Epilogue
Marin
Three months after Honeybrook saved the veterans center roof, Crew Donnelly walked into Webb & Whisk wearing a suit, carrying flowers, and looking guilty enough to make me put down a piping bag.
Immediately.
“Absolutely not,” I said.
Crew stopped two feet inside the bakery door.
The bell jingled above him, cheerful and useless.
He looked down at himself.
Then at the flowers.
Then at me.
“What?”
“You have a face.”
“I have one face.”
“No, you have several faces, and that one says you are either about to apologize, propose, or tell me your hockey friends have committed a felony.”
From the corner table, Talia lifted her head from the order forms.
“Is it Wilder?”
“No one said Wilder,” Crew said.
“Is it Frankie?”
“No.”
“Then why the suit?” I asked.
Crew looked at the suit again, as if he had forgotten he was wearing it.
“I came from a university donor luncheon.”
Suspicious.
“Flowers?”
He held them up.
“For you.”
More suspicious.
“What did you do?”
His mouth twitched.
“Bought flowers.”
“Why?”
“Because I love you.”
Talia made a choking sound from the corner.
I pointed at her without looking.
“You live because I’m busy.”
She lowered her head again.
Crew crossed the bakery slowly.
Not careful like he used to be.
Not hesitant.
Just respectful.
There was a difference now.
A good one.
He set the flowers on the counter between the lemon bars and the tray of pumpkin scones, because it was October now and Honeybrook had become aggressively cinnamon-scented.
The fall festival was two days away, Webb & Whisk had twelve hundred mini pies on order, and I was wearing flour on my cheek and a sweater with one sleeve pushed up higher than the other.
Romance had timing issues.
Crew leaned one hip against the counter.
“Hi.”
I narrowed my eyes.
“Do not hi me handsomely when I’m suspicious.”
“Hi, suspicious.”
“That was worse.”
He smiled.
My heart still did the thing.
It was deeply irritating that three months of being loved well had not cured my nervous system of Crew Donnelly.
If anything, it had made it worse.
Because now he did not only arrive with charm and cheekbones.
He arrived with plans.
Updates.
Truth.
Coffee.
He had come back every weekend he said he would. Some weekends shorter than we wanted. Some complicated by travel, practice, media, Tom appointments, bakery disasters, or the time Frankie accidentally created a townwide rumor that Crew had been named “Most Emotionally Improved” by the Spitfires.
No such award existed.
Yet.
But he came back.
And when he couldn’t, he said so early.
When he was tired, he told me.
When I was scared, I told him.
When he went quiet, I called it out.
When I got defensive, he waited without turning patient into pressure.
It was awful.
It was wonderful.
It was working.
Crew reached across the counter and brushed flour from my cheek with his thumb.
He paused before touching me.
Still.
Always.
I leaned into it before he could ask.
His expression softened.
“There.”
I swallowed.
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
The bell jingled again.
Mrs. Paxton stepped in wearing an orange cardigan, fall-leaf earrings, and the expression of a woman who had been trying very hard not to use the word couple for months and was growing spiritually exhausted.
Behind her came Dotty with her phone in her purse.
Actually in her purse.
Progress was real.
Mrs. Paxton stopped when she saw Crew in the suit, me behind the counter, and the flowers between us.
Her eyes widened.
“No,” I said.
She closed her mouth.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You thought in cursive.”
“I did not.”
Talia muttered, “She did.”
Mrs. Paxton pressed both hands to her chest.
“I came for the fall festival pie invoice.”
“Good,” I said. “Invoices are safe.”
“Are they?” Crew murmured.
I kicked his shoe under the counter.
He smiled down at the floor.
Mrs. Paxton looked between us again, visibly suffering.
“Lovely flowers.”
“Thank you,” Crew said.
“No,” I said.
Mrs. Paxton nodded quickly. “Regular flowers. Normal flowers. Privacy-respectful flowers.”
Crew coughed.
Talia wheezed.
I stared at Shirley Paxton until she straightened.
“Invoice,” she said.
“Excellent choice.”
I handed her the folder.
No clipboard.
Obviously.
Mrs. Paxton had retired them from all Webb & Whisk-related business after the Fourth of July, calling it “personal development.”
She read the invoice, nodded, and handed me a check.
Then she leaned closer and whispered, “Tom is already at the veterans center telling everyone the fall festival is less impressive than the Fourth.”
I sighed.
“Of course he is.”
“He also said you were bringing pie.”
“I am bringing pie.”
“He said you were bringing Crew.”
I glanced at Crew.
Crew looked delighted.
“I am apparently being brought.”
“Do not encourage him,” I said.
Mrs. Paxton’s eyes filled.
“Oh, look at you two.”
“Shirley.”
She held up the folder like a shield.
“Leaving.”
She fled.
Dotty lingered.
I lifted one eyebrow.
Dotty patted her purse.
“Phone away.”
“Good.”
“I just wanted to say…” She looked at the flowers, then at me. “It’s nice. Seeing you happy.”
My throat tightened despite my best efforts.
