Epilogue
Ten years later
“Next!” Olivia calls.
I absentmindedly spin the pen in my hand while my eyes drift to my rings. The honeycomb engagement ring still sparkles as brightly as the day Zach proposed to me. Only now it has a perfectly cut, honeycomb band to match.
“Oh, my goodness. I can’t believe I’m actually meeting you,” the girl says breathlessly as she steps up to the table, clutching a stack of paperbacks tightly against her chest. She can’t be older than twenty. “I reread your series every single year.”
I can’t help smiling at that. Even after all this time, hearing someone say my words stayed with them long enough to reread never stops feeling surreal.
“Well, that’s lovely to hear.” I reach for the top book in her stack. The corners are worn slightly, sticky tabs peeking from between the pages, and my heart warms at the sight. These books have been loved. “Who should I make this out to?”
“Elizabeth,” she says quickly before laughing nervously. “Sorry. I’m trying to act normal right now, and it’s really not working.”
I laugh softly. “You’re doing just fine, Elizabeth.”
Her cheeks flush bright pink as I uncap my pen.
“I started reading your books when I was sixteen,” she admits while I open the title page. “My mom actually bought me the first one because she said Cassie and Brian’s story reminded her of her and my dad.”
That catches me off guard in the best way.
“Did it?” I ask, glancing up at her.
Elizabeth nods enthusiastically. “They met in college, and they had a lot of stuff going on. My mom cried at the scene where Cassie had to learn to choose herself instead of wallowing in the grief of losing her mom.”
“That scene was hard to write,” I admit quietly as I glance back down at the page. “I think sometimes people mistake healing for giving up on the people you lost, when really it’s about learning how to carry them with you without letting the grief swallow you whole.”
Elizabeth nods immediately like she understands exactly what I mean.
“My mom said it helped her come to terms with her parents passing,” she says softly. “She underlined half the chapter.”
I blink quickly and smile before emotion can fully climb up my throat.
“Well, tell your mom she officially made me emotional at a signing.”
Elizabeth laughs. “She’s going to lose her mind when I tell her I met you.” Her eyes drift down to the stack of books again. “Honestly, I think your stories helped both of us.”
I finish signing the title page carefully.
“To Elizabeth,” I write, “thank you for letting these stories grow with you.”
She watches me write the message, and then again as I move on to the next book in her stack.
“I always wondered how you wrote relationships that felt so real,” she blurts suddenly. “Like... the way your characters fight for each other feels different from other romance books.”
A smile tugs at my mouth before I can stop it.
“Well,” I say lightly, twisting my wedding ring absently against my finger, “I had a pretty good muse.”
Her eyes immediately flick to the ring. The honeycomb band still catches the bookstore lights every single time I move my hand.
“That ring is actually iconic, by the way,” she says seriously. “People online are obsessed with it.”
I laugh softly. “My husband’s very proud of that fact.”
“I would be too if I’d set the standard for every fictional man for the last decade.”
That one gets a real laugh out of me.
“I’ll make sure to tell him.”
“You should.” She hesitates. “Thank you for giving me hope.”
I place the pen down gently. “Thank you for reading my books.”
“Could I maybe get a photo with you?” she asks quickly. “You can absolutely say no. I just—my mom is never going to believe this happened otherwise.”
I smile immediately. “Of course you can.”
Her entire face lights up.
“Oh my God. Okay. Thank you.” She nearly drops her phone trying to unlock it fast enough, which makes me laugh quietly as I stand from behind the signing table.
“I’m sorry,” Olivia says as Elizabeth walks away. “I feel like I have failed as your publicist.”
“Why?”
“Because the queue is longer than I expected. There are at least another forty people out there.”
“Really?” I say, huffing out a surprised breath.
She nods, and I shake my head in disbelief. Even after all this time and so many signings, it still surprises me when people want to come out and support me.
“Well, I guess I better get signing then.”
I uncap my pen and look up at the next person in line.
It's not a person. It's a book with legs.
Small legs. In white Mary Janes.
The book is held up in two hands at roughly chin height, which means I can't see the face behind it, just the cover—my cover—clutched in fists so small the spine bows slightly under the grip.
The queue shuffles forward and the book wobbles.
I smile, my heart wanting to burst as I take in this perfect, little girl.
I press my lips together to keep my face even.
“Hi, there,” I say to the book.
