Epilogue
All I Want – Toad the Wet Sprocket
Two+ Years Later
Twelve-year-olds were know-it-alls, Dallas decided as he adjusted his tie. Moreover, he now knew why he’d gone into journalism instead of some corporate job.
Who the hell could wear one of these every day?
“It’s still crooked. Scooby’s looks better.
” Sam took another bite of his cinnamon roll, his long legs folded beneath him on the rough wood floor.
He’d grown so much in the past year that he was almost taller than Gabi.
She got tears in her eyes every time they talked about it. “You can’t tie a tie worth—”
“Don’t even think about it,” Dallas warned, Sam’s language starting to catch up with his height. Kids were growing up too fast, which was an old-man thought, he realized. “Let’s try having one day without any bad words. This day especially. And it was your idea to dress up the dog.”
Sam laughed, still chewing, the new huskiness in his voice hitting Dallas square in the chest. His voice was changing. He was going to need driving lessons soon. If Dallas thought about that too much, he’d cry.
“You’re the nervous one,” Sam reminded him. “Not me. I feel great.”
Dallas took a deep breath of fresh paint and sawdust, expected aromas in a half-renovated house, unable to argue with that statement. He was fucking terrified.
“She’s going to say yes. It’s a no-brainer. She’s into you like I wish Bethany Holmes was into me.”
“Her loss,” Dallas said for the hundredth time. They spent most of the ride home every day discussing the ongoing tragedy of Bethany Holmes. “There will be other girls. I promise you.”
“I guess, but have you seen her eyes? They’re, like, really blue.”
Dallas hummed something noncommittal, with the uneasy feeling he’d gone the color of old newsprint.
The house was a surprise, as was the proposal, and he’d wanted Sam to be part of both.
He and Gabi had talked about marriage, each of them gun-shy for different reasons, but it was time to live.
Wilder Grounds was doing so well she’d considered opening another location in Greenville, and the newspaper was thriving with the changes he’d made—putting the Dispatch online, accepting letters and tips by email, and leaning harder into international stories small-town papers typically ignored.
Other than that, he was winging it. If rehearsing what he wanted to say for a month and secretly buying a house counted as winging it.
“Let me,” his soon-to-be-stepson said, crossing the room and reaching for his tie. “You’re a disaster.”
He was—but he was a happy disaster.
“It’s good, Dal,” Sam said, the almost-teen attitude falling away for a moment.
“You have flowers, a diamond the size of a kitten, fancy poo-poo wine, and that awful CD playing in the background that makes her think of that mountain weekend or whatever.” He smoothed Dallas’s lapel.
“You have this awesome house, my room twice as big as the one I have now, and don’t forget the crazy kitchen you’re building for her. Man, I mean, you’re gold.”
“I got this, is what you’re saying.”
Sam tilted his head, his lips curving up, his eyes so much like hers that it got him every time. “Yep, that’s what I’m saying.”
Dallas pulled him in, and Sam tolerated the hug for all of five seconds. “Love you, bud.”
Sam backed away, but he was excited. Dallas knew him well enough to tell.
They were close—closer than he was to anyone except Gabi.
Sam and Kit worked at the Dispatch now, on random afternoons after school.
He was going to make journalists out of those two yet.
And then, in a surprising third place, there was Justin.
Somehow, over the past two years, his brother had become his confidant.
At the crunch of tires on the driveway, Sam raced to the window. “She’s here! Lainey is dropping her off like you asked.”
Dallas gave his tie another yank, reviewing everything in the span of five seconds. He patted his pocket. Ring, check. Billie Holiday, check. Champagne, check. Okay, okay, okay.
He’d overdone it, but her other proposal years ago hadn’t been a proposal at all. Just a quiet, resigned I guess we know what we have to do.
“I lit the torches, so I’m going up,” Sam said, already on the top stair. “I’ll give her a tour of my bedroom, show her what we want to do when you guys are ready. That’s my part.”
“Don’t spy on us.” Dallas glanced at him, his heartbeat pulsing in his ears. “I’m panicky enough without having to suffer through your exacting notes afterward.”
