Epilogue
ABILENE
THREE MONTHS LATER
The Colter Creek Rodeo smells of dust, sunscreen, leather, kettle corn, and anticipation.
It’s louder than the market ever is, music blaring from tinny speakers, kids shrieking as they dart between boots and belt buckles, the metallic clank of chutes opening and closing in the arena, but somehow, standing here behind my stall, it feels just as familiar.
Just… bigger.
My banner flutters in the warm afternoon breeze:
Sweet Haven Honey – Featuring Jewel Honey Infusion.
I still get a little flutter every time I see that name in print.
Jewel.
Not hidden. Not whispered. Not sealed away in grief anymore.
I straighten a row of jars that are already perfectly straight—old habits die hard—and glance out over the fairgrounds.
The rodeo queen candidates are gathering near the stage, all glittering smiles and carefully pinned curls, their sashes catching the sun. Someone’s horse snorts loudly nearby, unimpressed by pageantry.
“Abilene!”
I turn just in time to see Millie McDougal barreling toward me with a funnel cake in one hand and her purse in the other.
“You are sold out of the small jars already?” she demands, peering at my display.
“Almost,” I say, grinning. “I held a few back for later.”
“Well, don’t you dare sell out before I get my hands on the Golden Meadow,” she warns. “My bridge group is obsessed.”
I laugh. “I’ll put one aside.”
She winks and bustles off, already calling my name to someone else because she’s my personal hype woman.
This keeps happening.
People I’ve known my whole life. People I’ve never met. Tourists who wandered in for the rodeo and left clutching jars like they’ve been handed something precious.
They ask questions now. Real ones.
About the bees.
About the infusions.
About why this honey tastes different.
And I tell them the truth.
“That one’s Jewel,” I say for what must be the hundredth time today, passing a sample spoon across the table. “It’s an old family recipe. Meant to be slow. Comforting. Something you come back to.”
They always pause when they taste it.
Some smile. Some go quiet.
One woman cried last weekend and apologized for it as if she’d done something wrong.
I told her it was okay. Honey does that sometimes.
The twins appear at my side like summoned spirits.
Eliza has glitter on her cheeks from the pageant booth. Caleb is holding a tiny plastic cowboy hat he absolutely does not need.
“Miss Abilene,” Eliza says seriously, “you sold another Jewel.”
“I did?” I ask.
She nods. “That lady smiled like this.” She demonstrates an exaggerated, dreamy grin.
Caleb leans in. “Daddy says that means it’s working.”
Heat blooms low in my chest at that.
“Does he now?” I ask lightly.
The boys—my boys, even if no one’s said it out loud yet—exchange a look.
Wyatt appears a moment later with four lemonades and the expression of a man who has resigned himself to crowds for love.
“You’re a hit,” he tells me, handing one over. “Again.”
Marshall holds back just behind him, scanning the arena as he always does, but his hand rests easy at my back when he steps closer.
Jesse comes last, dust on his boots, hat tipped low, smile already waiting for me.
“How’s the famous entrepreneur?” he asks.
I tilt my head teasingly. “Is that all I am to you?”
He pretends to think. “You’re my favorite beekeeper slash honey witch.”
Eliza beams. “That’s what we call her too.”
My throat tightens, but I laugh it off because joy still surprises me sometimes.
The rodeo announcer’s voice booms overhead, calling for attention as the pageant competition begins. Applause ripples through the crowd.
I look out over it all, over the jars, the dust, the people, the men who somehow chose me and let me choose them back.
A few months ago, I was standing in the honey house shaking over a crate I was afraid to open.
Now?
I lift a jar, twist the lid just enough to let the scent bloom, and smile at the next customer stepping up to my stall.
“Hi,” I say, smiling. “Welcome to Sweet Haven Honey.”
I keep on going until I’m interrupted by feedback squealing through the loudspeakers, grabbing everyone’s attention.
“…and folks, before we move on to the next round of the Rodeo Queen Pageant…”
I barely register it at first. I’m mid-sentence, explaining infusion ratios to a woman holding a jar like it might contain answers to her life.
“…we’d like to take a quick moment to recognize one of our own…”
I straighten another jar out of habit.
“…local beekeeper, small business owner, and recent pride of Colter Creek. Abilene Kentwood!”
My brain… stops.
Around me, heads turn. A few people clap automatically, because that’s what you do when someone’s name comes out of a speaker.
I freeze behind my stall.
“Oh no,” I whisper.
Eliza appears instantly at my side, eyes huge. “Miss Abilene. That’s you.”
Caleb nods solemnly. “You’re being announced.”
“I do not want to be announced,” I mutter.
Too late.
“And if Miss Kentwood would join us by the fence line near the arena,” the announcer continues, clearly delighted with himself, “we’ve got something special planned.”
Something special.
My pulse rockets.
I look up, and that’s when I see them.
Jesse.
Wyatt.
Marshall.
Standing together near the fence line. Together in a way that feels intentional enough to knock the breath out of my lungs.
Jesse’s hat is off, crushed nervously in his hands.
