Epilogue
Maxinne
One year later
Ismile every time the little bell above the front door rings.
It chimes again as another person filters into the shop, and the sound blends with the low hum of conversation already filling the space.
Sunlight streams through the front windows, spilling across the old hardwood floors.
It reflects on the rows of amber glass tincture bottles that are lined neatly along the shelves that Zane built by hand.
Hanging plants drape from ceiling hooks near the windows, vines curling lazily toward the light, while bundles of rosemary and chamomile dry from exposed wooden beams overhead.
“Well…that’s not good.”
“What’s not good?” I ask, spinning around so fast the eucalyptus hanging near the doorway smacks me in the forehead. “Ah!”
Wren’s head snaps up, her eyes widening as she watches me rub against my forehead. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I’m fine.” I wave her off. “You didn’t answer my question.”
Wren stands frozen beside the refreshment table, holding up an empty glass drink dispenser. “We’re out of your elderberry lemonade.”
A laugh bursts out of me, halfway between panic and exhaustion. “How are we already out? We’ve not even been open for an hour.”
“Because,” Ryland says as he strolls toward us with Annabelle by his side, “the entire town showed up thirty minutes early.”
“Which has already been an amazing turnout,” Raine adds, her hand settling over the curve of her stomach as she steps beside Ryland. She’s glowing in that effortless way pregnant women somehow manage to do. “Ryland’s already tried to steal your thunder by sharing the news that we’re having a girl.”
Ryland adjusts the bow clipped to Annabelle’s curls. “What’s wrong with adding to the already special day?”
Luke snorts from across the shop while Olivia hides a laugh behind her coffee cup. The diamond on her finger catches in the sunlight pouring through the front windows. Sven sprawls dramatically near them, and every time someone bends down to pet him, he soaks up the attention shamelessly.
My gaze drifts around the room, and I still can’t believe this place is mine—or maybe I should say ours because, everywhere I look, I see pieces of the people who helped me put it together.
The shelves Zane made by hand. The fresh coat of sage-green paint Ashton insisted would be the perfect color for the shop.
The little reading corner Mom decorated with thrifted chairs, knitted pillows, and books all about plants.
Even the propagation station near the register was built by Zane and Ashton together during one long Saturday afternoon that ended with all three of us covered in potting soil.
And then there’s Marie. My gaze finds her near the front window, smiling warmly while Edna dramatically tells her she’s buying enough elderberry syrup to ’survive flu season and possibly the apocalypse.
’ A year ago, this shop carried the weight of grief.
The shelves were sparse, the lights a little dimmer, and Marie herself looked like she was trying to hold onto a life that no longer fit her heart.
But now, as I look at her, she’s glowing.
There’s color back in her cheeks and excitement in her eyes every time someone walks through the door.
In two weeks, she’ll be moving out west to be closer to her children and grandchildren, and she looks genuinely ready for what comes next in her life.
When she catches me watching her, her expression softens.
“You’ve made this place beautiful, sweetheart,” she tells me for what has to be the hundredth time since opening this morning. “I’m so proud of you.”
None of this would’ve happened without her calm voice walking me through the things I didn’t even realize I needed to learn, like inventory sheets, supplier calls, and how to manage the rhythm of slow seasons versus busy ones.
Marie gave me a chance long before I fully knew how to believe in myself.
She offered me a deal I still don’t think anyone else would’ve made and trusted me with something she and her husband spent years building.
Because of that, she helped to turn my dream into a reality.
Marie taught me how to run the business and even left her inventory behind. Between what I saved working hours at Covewood Botanicals during the days I was in Covewood, and what I was able to piece together through a business loan, we made it possible.
I smile back at her, my heart completely full. “I’m going to take good care of it,” I promise softly, and I mean every word.
You might be wondering how everything worked out with me traveling back and forth from Westbridge to Covewood.
Well, for a year, my Sunday evenings to Wednesday afternoons were spent in Westbridge.
I focused on college lectures, assignments, and stayed at my mom’s house so we could soak in the time together.
And my Wednesday afternoons through Sunday were spent in Covewood.
Some people thought it would have become too much, living a split lifestyle like that, but it surprisingly wasn’t.
Somehow, it worked, and I know a lot of that was because of God.
Now, don’t get me wrong, there were times I felt unbelievably exhausted, and the days where I left Covewood behind were tough.
But I learned to adjust and make it work.
“Maxie?”
Dad’s voice brings me out of my thoughts, and I turn toward him.
He stands stiffly beside my mom, his shoulders drawn in, hands fidgeting at his sides.
His gaze darts around the room, landing everywhere but on me.
