Epilogue
‘EVERY LITTLE THING SHE DOES IS MAGIC” — THE POLICE
Tavey
It turns out, planning a dragon-themed wedding is a logistical challenge.
Not because of the dragons.
Those are easy.
It’s everything else.
Convincing a venue coordinator that “elegant but also vaguely medieval and possibly fire-adjacent” is a real aesthetic. Explaining to a florist that you want arrangements that look like they might be guarding treasure. Negotiating with a baker about scale patterns that are tasteful, not terrifying.
At one point, I had a full conversation about whether or not we could safely incorporate fog effects.
Miller drew the line there.
“Visibility is important,” he said.
“You’re stifling my vision.”
“I’m preserving your guests’ ability to walk.”
Rude.
Still.
We compromised.
Which is how we ended up with a wedding that is, objectively, a little over the top—but also… kind of perfect.
Deep jewel tones. Gold accents. Subtle dragon motifs woven into everything from the table settings to the embroidery on my dress. My hair is pinned back with delicate clips shaped like wings, and my bouquet looks like it might bite someone if provoked.
It’s a lot.
It’s very me.
And—
He didn’t try to tone it down.
Not once.
That thought settles in my chest as I stand just off to the side of the reception space, watching the room fill with people who somehow all agreed to attend a dragon-themed wedding and are now fully committing to it.
Rosa is already on her second plate of something chocolate and is aggressively live-commenting the entire event to her followers.
Max is pretending he’s not emotional, which is impressive considering he has teared up three separate times and we haven’t even cut the cake yet.
Holly catches my eye across the room and gives me a soft, knowing smile that says I told you so without actually saying it.
And then—
There.
Miller.
Across the room, in the middle of a conversation with Nick and Cassie.
He looks—
God.
Unfair.
Dark suit. Clean lines. Something about the way he carries himself that hasn’t changed at all and also somehow feels completely different now that I know exactly what it means to be on the receiving end of his attention.
Cassie is talking with her hands, clearly mid-story, while Nick watches with the long-suffering patience of a man who has accepted his fate.
Miller says something—low, dry—and Cassie immediately points at him like she’s making a legal argument.
I don’t hear it.
But I know exactly how it sounds.
Like him.
Like us.
Like something solid and real and not going anywhere.
As if he feels it, he looks up.
Finds me instantly.
Of course he does.
His expression shifts—subtle, but there. Softer. Warmer. Focused in a way that still, somehow, makes my stomach do that same ridiculous little flip it did the first time he texted me You up?
I lift my eyebrows slightly. You good?
He gives the smallest nod. Yeah.
Then, because he can’t help himself, his gaze flicks deliberately over me once—head to toe—before returning to my face.
I narrow my eyes.
He doesn’t even try to look sorry.
Unbelievable.
I turn away before I do something deeply inappropriate in front of my entire family and most of my coworkers.
Which is how I end up directly in Devon’s line of sight.
Fantastic.
He’s already holding a glass of champagne and the kind of expression that suggests he has been waiting for this exact moment for far too long.
“No,” I say immediately, before he even opens his mouth.
He grins. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”
“I do. And the answer is no.”
“I just wanted to congratulate you.”
“Liar.”
He places a hand over his heart. “I am deeply offended.”
“Good.”
He leans slightly closer, lowering his voice. “You’re welcome, by the way.”
I stare at him.
“For what, exactly?”
“For this,” he says, gesturing vaguely to the entire wedding. “You and Miller. Obviously.”
“Oh my God.”
“You’re welcome,” he repeats, clearly pleased with himself.
“I’m going to tell the caterer you’re allergic to everything.”
“Worth it.”
Before I can respond, someone taps a spoon against a glass.
Once.
Twice.
The room quiets.
And of course—of course—it’s Devon.
He steps forward, lifting his glass with the confidence of a man who has never once questioned whether he should be the center of attention.
“I’d like to say a few words,” he announces.
“No,” I say under my breath.
“Yes,” Rosa whispers beside me, delighted. “This is going to be incredible.”
Max looks like he’s preparing to intervene.
Holly gently puts a hand on his arm.
“Let it happen,” she murmurs.
This feels like a mistake.
Devon clears his throat.
“As many of you know,” he begins, “I have played a critical role in bringing these two together.”
A collective murmur ripples through the room.
Nick actually laughs.
Cassie claps a hand over her mouth.
Miller, across the room, has gone very still.
Oh, this is going to be bad.
“From the beginning,” Devon continues, pacing slightly like he’s delivering a TED Talk no one asked for, “I recognized the undeniable chemistry between Tavey and Miller. The tension. The longing. The frankly painful lack of action.”
Cassie points at him again. “He’s not wrong.”
Nick nods once. “Accurate.”
I bury my face in my hands.
Devon presses on.
“So I did what any good friend and coworker would do. I applied pressure. Strategic, well-timed pressure.”
“You stirred the pot,” I mutter.
“I catalyzed growth,” he corrects.
“You were insufferable.”
“Semantics.”
He raises his glass higher.
“And so, it is with great pride—and frankly, a sense of personal accomplishment—that I stand here today, having successfully orchestrated one of the greatest workplace romances of our time.”
Miller appears at my side.
I didn’t see him move.
I just feel him there—solid, steady, real.
“I should’ve fired him,” he murmurs.
“Still time,” I whisper back.
Devon beams.
“To Tavey and Miller,” he says. “Proof that sometimes all it takes is a little chaos, a lot of persistence, and one extremely perceptive third party—”
“Debatable,” Miller says under his breath.
“—to bring two people together.”
There’s laughter.
Applause.
Champagne glasses raised.
Devon looks unbearably pleased with himself.
“I hate him,” I say.
“Same.”
Miller’s hand finds mine.
Not subtle.
Not hidden.
Just… there.
Fingers threading together like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe it is now.
The noise of the room fades a little.
Not completely.
Just enough.
Enough that it feels like it’s just us again, standing in the middle of everything we built without really meaning to.
He glances down at me.
That same steady look.
That same quiet certainty.
“Still sure?” he asks.
A year ago, that question might have undone me.
Now—
I smile.
“Yeah,” I say.
And I mean it.
Every part of me means it.
I glance down at our hands, then back up at him, warmth settling deep in my chest.
Turns out—
I was very good at climbing trees.
I hope you enjoyed reading Miller and Tavey’s story. If you did, please consider leaving me a review. a review. Hey, even if you didn’t! Reviews are universally awesome and appreciated!
Also … keep reading if you want a sample of Max and Holly’s book, Heart Smart!