Epilogue
Auld Lang Sigh
Miranda
Ben and Amelia’s living room is glowing: part fairy lights, part prosecco, part unhinged festive energy. The decorations are starting to sag, Coop’s wearing a crown as if he rules over all of us, and someone left a wheel of Brie dangerously close to the edge of the coffee table. It’s all very us.
To pass the time until midnight, we’re playing Two Truths and a Lie, which has somehow turned into both a game and an informal background check.
Lizzie’s turn.
“I once went on a date with a man who brought his own salad dressing,” she announces, swirling her wine. “I was an extra in a Wyclef Jean music video. And I can recite every single word of Love Actually.”
Jasper, next to me on the sofa, raises an eyebrow. “Sorry—what?”
“She’s serious,” I whisper.
He blinks. “I—okay. That’s… a strong opener.”
“I want the music video to be true,” Fi says.
“It feels true,” Bri adds.
“The Love Actually one is definitely true,” Amelia says. “She once did the airport scene in full.”
“Look, I was performing,” Lizzie protests.
Jasper looks around. “Is this a support group or a cult?”
“It’s both,” I say sweetly, nudging his knee with mine.
“The lie,” Lizzie declares, “is the music video. Sadly. Although if Wyclef ever calls…”
Groans. Laughter. A round of “Of course it was the salad dressing guy!” and “You had terrible taste in men before Coop, Lizzie.”
Jasper leans towards me, his arm brushing mine. “I am both terrified and fascinated by your friends.”
“You’ll get used to it.”
He gives me a sideways look. “Will I survive it?”
“If my love for gay porn didn’t scare you off, nothing will.”
He grins. “Fair point.”
A few rounds later, it’s my turn. The room quiets down in that way it does when people think you’re going to embarrass yourself and they want front-row seats.
I clear my throat. “Okay. One: I once got stuck in a changing room trying to take off a sports bra. Two: I nearly threw up on Prince Harry. Three: I just bought unicorn underwear.”
Jasper glances at me. “Oh no.”
“Oh yes.”
Fi sighs. “These are all true. I’m sure of it.”
“That’s not how the game works,” George points out.
“Miranda doesn’t play by the rules,” Bri says, fondly.
Amelia raises her glass. “To chaos in human form.”
“Oi,” I protest, laughing. “There’s one lie in there, thank you very much.”
Before anyone can guess, Ben comes in with the bottle of prosecco. “Five minutes, folks!”
Jasper leans in and nudges me gently. “Should we wake SJ?”
I glance over at the sofa, where he’s curled up next to Robbie, Fi’s son, both of them in a tangle of blankets and popcorn debris, mouths slightly open, limbs flopped in the pure drama of deep child-sleep.
“If we don’t,” I murmur, “we’ll never hear the end of it. He’s been banging on about staying up till midnight for weeks. He’d disown me.”
Jasper gives a solemn nod. “Right. Parental survival strategy. Let’s do it.”
Fi and I cross the room, Fi going for Robbie while I crouch beside SJ and gently nudge his shoulder.
“Sweetheart,” I whisper. “Come on. Five minutes till midnight.”
He stirs, groggy and confused. “Is it New Year yet?”
“Almost. Come on. Coats on. Fireworks incoming.”
Fi gently wakes Robbie, who responds by sitting bolt upright and declaring he was “just resting his eyes.”
A flurry of jackets and borrowed scarves follows, everyone suddenly piling into the hallway, a gaggle of sleepy children and tipsy adults wrapped in wool and excitement.
Ben opens the back doors with a theatrical flourish. “To the field we go!”
We pour out into the garden, laughter chasing our steps, and trudge through the crisp night. The sky’s clear, a scattering of stars overhead, the kind that only appear when you’re away from the city and close to midnight.
Out past the garden hedge, the field slopes gently down, giving us a perfect view over the villages below. Dotted lights, silhouettes of rooftops, and somewhere, faint music drifting on the air from another party.
Coop hands the boys their sparklers like he’s officiating a sacred ritual. SJ and Robbie don’t even wait for instruction—they’re already racing around the garden, shrieking with laughter, drawing flaming figure eights in the cold air.
“Don’t run with fire!” Amelia calls, half-laughing.
“They’re fine,” Coop says confidently. “I gave them a safety chat.”
“What did that involve?” Bri asks.
“Mostly the advice to have fun.”
The rest of us gather at the edge of the garden. The countdown begins, slightly off-beat and very enthusiastic.
“Ten! Nine! Eight!”
I feel Jasper shift beside me. His hand slides into mine, warm and steady. I glance up. He’s already looking at me.
“Seven! Six!”
SJ is a blur of sparkler-light and laughter in the background, a comet in mittens.
“Five! Four!”
Jasper steps in closer, his other hand finding my waist.
“Three! Two!”
The noise around us starts to blur.
“One—”
Midnight.
I turn into his arms just as he kisses me. Soft. Slow. Certain.
The sparkler light flickers against his jaw, and the cold barely registers with the heat of his mouth on mine.
When he pulls back, his voice is low—just for me.
“I didn’t think my year would end with you.”
I blink up at him, heart thudding stupidly hard.
“But from now on,” he says, brushing his thumb along my cheek, “I want every year to start and end with you.”
There it is—that lump in my throat again. That stupid, perfect ache.
“Then you’d better stick around, Corbin,” I whisper.
He smiles—wide and open and all in.
“I’m not going anywhere, Princess.”
This was the last book in the Cat Ladies Rule the World Series.