reply came less than a minute later.
First, a photo of what I think was his muddy work boot half-submerged in some kind of trench, accompanied by a frowny face selfie where he looked way too handsome to be covered in concrete dust. His hair was windswept and his shirt was clinging to him in all the right ways.
GAVIN
Wish I could stop by and kiss you goodnight. You’ll get extra tomorrow. And forever.
Heaven help me. I smiled like an idiot, heart warm and stomach fluttering.
After checking out, I made one more stop to the law office that held my best friend hostage for most of her waking hours. Elodie had promised to escape early tonight, and sure enough, as I pulled up to the curb, she burst through the glass front doors like she was fleeing a crime scene.
“FREEDOM!” she shouted over her shoulder, high heels in one hand and her purse in the other.
Behind her, Mr. Anderson—her father and the senior partner—shuffled out the doors, huffing and puffing with a manila folder in hand.
“You forgot this!” he called.
Elodie pivoted on bare feet, kissed his cheek, grabbed the folder with a wink, and spun back around toward me.
As she opened the passenger door and tossed her things in the back, he caught sight of me through the open door, smiled, and gave a quick wave before retreating into the building.
“You know he’s going to have a heart attack one of these days,” I said as she slid into the seat.
“I warned him about keeping me caged. I’m a feral paralegal,” she replied, then narrowed her eyes at the dash. “How much dust did you have to scrape off this thing to get it moving?”
She wasn’t wrong. This car barely left the parking lot behind the shop these days. Between most of my destinations being within walking distance and Gavin insisting on driving us most places, it had practically turned into a decorative item.
“Don’t judge my lifestyle,” I muttered.
“Too late. Can we swing by my place? I wanna grab a change of clothes. And wineglasses. Because if you give me a Solo cup one more time, I swear to God—”
I laughed, nodding as I turned the key.
By the time we made it back to the shop, the sun had almost fully set, casting the street in amber and gold. The windows glowed faintly, catching the light from the lampposts on the street, and everything felt warm in a way I couldn’t quite explain.
I unlocked the door, balancing the wine bottles in one hand, and pushed it open into darkness.
I reached for the light switch. “Okay, let’s—”
“Surprise!”
The lights hummed to life and I froze. There was a banner stretched across the back wall that read, A Little Water Never Hurt a Rose!
I blinked once. Twice. My eyes adjusted to take in the small crowd gathered inside—Mom, Dad, Teagan, Gavin’s contractor crew, and a few local shop owners. Everyone was smiling like they hadn’t just startled the life out of me.
“What … what is this?” I gasped. I turned toward Elodie. “Did you do this?”
But she shook her head, wide-eyed, already stepping back as my parents closed in. Their arms wrapped around me without hesitation.
It had been a rough couple of weeks since that dinner. Since Gavin and I told them. Or rather, since I told Dad after coming back from the bathroom, cheeks still flushed and heart racing from the conversation with my mother.
I hadn’t eased into it. I sat down, took one look at the tension radiating off my father, and said it flat out: “Gavin and I are together.”
The look on his face had shattered me. A perfect mix of confusion, hurt, and disappointment. The kind of expression that reached into my ribs and squeezed. The disappointment? That was for me. The hurt and anger? That was for Gavin.
He hadn’t said anything at first. He just reached into his wallet, pulled out more than enough cash to cover everyone's meal, and placed it gently on the table.
“Harry—” my mom began, voice tight with warning.
“I love you, Rosie,” he said as he stood.
“And I love you like my own damn brother, Gavin. But I’m not prepared for this.
I need to process before I say something I’ll regret.
” Then he walked away. My mother had stayed long enough to pull me into a hug and promise he’d come around, then she left too.
The dam had broken after that. Not all at once—but slowly.
Some cracking. A few tears. Then more. And Gavin had just sat there, head in his hands, breathing like it took everything in him not to chase after his best friend.
I didn’t blame him for feeling his feelings while I was also struggling. He was hurting, too.
The sound of someone sliding into the booth beside me had made me look up. It was Teagan.
“I’m going to hug you,” she’d said. “So don’t freak out and make it a thing.” I half-laughed through tears and let her do it. She patted my back awkwardly, then added, “Oh, also … I’m never calling you Mom. Or even my stepmom.”
That actually made me laugh. Really laugh. Gavin had groaned and muttered, “Jesus Christ, Teag. Let’s go home.”
We’d stopped for ice cream on the way back to his house. Sat together on the couch while Teagan picked a movie. None of us really paid attention. But we were together. Teagan and I were civil. Gavin and Teagan were not at one another’s throats. That counted for something.
Now, the hug with my parents finally ended, and I wiped under my eyes before anything could spill over.
“You didn’t have to do this,” I said, my breath catching.
My mom smiled. “Oh, I was swamped with paperwork. Couldn’t take the credit if I tried.”
I turned to look at my dad, eyebrows lifting. “Dad?”
His cheeks turned pink as he rubbed the back of his neck. “I had some help.”
The chimes above the door jingled. I turned—and there he was.
Gavin stepped inside holding a bouquet of multicolored roses, wearing his typical dark jeans and a black button-down with the sleeves rolled to his forearms. His smile was soft, his eyes only on me.
From behind, my father’s voice rang out, “Your boyfriend’s quite the party planner.”
I turned back to face him and those stupid tears threatened to spill over again. Without thinking, I threw my arms around him.
He held me tightly, his voice low and only for me as he whispered, “I love you. I want you happy. And if that’s with Gavin … it’s okay.”
The tears came then. But for the first time in weeks, they didn’t hurt. They healed.