The book lowers by two inches. A pair of familiar eyes appear over the top. Zach's eyes, in a face that is somehow entirely her own, under a red bow that is slightly sideways because she did it herself this morning and wouldn't let anyone fix it.
She stares at me very seriously.
“Hi,” the little girl says back.
“Would you like me to sign that for you, sweetheart?” I point to my newest book in her hand.
The Last Time We Jumped.
She considers it for a second, then puts the book on the table and pushes it forward.
I hold back from laughing at her cuteness.
“There,” she says proudly.
“Thank you.” I open the cover, smoothing the title page. “Who should I make it out to?”
She watches the pen with total focus. “Me.”
“And who are you?”
Her brow furrows as her gaze connects with mine. The bow is very sideways now. “Merritt.”
“Ah, Merritt. That's a good name,” I say.
“I know,” she says with the same confidence as her father. The girl has only just turned five. What on earth is she going to be like when she's a teenager?
I sign it and then write underneath: For Merritt. The best thing.
I slide it back across the table. She picks it up with both hands again, immediately, and the cover goes back up in front of her face.
“Did you get the signature, baby?” A hand lands on Merritt's shoulder, and she glances up at my husband.
Zach lingers behind her in a Carolina Catfish cap pulled low over his face, clearly under the impression that wearing baseball merch makes him unrecognizable. Never mind the fact that he openly hates the sport.
What he fails to account for is that he’s six-four, built like a brick wall, and won the Super Bowl last year. People are going to notice him regardless.
He nods at the book in Merritt's hands.
“She wanted a signed copy,” he says with a smirk. “She's been asking since we left the house yesterday.”
“She can't read that yet.”
“You sure? She's pretty advanced.” He lifts her onto his hip with one arm, and she goes still holding the book in front of his face. He tilts his head around it to see me. “I also spilled coffee on mine. Can I get another one?”
As if he needs another signed book from me. He’s got every single one I wrote sitting in his office, clearly visible whenever he does any Zoom calls.
“Pretty please,” he asks.
“Fine.”
I pull a copy from the top, open to the title page, and look down at it for a second.
For Zach — who pulled me out of the water. And Merritt — may every shore be one you chose.
I sign my name. Then, underneath, I write something else, close the cover, and slide it across the table to him.
Still not running. Still always yours. H
He picks it up with his free hand. Reads it and holds back a smile.
He looks down at me, his eyes dark. “Honeycomb,” he says quietly.
“There’s a queue,” Olivia says, pointing to the people behind him. “Don’t you think it would be nice for other people to meet your wife?”
“No,” he says simply. “She’s all mine.”
“Alright, caveman.” Olivia pushes him forward.
“Can I get a picture with her before I go?” he asks, slowing Olivia.
“Do you want one, or are you just stalling?”
He huffs out a breath that's almost a laugh as he looks at Olivia with disbelief.
“Of course I want a photo of us at every single book signing my wife ever does.”
I hear a couple of the women in the line coo.
“Fine. We’ll make it quick,” Olivia says, pulling out her phone.
I stand from the desk, leaning forward so I'm closer to Zach and Merritt.
“Smile, baby,” Zach says, nudging Merritt to look at the phone.
Click.
Olivia brings down the phone and hands it back to Zach, who in turn puts it in his pocket.
“Alright, I'm going to take this nugget for some chicken nuggets.” Zach looks at the line of people waiting and then back to me. “Good luck, Honeycomb. I love you.”
“Love you too.”
“Go sign your books, Honeycomb,” he says.
I sit in my chair, uncap my pen, and look at the long queue.
“Okay,” Olivia says, behind me. “Let's meet your next reader.”
I'm still smiling.
Merritt goes down without a fight, which is unsurprising since I took her on the most epic father-daughter day at the mall while her mother (and also the best thing that ever happened to me) met her readers.
Cotton candy, dodgems and an adventure playground. This mall had everything, and Merritt took serious advantage.
I stand in the doorway of her room for a moment after I've tucked her in, watching her chest rise and fall. She's got Honey's book clutched to her chest with her toy fox looking longingly from the other side of the room.
I'm the luckiest man alive.
I pull the door almost closed and head back to the living room of the presidential suite. The one I paid for because I wanted enough space for all of us while we follow Honey around for the next couple of months.
That's just one of the perks of being in the NFL. I get a lot of time off, ergo; I get to spend way more time with Honey and Merritt.