Epilogue
Dear Diary,
Remember the kissituation I mentioned? Well, you’ll be pleased to know that it was resolved.
Or I should say it has evolved into a once-a-day dose.
Er, more like a dozen times a day. Okay, lots of times.
All the time. Grey and I are head over heels for each other.
Who would’ve thought I’d reunite with my marriage of convenience husband, we’d fall in love, and have a family?
Okay, a quick update while the Christmas cookies finish baking and Sonny paints his dad a picture with blue paint that we’ll wrap and put under the tree.
Even though it’s a little later in life than I’d have liked, my father and I finally have a relationship. We talk at least once a week on the phone. He’ll be up here to celebrate Christmas with us, too.
He’s gone to church with Ingrid a few times. The P.S. Ladies mentioned he’d joined them for cherry pie not long ago.
As for Todd and Princess, I haven’t even bothered to try to stalk them on social media. But I hope they get their happily ever after.
Bran is in surprisingly good physical health, considering everything he went through—a plane crash, hiding out on a freighter across the Indian Ocean to the Caribbean, where he wandered for a while until he heard the familiar Princess Papaya song.
He was never in enemy hands, but had hit his head incredibly hard and suffered the trauma of a plane crash.
But the good news is, his memory is recovering and he’s medically retiring from the military with plans to start a blueberry farm on the island.
Sonny is a little angel boy—except I’ve learned he has a rascally streak like his father. But he’s teaching me Norwegian and the joys of watching him grow. Truly, it’s a blessing to be on this adventure with my family.
Speaking of...the blue painting is significant.
Wink, wink. Grey doesn’t know it yet, but we’re adding to our family and I can’t wait for him to find out on Christmas.
After Sonny finishes his painting, I’m pasting the first sonogram to the front and framing it.
Yep, little boy number two is due next spring.
And let me tell ya, the cookie dough cravings have been off the charts.
Well, that’s all for now. I can say that the Viking rode in and valiantly saved me...and I’m pretty sure I helped him too.
Love,
Everly
P.S. My thankful three:
For my courage and health
The Viking and his kisses (and about a millionty other things)
Sonny and our family
Looking for more from the Bruisers? Read the first chapter from Rylen and Rachel’s Christmas romance:
Chapter 1: Rachel
I don’t want to be that girl, but in about another thirty seconds, I’m totally going to be that girl.
Typically, I’m very rational, confident, patient, and friendly enough. Some people say I have a certain resting face that’s intimidating, but usually, I’m deep in thought. But I’m not that girl, not the mean one, the snobby one, or the selfish one.
I’m not shy. I prefer to think of myself as thoughtful, some might say serious.
However, on days when I wake up with a smile, the captain on my boat will say something like, Daily forecast: Really Rachel. As in today is going to be a good day.
But today is not that day.
Or rather, this evening is not. I’m seated at a long dining room table with Tobias Flick to my right.
Across from me, his older sister, Ursula, with purple hair and a face tattoo, scrolls her phone.
She and her husband, the mouth breather with glassy eyes, appear to only be here for the free dinner.
She chews with her mouth open and stares daggers at me like I’m not good enough for her brother.
Or she might remember me from high school.
I’m trying not to talk to her in case she gets it in her mind to shank me if I excuse myself to use the ladies’ room.
At Arapahoe High School, rumors abounded that she stabbed Mrs. Caruso in the hand with a box cutter because she wouldn’t allow Ursula to keep her pet rat in the classroom.
Mr. Flick vacuums up his liver and onions like he’s trying to scrub clean a crime scene before the realtor shows up to take photos for a new listing, obviously, so no one thinks it’s being haunted by the victim.
Mrs. Flick is the original Queen Bee on the social scene, though these days, she’s more likely to show up at the lip injection clinic than be the popular girl section in the lunch room. I’m not entirely sure, but I wouldn’t doubt that Tobias gets manjections too.
This all begs the question. What am I doing here?
It’s a weird story.
Anyway, as Tobias elbows me and nudges his head toward his parents, I make a quick calculation of my current options.
I can continue to go along with this charade.
I can come clean and tell the Flicks the truth.
I can cut my losses and run. I have a thesis with my name on it and it’s not going to write itself.
However, patiently enduring this ordeal is what I signed up to do. Living expenses while I write said thesis won’t pay themselves either.
