15. Epilogue
Epilogue
Luke
P hilip’s voice crackles through the speaker, far too smug for this hour.
“Another bestseller,” he says, the sound of a wine glass clinking in the background. “Honestly, Luke, at this point, you should just let me pick your next house. I assume a mansion in the Cotswolds is in order?”
I rub my temples, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Philip!”
“Oh, don’t ‘Philip’ me.” I can hear the grin in his voice. “I know you're not planning to leave your little corner in Yorkshire. But three weeks at number one. The bookshops can’t keep it in stock. Don’t tell the Vicar is officially your most successful launch yet. And—drum roll please—we just got an email from a certain director you claimed would ‘never touch a John Brooks novel with a barge pole.’”
I make my way through the living room, phone balanced against my ear. “Let me guess. He wants the rights.”
“Of course he bloody does,” Philip says. “Can you at least pretend to consider it? For me?”
I glance towards the garden, spotting Nancy curled up in one of the chairs by the fire pit, wrapped in her favourite oversized blanket, book in hand. A mug of tea rests on the table beside her, steam curling into the night air.
Six months into our relationship she moved in.
And somehow, without me even realising it, my house became a home.
I lower myself onto the arm of the sofa, my gaze sweeping over the room. The space no longer looks like the cold, impersonal bachelor pad I bought.
There are books stacked haphazardly on the coffee table, some with dog-eared pages because Nancy refuses to believe in bookmarks. Fairy lights flicker softly along the bookshelf, a ridiculous addition she insisted on because my old reading lamp was apparently ‘criminally dull’. The walls, once bare, now hold framed photos of us, of walks in the Dales, of a spontaneous weekend trip to the coast.
And the plants. God, the plants. I was fine with them in the conservatory, but now they are everywhere, hanging, sitting on windowsills, filling corners with splashes of green. I’d mocked her about them at first, muttering something about “turning my house into a greenhouse.” She’d just grinned and told me to wait.
And somehow… she was right. It feels better like this. Warmer. Lived in. Ours.
Philip’s still talking, riding the high of the book’s success, but I barely hear him anymore.
I watch Nancy tuck a strand of golden hair behind her ear, her lips parting slightly as she gets lost in whatever she’s reading.
A year ago, I was a man with a career but no joy, a house but no home, a life but no one to share it with.
And now—
Now, she looks up and spots me watching her. A slow, knowing smile spreads across her face, like she already knew I’d end up here, drawn to her like gravity.
I lift my phone back to my ear. “Philip.”
“Yes?”
“Tell the director I’ll think about it.”
A beat of silence. Then—
“Who are you?” Philip demands. He knows I hate that guy. He belittled one of my earlier books during a press conference.
I just smirk, already heading for the garden.
“I’ll call you tomorrow.”
I hang up before he can argue, stepping out into the cool evening, where Nancy is waiting for me.
She tilts her head, watching me as I step onto the patio. “What did Philip want?”
I lower myself onto the edge of the chair next to her, stretching my legs out. “The usual. Telling me how well the book is doing, making sure I celebrate the success. Oh, and apparently, some big-shot director wants to adapt the book.”
Nancy sits up straight, eyes wide. “Wait. What? Your book? A film?”
I nod, watching as the excitement lights up her face.
She grabs my hand, squeezing it. “Luke, that’s huge! Why do you look like you just got told your cat died?”
I huff a small laugh, but it doesn’t quite reach my chest.
She studies me, her expression softening. “Is something wrong?”
I shake my head. “No.”
I stand up, reaching for her hand, tugging her gently to her feet. Then, I drop into her chair, settling in, pulling her right into my lap before she can protest.
Her arms wrap loosely around my neck, her body fitting against mine like it’s always meant to be there.
I brush a hand through her hair, feeling the warmth of her against me, the steady rhythm of her breathing.
Then, I press my lips to hers—slow, deep, deliberate.
She melts into it, fingers tightening slightly at my nape, the fire crackling softly beside us.
I pull back just enough to look at her, my thumb tracing slow circles against her hip.
“I love you.”
Nancy doesn’t hesitate.
She smiles… soft, certain, and completely undoing me, and brushes her fingers through my hair. “I love you too.”
The words settle in my chest, warm and steady, like they’ve always belonged there.
I tighten my hold on her, keeping her close, pressing my forehead against hers for a moment, just breathing her in.
“A year ago,” I murmur, “I told you I wanted more of your joy in my life.” I pull back slightly, just enough to see her face. “I didn’t think it could be this good.”
Her eyes soften, her fingers lightly tracing the edge of my jaw, grounding me in that way only she can.
“I didn’t know what I was missing,” I continue, voice quieter now. “Being alone… it was just… life. It was how I thought things were meant to be. I had my books, my career. I thought that was enough.” I shake my head slightly, my thumb skimming along the curve of her waist, needing to touch her, to remind myself this is real. “And then I found the person I was meant to be with, and suddenly… I saw all the things I didn’t even realise I wanted. All the things you gave me.”
Nancy exhales slowly, eyes searching mine.
Then she tilts her head, a small smile playing at her lips. “What brought this on?”
I smirk slightly, brushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear. “Nothing special.”
She raises an eyebrow, waiting.
I tighten my arms around her, holding her even closer, my voice steady as I tell her the truth.
“This is what I think whenever I look at you.” I kiss her temple, then her cheek. “Whenever I wake up with you in my arms.” Another kiss, this time just at the corner of her lips. “Whenever we argue over something stupid or when we laugh until we can’t breathe.” I press my forehead against hers again, breathing her in.
“Whenever I realise how much I love you.”
Nancy stills in my arms, her breath catching slightly, her fingers tightening against the back of my neck.
Her blue eyes search mine, wide and unguarded, and I know there’s no need for grand speeches or well-rehearsed words.
I don’t need to plan this.
I just need to say it.
“Marry me.”
Nancy blinks. Once. Twice. Her lips part, but no words come out.
I feel the way her muscles tense beneath my hands, the way her breath shudders just slightly. But she doesn’t pull away.
If anything, she leans in closer.
I keep my hold on her steady, my voice quieter now. “Not because it’s the next step. Not because of tradition. Not because I think we need it to prove something.” I shake my head slightly. “I’m asking because I want you to be my wife. Because I want this… you and me, this life we’ve built, to be forever.”
A giggle escapes her, something disbelieving and overwhelmed all at once.
I tilt my head, smirking slightly. “That a yes, then?”
Nancy exhales sharply, then launches herself at me—arms tight around my neck, legs wrapping around my waist, kissing me so thoroughly I forget my own damn name.
When she finally pulls back, breathless and grinning, she cups my face between her hands, pressing her forehead against mine.
“Yes,” she whispers.
I can write a hundred thousand words in my books, and none will ever mean as much as this one simple yes.
Remember Alexandra from the pub?
She's about to get her own steamy story in Crossed Paths … and it starts with one walk, one spark, and one very off-limits man.
Curious about the s leepover Abby and Jon had? You'll want to check out Rescue !