Dallas waited until Sam’s bedroom door clicked shut before moving to the window beside the front door. Lainey’s taillights were already disappearing between the trees, and Gabi was coming up the lantern-lit path alone.
For one suspended second, he forgot every word he’d rehearsed.
She wore a pale pink sundress with narrow straps and a belt cinched at her waist, the soft fabric curving over her breasts and skimming her hips.
Strappy sandals he’d never seen before showed off her gorgeous legs.
She’d cut her hair into a pixie a few weeks ago, and the first time he’d seen it, he’d tossed her over his shoulder like some caveman and carried her straight to bed.
The style left nothing hidden—the elegant curve of her jaw, the high sweep of her cheekbones, every expression that crossed her beautiful face revealed.
Gabi glanced up and saw him through the glass.
And smiled.
Jesus. There was his whole life, walking toward him.
Her steps slowed as he opened the door, and she took him in from his square-toed lace-ups to the tie he’d nearly strangled himself with. Surprise widened her eyes before heat moved through them, slow and unmistakable, as her gaze dropped to his mouth and then lower.
Every miserable second in the suit became worth it.
“You meant it when you said to dress for a fancy date,” she whispered, slipping her hand into his when he held it out.
He led her inside, then released her to lean back against the door while she wandered farther into the room. Flowers crowded every available surface, champagne waited in a silver bucket of ice, and the familiar music curling through the house made her press one hand to her chest.
“What is this?” she asked, breathless.
He laughed, pushing away from the door. This wasn’t part of the speech he’d rehearsed.
“It’s us. It’s second chances.” He turned in a deliberate circle, taking in the stacked lumber, drop cloths, stripped walls, and exposed wiring, hoping she saw the possibilities.
“I used to sneak into this house on nights I needed somewhere to escape. It survived all these years of being empty and overlooked, waiting for someone to see what was still here, the grand manor. The entire time, a promise of love flowing through it.” His gaze returned to hers.
“Like us. We were only waiting until we knew how to find each other.”
She swallowed hard. “Dallas.”
He couldn’t stay away any longer. Crossing the room, he took her into his arms, one hand sliding into her hair as he lowered his mouth to hers.
The kiss was sweet, gentle, more pledge than passion.
They had that in spades, but now he needed her close enough to feel her heart beating against his, needed the quiet certainty that she understood what he was offering her.
She drew back slightly and looked around again, this time with a different kind of wonder. “Do you own this house?”
“Paid for with the advance for my book. I know, it’s fast. I finally found the owner, and I had to move before he changed his mind,” he said, searching her gaze, lamplight catching the sparks of gold in her eyes.
Near the color they turned when he slid inside her.
“It’s set on five acres, land running right down to the river.
There are trails winding through oak and hickory, beneath pines tall enough to make the rest of the world disappear.
You won’t believe how beautiful it is. And the kitchen is going to be incredible, all yours to outfit, though I did, um, it hasn’t been installed or anything, but I found a La Cornue—”
“You didn’t.” Gabi pressed her hand to her mouth, the gasp muffled behind it. “Dallas, those ranges cost more than a car.”
He frowned, knuckling his glasses high, trying to read if she liked that or not. “But it’s the best for baking. The very best.”
“And—” She was smiling. He’d bungled the rehearsed speech, but she understood, like always.
Sliding the velvet box from his pocket, Dallas went down on one knee.
Call it old-fashioned, even trite, but he was only doing this once, and Gabi deserved the best he had to give, same as that damned range.
“There’s a note in the wicker basket. I want you to read it later, when you’re alone. It says everything I’m forgetting now.”
Her hand curled around his wrist, fingers trembling.
Her lips parted, but no words came out.
Dallas took a breath, absurdly hoping the dimple she loved so much was making an appearance.
He needed all the help he could get. “To say I was lost when I came here doesn’t”—he slowly shook his head, smoothing his thumb over the palm of her hand—“come close to the truth. My family was fractured, and most of the time, I was alone. That crowded-room kind of alone we’ve talked about before.
You helped me find my way back to myself, make peace with the past, and believe in a future I actually wanted.
You’re more than I ever expected life to give me.
My only—my only fucking fear—is how perfect it feels.
I want to keep it, you and Sam, secure from the world, which I know I can’t. But I feel that way anyhow.”
