Epilogue
TATE
Six Months Later
The Nook opens at seven. Tom's been awake since six, which I know because I can hear moving chairs inside Sullivan's. The rhythm of his mornings has become the rhythm of mine, and I'm still getting used to the fact that this doesn't scare me the way I thought it would.
Six months. Long enough that the regulars from Sullivan's know to come here for coffee and a muffin after last call, that Beth brings bread for both of us now instead of just me ("Hm, he's not so bad," she declared after finding out we were dating), that Nana's vintage Fender hangs on Tom's wall because she would've wanted it there, in a place where people could see it and remember.
Long enough that when I wake up, the first thing I think isn't where am I, but where is he.
William Shakespurr is curled up in the reading nook by the window, the one I built specifically for him after he moved himself in three months ago.
He's got a new collar now—royal blue with a tag that says "Property of The Nook" on one side and Tom's phone number on the other, because Tom insisted if the cat was going to claim my business, he should at least have emergency contact information.
The fact that Tom became the cat's emergency contact is still pretty damn funny to me.
They have a fragile relationship, and William now only hisses at Tom if he doesn't get a treat. Baby steps.
Brewce Wayne hums as I pull shots for my own morning fuel. The thing breaks down every other week, but the coffee it makes is worth the maintenance.
Tom's handwriting is scrawled on the inventory sheet taped to the counter—his addition to my system after he caught me forgetting to order oat milk twice in one month.
His mug sits beside the register, actually a beer mug I gifted him that says, "TWAT" in big, bold letters.
He 'punished' me later that day by fucking me on the counter.
The door opens with a chime. I don't look up from the espresso machine, but I know it's him. I can always sense his presence from a mile away. Am I obsessed? Yeah, and it's really bad.
"Your coffee machine is leaking again."
"Good morning to you too."
"Good morning. Your coffee machine is leaking."
"It's not leaking, it's—" I glance at the espresso machine. There's a small puddle underneath it. "Oookay, it's leaking."
Tom moves behind my counter, crouching down to examine the machine. "I told you before—"
"That it was bigger than yours and I was compensating for something?"
"I was going to say unnecessarily complicated, but yeah, that too." He looks up at me, smirking. "You want me to fix it or you want to keep being defensive?"
"Can I do both?"
"Probably."
"And for the record, stop referring to it as IT. His name is Brewce Wayne. I told you this several times already."
He pulls the drip tray out and dumps the water in the sink behind the counter. His hair is still messy from sleep, and my God, I have never seen anyone close to how hot he is.
"Jason's bringing the baby by today," Tom says, not looking at me.
"Sarah texted me last night. Said Emma's finally sleeping through the night."
"Good for Emma." Tom slots the drip tray back into place and stands. "Jason looks like hell."
"He also looks happy."
"He looks tired, like he hasn't slept in a year."
"Please. I look tired, like I haven't slept in a year, and I don't have a baby."
"Fair point."
The door opens again, and speak of the devil. Jason comes through first with a massive diaper bag, looking exactly as tired as Tom described, followed by Sarah carrying four-month-old Emma in a wrap against her chest. Sarah heads straight for me while Jason makes a beeline for Tom.
"You're here early," Sarah says, adjusting Emma's tiny hat.
"Which I'm glad I was. Espresso machine was leaking."
"So Tom rushed over to fix it?"
"He's very dedicated to coffee machine maintenance. Also, I never say no to free labor."
Sarah grins. "I'm sure that's what it is."
Jason's voice carries from where he's leaning against the bookshelf talking to Tom. "Told you months ago, man. Didn't I tell you?"
"You tell me a lot of things," Tom says.
"Yeah, but I was right about this one. Sarah, wasn't I right?"
"You're always right, honey." Sarah doesn't look at him when she says it, too busy making faces at Emma. "Especially when you're wrong."
"She smiled at me this morning," Jason says, pride radiating from every word.
Tom shrugs. "Probably gas."
"Fuck off, that was a real smile."
Sarah rolls her eyes. "Language!"
Emma chooses that moment to let out a wail that echoes through The Nook. William Shakespurr lifts his head from the window seat, gives the baby a withering look, and goes back to sleep. He is still unimpressed 90% of the time, even though he's the reason our Instagram has twenty thousand followers.
"Here." Sarah shifts Emma toward Tom before he can protest. "Hold her while I steal Tate's coffee."
Tom takes the baby with the same expression he wore when I told him to trim William's nails for the first time—pure panic. But his hands are steady, supporting Emma's head, and after a second, he relaxes. Just slightly.
"She's staring at me," Tom says.
"She does that." Jason nods. "It's creepy, especially in the middle of the night."
I hand Sarah my untouched latte. "It's sweet."
Tom looks down at Emma. Emma looks up at Tom. And they just stare at each other. Tom's gaze softens when Emma reaches a finger to bop his cheek. Something about the image makes my chest expand.
The door opens again. Beth walks in carrying two cloth-wrapped loaves, one in each arm. She nods at me and sets both loaves on the counter.
"Cranberry walnut is his," she whispers, jerking her head toward Tom.
Tom ordered a special bread? He's usually a sourdough or plain white bread kind of guy.
"When did that happen?"
"Last week. Came in himself." Beth's mouth twitches. "Asked very politely. Even brought me a matcha latte. Not bad, that guy." From Beth, that is basically a declaration of love.
"I'll let him know you said that."
"Don't. It'll go to his head." She glances at Tom, still holding Emma, still having a staring contest. "Baby suits him."
"Don't tell him that either."
"I wasn't planning on it. By the way, I love the matcha latte. I was skeptical at first because of how disgustingly green it was, but it's delicious."
Beth leaves with a nod to Tom. Jason and Sarah finish their coffee and reclaim Emma, who's fallen asleep against Tom's chest, before they head out.
The Nook empties. Just me and Tom and William Shakespurr, who's relocated to the communal table to sleep in a patch of morning sunlight. Tom picks up his loaf of cranberry walnut bread, turning it over in his hands and smelling it.
My lungs forget their job. My heart follows. It's always in moments like this when my chest feels too small to contain what I feel for him.
"I love you," I say.
Tom looks up, forehead creased. "Y-you love me?"
"Yeah."
"Why are you telling me now?"
"Because you're holding fancy bread you ordered from Beth and you fixed my espresso machine and you carried Jason's baby even though you looked terrified the entire time. I've been thinking about saying it for three months, and I love you."
Tom sets down the bread and slowly walks toward me. "Say it again."
"I love you."
His hand comes up to my face, thumb brushing my cheek. "I love you, even if you argue with me for sport."
The response is at the tip of my tongue, but he crushes his mouth to mine, and I forget everything else—The Nook, William Shakespurr, everything. Each time Tom kisses me like this, I turn to mush, core clenching, knees weak, heart thudding.
Tom trails kisses along my jaw and the side of my neck. "I love you. That romantic enough?"
"Getting there."
William Shakespurr meows from the communal table. A sound of pure judgment. Or maybe he's just hungry.
"The cat disagrees," I say.
"The cat's named after a dead playwright. His opinion doesn't count."
Tom kisses me again, slower this time, and across the street, I can hear the faint sound of Sullivan's opening—the jukebox starting up, Jason's voice calling something I can't make out. Different businesses, different hours, different worlds that somehow fit together anyway.
Six months. Long enough to know this is real.
Long enough to know I'm staying.
The End
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