“Rachel, tell us what you do again. You work on a boat, collecting shrimp?” Mrs. Flick laughs like I’m some hillbilly creature from Colorado that washed up onshore only to be rescued by their son.
No, the Flicks with their gold-painted wood paneling, the gaudy giant gold-plated pig set prominently on a shelf in the room, along with a glass case stuffed with what appears to be a collection of gold designer shoes washed up in a pirate wreck.
In the corner of the dining room is a six-foot-tall high heel that matches one pair in the case.
If you’re wondering, they have at least six dogs and twice as many cats.
The former all wear clothing and some of the latter have dyed fur. It’s quite the menagerie.
Also, it’s worth noting that Ursula wears six-inch platform Crocs covered with charms and Mrs. Flick has a ring on every single one of her fingers. Some even host up to three.
Five years ago, they won the lottery, moved from our home state of Colorado to “paradise” aka Pensacola, and now think they’re royalty. Mrs. Flick legally changed her first name to Lady, so she can go as Lady Flick. No kidding.
Around a mouthful, Mr. Flick says, “Shrimps good eatin’ if you ask me.”
“To answer your question, I work with dinoflagellates, which are a component of plankton. We’re studying what marine species use them for defensive bioluminescence.
” I go on to bore them with the subject of the most recent study in my marine science graduate program.
I am so close to becoming Dr. Moore, I can almost taste it.
Actually, all I can taste is the iron-rich flavor of blood in my mouth from the liver and onions. Only, it’s like I’m the chum and Mrs. Flick and her daughter are the circling predators.
Mr. Flick orders his son-in-law, who looks like he spends more time underground than in the light of day, to pass the potatoes. Then he eats them right out of the serving dish.
I press my lips together and try not to throw up in my mouth—there’s no telling where else his fork has been.
“Does collecting shrimp pay well?” Mrs. Flick asks.
“I’m a graduate student, so—” Before I can explain that it does not indeed pay well, Ursula, Tobias’s sister, interrupts. Did I mention that’s her actual name, and she bears an uncanny resemblance to the sea witch from The Little Mermaid? True story.
“Are you going home for Christmas?” she asks.
“Unfortunately, I have to be back on the boat, so—”
“I hear the big baller from Blizzard Bluff is making a homecoming.” Ursula flutters her lashes.
Tobias throws a string bean at her. “If you mean Rylen Murphy from the Boston Bruisers, he wouldn’t even look your way, Ugula.”
She lobs an asparagus spear at her brother like a javelin.
“Of course, that’s who I mean, and now that I’m someone—” By someone, she’s the host on a YouTube channel, starring, you guessed it, herself.
She boasts half a million subscribers, so I guess doing dumb things online for likes is popular—no shade to people with face tattoos, but that’s forever, folks.
At the mention of my secret high school sweetheart, I can’t help but wonder if Ursula somehow knows, and brace myself for nosy questions.
Then again, he ditched me, so there’s not much to say.
Also, we did kiss at graduation, so perhaps that was us officially going public after years of being secret sweethearts on the sly.
But more concerning is the fact that she’s suggesting interest in him, considering she’s married and her husband sits beside her, playing a game on his phone. When he scores, the sound of an explosion is at odds with the tinny tune of a pop song blaring from Ursula’s device.
Also of note is that I’m here under the pretense that I’m married to her brother, so the suggestion that I’d pursue another guy is wildly inappropriate. At least in the non-clown world, which is the opposite of this.
I walked under the big top without even realizing it, literally.
Tobias gave me a tour earlier, and they have a carousel in the game room, along with those grubby kiddie rides that used to be outside the supermarket.
With the small fee of twenty-five cents, kids could rock back and forth, herky-jerky to a sad tune through a garbled speaker.
My mouth suddenly goes dry at the mention of Rylen, I take a sip of the electric yellow “refreshing beverage” as Lady Flick referred to it at my place setting. My only hope is that it’s not radioactive. That would explain a lot.
Ursula’s phone pings, distracting her. And yes, Mr. Flick is still consuming food in alarming quantities. Meanwhile, Mrs. Flick hasn’t touched her plate.
“Have you set a date?” she asks.
I nearly sputter my refreshing beverage all over her face. “Have I what?”
“Set a date. I want to be intimately involved in all the wedding plans from start to finish. Ursula and Rubio eloped in Puerto Escondido, Mexico, and I missed out. You only get one daughter.”