The noise and being around so many strangers is clearly overwhelming for him, but the fact that he’s here at all means everything to me.
“How are you doing?” he asks carefully, his eyes finally landing on mine.
A year ago, conversations with Dad came in broken fragments and frustrated silences. Now, the words still come slowly, but with more ease. Every time they do, I silently thank God for another piece of him restored. It’s so good to have him here. We’ve come such a long way within the past year.
“I’m okay,” I tell him before wrapping my arms around him in a hug. “Thank you for coming. I know this isn’t easy for you,” I whisper into his shoulder.
His arms come around me a second later, and he pats my back once, then again. “I want to be here. No more hiding,” he says carefully, and my eyes begin to sting with fresh tears as I pull away from our embrace.
“Oh no,” Mom says, pointing at me. “Don’t start crying again.”
“I’m not crying.”
“You cried over herb labels this morning.”
“That was because of stress.”
“You were sobbing.”
“It was one tear.”
“Five tears minimum,” Wren calls out.
I glare at all of them while laughter erupts around the room.
It settles over the space, and I stand there and take it all in, my gaze landing back on my parents.
Mom moved to Covewood three months ago. She sold the house back in Westbridge, quit her factory job, packed up her life, and somehow fell in love with Covewood almost as hard as I did.
I know it was sort of a miracle, but I had hoped it’d grow on her eventually.
Now she spends half her time working with me in the shop and the other half helping out with Dad.
They’re still working on their relationship, but it brings Ashton and me so much joy seeing them rebuilding a friendship after everything.
Zane steps through the front door, carrying another flat of plants against his chest, the sleeves of his Henley shoved up his forearms and his ball cap turned backward.
As if he can sense me staring, he glances over his shoulder and gives me that shy, devastating smile that still makes my pulse stumble exactly the same way it did the first night he kissed me.
He sets the plants down near the window display before walking toward me, his gaze staying locked on mine the entire time, like there aren’t twenty other people in the room.
“How’s everything going?” he asks once he reaches me.
I nod once. “Good, I think.”
“You think?”
“I mean, I might throw up from nerves. But everything is good.”
His mouth twitches into a grin.
“I’m proud of you.” The sincerity in his voice unravels the last bit of tension I’ve been holding onto.
“Well…” Ashton’s voice carries across the shop. “You actually did it.”
I laugh as he strolls over, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans while he looks around the store one more time. His gaze lingers on the shelves lined with handmade soaps and rows of natural cleaning products he’s spent months helping me to perfect.
“I’m proud of you, Max.” Ashton reaches over and squeezes my shoulder. “You’ve worked harder than anyone I know.”
“Well, I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“You would’ve figured it out.” He shrugs like it’s obvious.
Beside me, Zane slips his hand into mine, giving it a gentle squeeze. “He’s right. You would’ve.”
I glance up at Zane, smiling, when Ashton reaches over and gives the top of my head a playful shove. “Now quit standing around flirting with Zane. You’ve got customers to take care of.”
I laugh, swatting his arm. “Go bother someone else.”
“I was planning on it.”
With one last grin, he heads across the shop toward Mom and Dad, already calling out something that makes Dad roll his eyes while Mom laughs. I watch him for a moment, gratitude settling in my chest.
Outside the front windows, the streets of Covewood glow beneath the August sun while laughter and conversation continue filling every corner of the shop around us.
As I stand here in the middle of it all, surrounded by the life God led me toward piece by piece, I finally understand that none of the heartbreak was meaningless. It led me here.
“Thank you for all of your help,” I say, rising onto my toes, drifting closer toward Zane’s mouth.
His hand digs into the hair beneath my braid so he can angle me the way he wants. I grip his shirt in my hands, dragging him to me, until our lips finally brush against each other. He smiles against my mouth, like this was exactly the reaction he was hoping for.
One of his hands slips around my side, his palm tucked tightly into the small of my back, keeping me arched against him, as he deepens our kiss.
We slip tighter against each other, his chest crushing against mine.
Every time he breathes in, I breathe out, and the world softens at the edges.
Time slows until there’s nothing but this, his warmth, his mouth, the steady certainty of us.
Our lips brush once more before we finally drift apart. Zane exhales, the sound threaded with a smile, and it sends a shiver straight down my spine. He leans in and rests his forehead against mine as his thumb brushes my jaw.
“I love you so much,” he says.
We stand there for a moment, breathing each other in, surrounded by the people who found me when I felt so lost, in the place that made me want to stay. I look into the hazel eyes of the man who taught me about real love, and I finally understand the truth that I’ll carry for the rest of my life.
“You know…” My eyes settle onto his. “I don’t think I ever really knew what love was. Not until I found you.”