Epilogue
One month later, summer had settled over Blackridge with sun-warmed sidewalks, open car windows, patio umbrellas, and tourists who wandered into Sanctuary Coffee looking for caffeine, mountain views, and directions to the best hiking trail that wouldn’t punish them for wearing the wrong shoes.
Holly loved them almost as much as she loved her regulars.
Almost. Tourists tipped well, bought pastries without negotiating with themselves first, and treated the chalkboard menu like a local attraction.
They also asked questions with the earnest confusion of people who believed every small town had one clearly marked scenic overlook, one universally agreed-upon lunch spot, and one person willing to explain the parking situation near the lake.
Holly answered what she could, made coffee, smiled when she meant it, and had slowly stopped flinching every time the bell over the door chimed.
That felt like victory.
Sanctuary still carried shadows in the corners if she let herself look too long.
There were mornings when she walked in before sunrise and remembered Allen sitting at his usual table, calm and trusted and quietly building a pattern she hadn’t seen.
There were afternoons when she caught sight of the coffee cups stacked beside the register and saw the one he’d set on her coffee table instead, the logo turned toward her by hands she had once believed were safe.
But the shadows didn’t get the final say.
Maya laughed behind the counter as she handed a group of tourists their iced drinks, her hair pulled into two braids and a pencil tucked behind one ear.
School was out for the summer, and she’d taken to full-time work after surviving finals, a murder investigation, and one catastrophic oat milk spill that Reid referred to as the Great Foam Incident.
She was faster now, more confident, and only mildly drunk on the power of being entrusted with the register during rush.
Reid stood at the pickup counter, sliding lids onto drinks and calling names with far more authority than the task required.
Shadow Point had reclaimed most of his work hours, but he filled in when Maya needed a break, or he had a free moment and wanted to spend it with Holly.
He’d even learned the espresso machine’s quirks.
“Sweet Blue Hero Latte for Kelsey,” Reid called.
A woman in a sunhat came forward, took the drink, and glanced at the hand-lettered sign near the register. “Is Sweet Blue the dog on the patio?”
Holly looked toward the front windows, where Blue held court beneath the shade of the largest patio umbrella.
Three patio dogs and two children had gathered around him as if he were offering wisdom, though from what Holly could see, he was mostly offering access to his ears in exchange for admiration.
“That’s him,” Holly said. “Local hero. Terrible at humility.”
The woman laughed. “And what’s in the latte that relates to him?”
“Blueberry, vanilla, and a little cinnamon,” Maya said before Holly could answer. “Not for dogs, of course, but the blue color makes it his. It’s amazing iced.”
Reid glanced toward Holly. “Judge Fleming calls it a dessert in witness protection.”
“Judge Fleming is a beloved customer with strong opinions about blueberries,” Holly said. “We don’t let that influence product development.”
On the counter beside the drink menu sat a small display of Sweet Blue Biscuits, healthy dog treats made with pumpkin, oats, peanut butter, and apple.
Holly had started baking them for patio dogs two weeks after the attack, partly because she needed something good to do with her hands and partly because Blue deserved a product line after saving her life.
The biscuits had sold out the first weekend. Now she made them three times a week and had a growing list of patio regulars whose humans claimed they came for coffee while their dogs knew the truth.
The Sweet Blue Hero Muffin had become a bestseller too, though Blue himself was not allowed to sample the human version, which contained lemon and blueberries and had already caused Linc to issue a dissenting opinion.
Sanctuary was full again. Not because nothing had happened, but because something had happened and people had come back anyway. Even Nell, who was out of the hospital and doing well, attended book club again.
That mattered to Holly more than she could explain without crying.
The bell over the door chimed, and Roni swept in wearing a linen blazer over a T-shirt printed with tiny paw prints, black pants with a healthy collection of dog hair, and an expression of professional triumph.
“I have a lockbox app and a license to sell,” she announced. “No one abuse this power.”
Maya lifted both hands. “I would never.”
“You would absolutely abuse it for snacks.” Roni pointed at Reid. “You look like a man prepared to view real estate.”
“I look like a man restocking lids.”
“Same skill set: attention to detail, ability to open doors, suspicion of basements.”
Holly wiped her hands on a towel and came around the counter. “Do you really have a place?”
