Epilogue #2
“Temporary library,” Remy corrects. She smiles, but it’s shaped like a Lego.
Forced and pained. “It’s a maternity leave position and I’ll probably only be here a few months.
Darren and I talked yesterday, and it was .
. .” Her voice trails off, and we all look at her with mirrored expressions of pity. “Great.”
We don’t call her out for lying.
“What’s the Nash update?” Reese asks. “You two reunited and making the entire town of Fontain vomit in the vintner’s blend yet with your disgusting PDA?”
“He’s working on it.” I fidget with the lace of my dress. “Whatever that means.”
According to Nash, it means finalizing the details of having someone else running Thirsty for History—none other than Sunny—and ensuring things go smoothly if he isn’t in Charleston.
It also means, much to my dismay, trying to figure out how to expand. Even after he promised he’d come to Fontain, he’s been having meetings for another location.
I don’t want to stand in his way—I won’t—but I miss him. Badly. Even though we’ve talked on the phone every day, as have he and Bennie, he’s only been here once in the last month.
“Shit, Rue,” Reese says with a snort. “You’re impatient as hell.
Man’s running a business—a successful one that you should take notes on.
” I pin her with an annoyed look she ignores.
“You don’t just walk away from that without making sure it stays that way.
Two million dollars is chump change in the scheme of things. ”
She’s right; other than having the cushions back in place we once had, our lives are completely the same.
“I know.”
And I do, but I want what I want, which is him in this town. Now.
Remy and Mom start talking about the dinners they’ve been having together, making Reese and I fall quiet. I’m thinking about Nash, but there’s a dash of lonely in Reese’s eyes.
The bells to the store jingle, and my attention instinctively goes to the sound, along with my most welcoming smile . . . that instantly turns to a frown when I see Psychic Sylvia enter with her arms full.
Of a crystal ball.
My mom belts out an excited greeting, but with a wedding dress on my body and a scowl on my lips, I march over to the woman, ready to fight.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
Sylvia smiles easily, gesturing with the ball. “I have a booth. Just dropping this off to add to it.”
She sets it on the table with a stand and the familiar purple velvet bag, price tag attached for $1,000.
The nerve.
Of this.
Woman.
“And I see you took my advice.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
She eyes the wedding dress with a self-satisfied smile. “I told you the answer was in plain sight, and it looks like you listened.”
Nash was in plain sight. The gold was in plain sight. It is incredibly annoying that she got that right.
“I didn’t,” I snap, blowing my bangs out of my eyes. “And this has nothing to do with you.”
Her hummed response is an infuriating sound, but before I can continue on a tirade, the bells to the door once again jingle. This time, the sound is accompanied by the much more welcomed face of Bennie. And Frank.
Bennie, who, since meeting the father she’d already snooped her way into knowing was alive, has been living on cloud nine. Where she once fought me on going to Fontain Academy, she can’t wait for school to be back. “It’s the same school Dad taught at,” she says on repeat.
Nash, even not being here, already has a number one fan.
“What are you doing here?” I eye the dog.
“With Frank?” Frank lets out a single bark as Bennie barrels into me with a hug.
My eyes catch on the gold chain holding a stolen Civil War coin around her neck—she hasn’t taken it off since Cap gave it to her.
“Where are your cousins?” I look past her toward the door. “And your babysitter?”
“Your dress is pretty.” Bennie pets the lace. “You look like a princess.”
I laugh at the compliment. “That still doesn’t explain why you’re here. With Frank.”
“Dad,” she says, then hands me a postcard before running to my mom and sisters.
“Dad?”
The image on the postcard is a hillside covered in rows of grape vines. At the bottom right corner are the words:
Fontain, North Carolina
A Town to Come Back To
I flip the card.
Come and get me, Rue Conway.
Already smiling, I look around the store like he might be here—up and down every aisle like he’s been hiding in these shelves without me knowing. He’s close; I feel him. The way I always have.
At Sylvia’s knowing smirk, I roll my eyes. I’ll deal with that idiot later. I have enough money to buy that crystal ball just to smash it.
I’m almost at the door when my mom calls my name. She hurries over to me with an envelope I got from the courthouse earlier this week. “Happy anniversary,” she says as she hands it to me.
I don’t know what that means—she has a brain tumor—but I take the envelope anyway.
Outside, I wince from the sun then stop, my smile somehow doubling in size. Nash is a sight for sore eyes in a shirt covered in grapes, leaning against his old F-150 with that damn harmonica on his lips, wailing a tune.
Leaning and waiting, the way I wished a thousand times he would be.
There’s no playing it cool this time. With bare feet and in an old wedding dress, I run across the parking lot and jump right into his arms, making him stumble and grunt before kissing him hard.
“You waited for me,” I tell him, my arms and legs wrapped around him like an octopus.
His eyes are bright. “You seemed like the kind of thing I should wait for, Rue Conway.”
“Really?” I ask, fighting a smile. “And why’s that?”
His lips twitch. “It’s not every day you meet someone who reads Tijuana bibles for creative inspiration.” I laugh at his eight-year-old words, feeling them every bit of the way I did that first day. “And you’re beautiful.”
I slip from his arms and remember I’m wearing a wedding dress. “Oh.” I laugh at myself. “My mom,” I explain. “And sisters.”
He smiles a little. “You know what today is?”
“Friday?”
“July eleventh—one of my favorite days in history.”
Everything clicks into place then. Eight years ago today, Nash and I ran into a courthouse to hide from the rain and left married.
Behind the door of the store, my mom is holding her phone facing out with Reese’s face, and beside her, Remy, Bennie, and Sylvia are watching us, stupid smiles pressed against the glass.
Then I see it: the sign leaning against Old Vines that says Thirsty for History.
Nash is expanding . . . to Fontain. He’s our new tenant.
Damn him.
I turn back to my husband, but he’s down on one knee, the beautiful ring I once stole from his nightstand in his hand. My smile nearly cracks me in two.
“Spend forever with me, Rue Conway.” It’s not a question; it doesn’t need to be. He slips the ring on my finger and looks at me with so much reverence I nearly combust. “In Fontain. In a house. With Bennie and Frank. Wherever you want me.”
“Forever might be a long time,” I tell him, feigning consideration as I take in the ring. “I have one condition.” I give him the envelope I’ve been holding, pausing long enough for him to open it and understanding to settle. “It’s Rue Fletcher now.”
He smiles then. The wide, eye-crinkling one that I love so much. “Rue Fletcher,” he says, tasting every letter as he stands. “I kind of like that.”
This time when he picks me up and presses his lips to mine, it comes with a brand-new truth: I get to kiss this man forever. Until I’m gone or he is. We’ll never run or push each other away again. It will always just be us, the way it always should have been.
My mom, sisters, Bennie—and even Sylvia—flood the parking lot as he spins me, all of us screaming and laughing as we gape at my ring. Nash hoists Bennie onto his shoulders, identical smiles on both their faces.
“I knew this would happen,” Sylvia says. “Didn’t I say this would happen?”
It’s almost as perfect as the day we got married.
And damn I wish Cap were here to see it.