Dotty had been on apology probation for months. She had passed with annoying consistency. The Honeybrook Happenings page had become almost boring.
Almost.
“Thank you,” I said.
Dotty smiled.
Then left before making it worse.
Character development remained exhausting.
Talia stood.
“I need to go check the back freezer.”
“No, you don’t,” I said.
“I need to emotionally give you privacy while physically staying within rescue distance.”
Crew nodded. “That’s very specific.”
“I’m very talented.”
She disappeared into the back.
Crew watched her go.
“She’s still going to listen.”
“Yes.”
“Poorly.”
“Very.”
He leaned forward across the counter, lowering his voice.
“Do you want to know why I’m here?”
“I thought you were here because you love me and brought normal flowers.”
“I do love you.”
My heart warmed.
Still.
Every time.
“I brought normal flowers.”
“Good.”
“And I have something to ask.”
I looked toward the back.
“Talia!”
“I’m in rescue distance!” she yelled.
Crew laughed softly.
I looked back at him.
“Ask carefully.”
He straightened.
No kneeling.
Thank goodness.
The bakery floor was clean, but not proposal-clean.
“I got the finalized winter break schedule.”
Oh.
Schedule.
Not proposal.
Possibly worse.
My stomach tightened.
“And?”
He took out his phone, opened the calendar, and set it on the counter.
Shared.
Visible.
No secrets.
No making me ask.
“I’ll have two full weeks off in December. I’ll need to be on campus twice for optional skates, but they’re optional. Truly optional. Coach confirmed.”
I studied the calendar.
Two weeks.
Blocks marked in blue for campus.
Green for Honeybrook.
Yellow for Tom appointments.
Purple for bakery festival prep because Crew had somehow become a man with bakery calendar access, and I had allowed it because he used it responsibly and never once labeled anything “couple time.”
“I want to spend most of it here,” he said. “With Dad. With you. Helping at the bakery if you want. Staying out of the bakery if you want. Whatever makes sense.”
“Crew.”
“There’s more.”
My heart tripped.
He looked nervous now.
Not guilty.
Nervous.
Good nervous.
Maybe.
“I also want you to come to campus for a weekend before then,” he said. “Only if you want. No pressure. But there’s a home game in three weeks. The team wants you there. I want you there.”
“The team wants me there?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Frankie says you’re part of the emotional infrastructure.”
I closed my eyes.
“No.”
“I told her not to say that to you.”
“Yet you repeated it.”
“I’m growing, not perfect.”
“Correct.”
His mouth curved, but his eyes stayed serious.
“I want you to see it,” he said. “The rink. My place. The people there. Not as the place that pulled me away. Just as part of my life now.”
That sentence.
Part of my life now.
I looked down at the calendar.
Three months ago, campus had felt like the enemy. A place with teeth. A place that swallowed him and left me with silence.
But Crew had been carrying a rope back from it ever since.
Calls.
Texts.
Calendars.
Friday drives.
Sunday goodbyes that did not feel like abandonment anymore.
Maybe it was time to see the place without giving it all the blame.
Maybe I was ready.
Maybe I was terrified.
Both were possible.
Annoying.
I picked up his phone and studied the game date.
“What would this involve?”
Crew’s shoulders eased by one degree.
“Driving up Friday afternoon. You can stay at a hotel. Or with Sutton and Wilder’s friend group if you prefer chaos, but I recommend hotel.”
“Wise.”
“I’ll have morning skate Saturday. Game at seven. Team dinner after. Sunday coffee and drive back, unless you want to leave earlier.”
I looked at him.
“You made an exit plan.”
“Yes.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“Without making it weird.”
“I tried.”
“You succeeded.”
His throat moved.
“Good.”
I set the phone down.
“I’ll come.”
Crew went still.
“You will?”
“Yes.”
His face changed slowly.
Happy.
Not explosive.
Not smug.
Just deeply, carefully happy.
“I’ll send you the details,” he said.
“Of course you will.”
“Too much?”
“No.” I touched the phone. “Right amount.”
His eyes softened.
Talia appeared in the kitchen doorway holding a frozen bag of blueberries like a weapon.
“Did she say yes to campus?”
I turned.
“You were supposed to be in rescue distance.”
“I was. Emotionally.”
“You are terrible.”
“She said yes?” Talia asked Crew.
Crew nodded.
Talia pressed the blueberries to her chest.
“Oh, this is enormous.”
“It is a weekend trip,” I said.
“It is character development with luggage.”
“I’m firing you in December.”
“You’ll need me for holiday orders.”
“January, then.”
“Acceptable.”
Crew’s phone buzzed on the counter.
He glanced at it and smiled.
“Dad.”
I leaned over.
Tom’s text read:
Tom: Did she say yes to seeing the rink?
I stared.
Crew stared.
Talia cackled.
I picked up Crew’s phone and typed back myself.
Marin: You are all terrible.
Tom replied:
Tom: Good. Bring pie to the game.
I laughed.
Crew looked at me.
“You don’t have to bring pie.”
“I know.”
“But?”
“But I might.”
He smiled.