“I really do.” Roni’s smile widened until it broke through the professional realtor act and became pure sisterly excitement. “Close to the shop. Fenced yard. Needs work, but not in a haunted way.”
“That’s reassuring,” Reid grumbled, clearly not reassured.
Roni’s hands went to her hips. “It has character.”
“That’s realtor code for ‘money pit.’”
“Some of it is code,” Roni admitted. “Some of it is original woodwork.”
Holly’s heart gave a hopeful, nervous squeeze.
She and Reid had been talking about moving for several weeks, not because they were trying to rush a relationship that had already taken the scenic route through heartbreak, murder, concussion, and espresso training, but because her apartment above Sanctuary had become too small for the life they were building.
Too small for Holly, Reid, Blue, Reid’s overnight bag that had slowly become half a closet, and the future they kept discussing in pieces while brushing their teeth or walking Blue after dinner.
They wanted something close to the shop with a real kitchen and a room Reid could use as an office when he worked from home.
Space for Holly to breathe when Sanctuary was full of other people’s needs.
Most of all, they wanted a fenced yard where Blue could run without treating the leash as an injustice.
Roni had passed her real estate exam the week before and had immediately declared them her first official clients.
She wasn’t giving up the doggy daycare. She had explained this at length, with charts no one had asked for.
Real estate would be supplemental income, a part-time expansion, a way to use her people skills on humans while still reserving most of her affection for dogs.
Mostly, she wanted the income to start her own dream—a dog sanctuary.
Holly loved that for her. She also suspected Roni would be terrifyingly good at anything she put her mind to.
“Can Maya handle the shop for an hour?” Roni asked.
Maya straightened behind the counter. “Maya can handle anything for an hour.”
Reid looked at the line near the register, then at Holly. “I can stay.”
“No,” Holly said. “You’re coming. We’re not buying a house based only on whether I like the kitchen and Blue likes the yard. You get a vote.”
“It’s only fair since you’re going to have to handle the renovations,” Roni said.
“Thank you,” Holly told her.
Reid looked from one woman to the other. “How many renovations?”
Roni just grinned and waved Holly toward the door. “Let’s go, brother, and don’t forget our hero dog.”
Linc rose from his seat, grabbing his coffee and his cane. “I’m coming, too.”
Hank, seated next to him, said, “Don’t forget cards Thursday.”
Linc nodded. “Be prepared to lose again.”
Reid closed the short gap between him and Holly and pressed a quick kiss to her temple, just above the faint line where the stitches had been.
He did that often, not in a way that made her feel fragile, but in a way that reminded them both she’d healed.
He still watched her too closely when she was tired, and she still complained when he was fussing.
They were figuring out the difference between care and fear, between protection and control, between staying close and holding too tight.
Most days, they got it right. Some days, they got coffee and tried again.
Reid held the door, ushering all of them out and keeping an eye on Linc without making it obvious. Blue spotted Roni from the patio and gave a bark of greeting so deep and joyful that two tourists turned.
Roni glanced toward him. “Of course you’re coming. I’d never show a house without the primary decision-maker.”
Roni gave Linc a paper copy of the listing while he and Blue climbed into the backseat of Reid’s truck. “This is only two blocks from my place,” Linc said.
Holly leaned over to scan the sheet. “It’s between you and the shop. A nice central location.”
CB Briggs still occasionally stopped by to see Linc under the guise of checking on the neighborhood and accepting whatever baked goods Linc pretended not to have set aside for him.
“Location is important,” Linc said. “Structural integrity more so.”
Blue immediately rested his head on Linc’s thigh.
“You shed on me, and I’ll hold you in contempt,” Linc told him.
Blue wagged.
“See?” Holly said from the passenger seat. “He respects the court.”
“He respects no institution,” Linc said, rubbing Blue’s ears. “That’s part of his charm.”
The house sat on a quiet street lined with maples and older homes that had seen families come and go through decades of summers.
It was a Craftsman bungalow with a wide front porch, faded blue siding, white trim in need of fresh paint, and a little dormer window tucked beneath the roofline.
The porch railing sagged slightly on one side.
The front steps needed work. The flower beds were more ambition than garden.
Holly loved it before she opened the gate.