Bonus Epilogue We’ll face it together
Bonus Epilogue
We’ll face it together
Connor
“It needs more cheese.”
“You think everything needs more cheese,” Tilly jokes, her eyes rolling playfully, but she adds another sprinkle to the sauce, nonetheless.
A chunk of my premium Gruyère gets tossed to Milady, who spends most of her time begging at our heels for scraps.
She swallows it greedily, licking her lips in appreciation.
Pride swells in my chest when Tilly casually steals a pinch of cheese for herself, knowing that she doesn’t feel guilty about it and has no intention of weighing or tracking it.
She hums along to the radio, not to block anything out as she used to, but because it makes her happy.
Hips swaying to the music, her sundress floats around her bare thighs, tempting me to peel it off and lift her onto the counter so I can show her for the thousandth time how much I love her.
But I don’t. I let her have this moment of simple contentedness for herself.
I jump in to stir the sauce when Tilly abandons it in favour of feeding Milady more cheese. I don’t complain. That dog got Tilly through the darkest times, when I wasn’t there to do it; I’d buy her truffles and foie gras if that was what she wanted.
As Tilly ruffles Milady’s fur, her ring sparkles in the light, and I can’t help but smile.
She’s been wearing it for months now, but it still brings me satisfaction to see it glinting on her finger.
I asked her to marry me one month after we reconnected at her bookshop.
I couldn’t wait any longer. Not because I thought marriage would make us stronger, but as a reminder that we’re a partnership, a team, and neither of us ever has to face anything alone again.
Tilly giggles. “The sauce is burning.”
My cheeks heat as I realise I’ve been gazing at her for an embarrassing amount of time.
“It was intentional,” I bluff. “It adds flavour.”
Tilly smirks but doesn’t call me out. She’s used to me watching her like this, full of awe and admiration.
My strong girl. She’s been through so much and worked so hard to claw her way back to the light.
Others would have given up, given in, but not Tilly.
She saved herself for herself. And though she insisted on going it alone initially, we’re starting to realise that the weight of living is lighter when you carry it together.
I rescue the sauce as best I can and stir it into the pasta while Tilly pours the wine.
I plate it up while she grabs some forks.
Milady leads us onto the patio of our new home, conveniently two streets away from Tilly’s shop and five away from my very own restaurant, House of Phoenix, named in honour of my fearless fiancée, who rose from her own ashes and showed me how to build something beautiful from the embers.
The three of us settle on garden cushions, the twisted vines of fairy lights twinkling like stars around the pergola frame as the cream fabric billows in the breeze: our version of a blanket fort with a view.
“This is perfect,” Tilly says around a mouthful of pasta.
“Yeah,” I agree, taking her in. “It is.”
We eat in comfortable silence, safe in the knowledge that whatever comes next, we’ll face it together. And for the first time, that’s all we need.