She sank to her knees before him. “Dallas, you did those things for me, too.”
“I want this house to be our safe place, Gab—mine, yours, and Sam’s. Every light fixture, every scrap of wallpaper, every flower in the yard, something we choose together as we build a life. Laughter, tears, passion, you name it. Right here. No ghosts from the past. Not a one.”
“Yes,” she said before he’d even gotten to the question.
Hooking an arm around her neck, he drew her close. “Marry me, Sparkle. As soon as we can. I don’t want to wait another minute.”
Rocking back on her heels, she tapped the box he still held nearly forgotten in his hand. He’d blown his plan to bits. “What’s in here?”
He pulled them to their feet because he was starting to feel dizzy. She’d said yes. “I looked a lot,” he murmured, blood rushing through his veins.
Taking the box, she opened it gently, her exhalation breaking on a soft, startled sound. Her gaze skipped to him, then back to the ring. A yellow diamond glowed from its platinum setting, to him, near the shade of the sparks in her eyes.
“It’s an antique, from the twenties. I was searching for this color specifically.” He shrugged, cheeks for sure going pink. “I knew what I wanted, aside from you.”
“I—” She touched the stone with the tip of one finger, almost cautiously, as if it might disappear, lifting her gaze back to his.
Dallas plucked the ring from its velvet folds, not allowing gentle handling on something she’d wear for the rest of her life, day in and day out. “Sam said it’s the size of a kitten.”
“Sam?” Gabi asked, voice breaking.
Dallas laughed, steadying her hand as he slipped the ring onto her finger. With a little help from Lainey and Fontana, he’d made sure it would be an ideal fit. “He’s upstairs, in his room. He lit the torches.”
“He has a room?” Gabi flexed her fingers, and the stone, in a final bit of genius, cast a dazzling pattern of gold across the floor.
Dallas brushed his knuckle over the freckle above her lip, happiness rising like a tide inside him. “Wanna see it?”
Linking her fingers with his, she tugged him toward the stairs, that occasional, irresistible giggle bubbling out of her. “We have a house.”
Dallas exhaled a tight breath, again hoping he hadn’t gotten in over his head. “A big house.” Although he would enjoy christening every single room a thousand times over. Gabi was very inventive.
Halfway up the staircase, she paused, turning to him from the step above. “I just thought of something. Engaged men can’t participate in the Bachelor’s Auction.”
Dallas caught her face in his hands and kissed her deeply enough to make his position clear. And he loved when she got jealous, because he was a depraved man. “The Dispatch was a sponsor. I had no control over who bid, Gab.”
A pout pulled at her mouth. “I was working that night, the guitarist from Spartanburg who just got that big record deal playing. Otherwise, no one would’ve outbid me. Certainly not Julie Arnett.”
“It was lunch, Sparkle. One silly, boring lunch. For charity. This year, Ransom can stand in for me.”
“You love this.”
He shrugged, his lips quirking. “I put up with Todd, the insurance asshole, showing up at Wilder Grounds on the regular. Wonder why that is. Can you flash your ring in his face tomorrow morning, please?”
“I love the suit,” she whispered, trailing her finger down his chest. “So Dallas-True-means-business. The first time I saw you in one, at the journalism awards in New York, I about passed out.” She slipped one finger between the buttons of his shirt, sending heat straight through him. “Do I get to take it off later?”
“You can do anything you want, Sparkle.”
Then Dallas followed her upstairs into the noisy, unfinished, beautiful life that was finally theirs.
Thank you for joining Dallas and Gabi on their long-overdue journey to forever—and for spending a little more time with me in Promise, South Carolina. I should add that Dallas has always been especially close to my heart, because I was a journalism major myself.
The True Men series is a passion project I’ve dreamed about for years.
I miss those days—flannel shirts, ripped jeans, mixtapes, landlines, and living life without a cell phone permanently attached to your hand.
I wanted to share that world with readers who love heat, heart, complicated families, and a little throwback ‘90s magic.
I’m thrilled that readers and judges have embraced the True brothers, too. True Dreams was a New Jersey Romance Writers’ Golden Leaf finalist, and True Fate a HOLT Medallion finalist.