Wyatt’s posture is calm but braced, holding still against a strong wind.
Marshall’s shoulders are squared, grounded, unmovable. He’s decided this moment matters, and nothing is going to ruin it.
My heart stumbles.
“Oh,” I breathe.
Eliza tugs my hand urgently. “Daddy is being very weird.”
Caleb adds, “He’s always strange.”
That does it.
Applause starts up again, encouraging and curious.
Someone whistles. Someone else shouts my name like this is a victory lap and not the most emotionally vulnerable walk of my life.
I hand my customer a jar without charging her. She doesn’t complain.
My legs feel unreal as I step out from behind the stall. The noise of the rodeo dulls. The world has gently wrapped everything else in cotton.
Each step toward them is walking deeper into a truth I’ve already known.
Jesse sees me first.
His smile is soft. Nervous. Real.
“Hey, Honeybee,” he says when I reach them.
My chest aches. “Hey.”
Wyatt exhales slowly, like he’s been holding it. “We’re sorry for… the announcement.”
Marshall mutters, “We tried subtle.”
Jesse snorts. “We failed.”
Laughter ripples through the crowd.
I shake my head, breathless. “What’s happening?”
Jesse takes one step forward.
And this time, he doesn’t joke, he doesn’t deflect, he doesn’t hide.
“I’ve spent most of my life afraid of wanting things out loud,” he says. “Because wanting means risking. And I had two little people depending on me not to get it wrong.”
Eliza squeezes my hand. Caleb nods fiercely, like this is a sworn oath.
“And then you showed up,” Jesse continues. “And you didn’t try to fix us. You didn’t ask us to be smaller or quieter or easier. You just… loved us. Exactly as we are.”
Wyatt steps in beside him.
“I notice things,” he says softly, and my breath catches because I know how much that costs him. “What I noticed is that life with you is steadier. Kinder. Fuller. You don’t demand joy, you make space for it.”
Marshall finishes. “You feel like home. Not the kind you inherit. The kind you choose.”
Then Jesse drops to one knee.
Wyatt follows, Marshall too.
The world tilts.
Gasps. Cheers. Someone yells, “About time!”
I forget how to breathe.
For a heartbeat, everything goes very still.
The dust hangs in the air. The sun glints off belt buckles and sequins and the edge of the arena fence. Somewhere, a horse stamps impatiently.
Somewhere else, a child starts clapping because clapping feels right, and then another joins in, and then another… but I can’t hear any of it.
All I can see are the three men kneeling in front of me.
Jesse reaches into his pocket first. His hands shake just a little as he opens a small velvet box and holds it up between us.
Inside is a ring that steals my breath.
The stone is warm honey gold, catching the sunlight the way late afternoon catches the jars on my stall. Soft, luminous, alive.
It isn’t flashy or oversized. It doesn’t try to prove anything. It feels chosen with care, as if someone thought less about impressing the world and more about what would feel like me.
Jesse watches my face like loving out loud still feels a little dangerous. The ring is warmth made solid. Joy with edges sanded smooth.
Wyatt opens his box next.
His ring is quieter. Elegant in its restraint.
The stone is pale and clear, set low and secure, the kind of beauty you don’t fully notice until you look twice, and then can’t stop noticing. Nothing about it demands attention, but everything about it rewards it.
It feels thoughtful. Intentional. Like someone who pays attention to how things last, not just how they shine.
Marshall opens the third box with calm hands.
His ring is solid. Weighty in a reassuring way. The band is simple and strong, the stone darker, earth-toned, set deep as if it was always meant to stay exactly where it is.
There’s no ornament for ornament’s sake, just presence. It feels like a promise you can lean your weight on. Something built to endure weather and time and silence without breaking.
Three rings.
Three choices.
One life.
Jesse’s voice is the one that finds me first, rough with emotion he isn’t trying to hide. “We don’t want to cage you.”
Wyatt’s follows, calm and unwavering. “Or rush you.”
Marshall finishes, quiet and absolute. “Or take anything from you.”
Jesse looks up at me, eyes shining, bare and hopeful and brave in a way that makes my chest ache.
“We want to build something with you,” he says. “Together.”
Wyatt’s gaze is warm. “If you’ll have us.”
Marshall nods once. He’s already made his choice and is simply waiting for mine. “All of us.”
The fairgrounds blur.
The banners. The dust. The endless blue sky overhead.
I think of my grandmother sealing jars with care, believing in preservation instead of spectacle.
I think of my mother, chasing safety and freedom and love in the only way she knew how.
I think of the woman I was a few months ago, afraid to open a crate because she didn’t know what it would cost her.
And I think of who I am now.
A woman who knows what home feels like. A woman who knows love doesn’t have to be small or quiet to be safe.
A woman who finally understands that wanting something doesn’t make you reckless. It makes you alive.
My hands shake as I lift them, hovering over the rings.
“This,” I weep, “this isn’t too much.” I laugh through tears I don’t bother to stop. “It’s exactly right.”
I look at Jesse. At Wyatt. At Marshall.
“Yes,” I say. Then louder, because I want the whole world to hear it. “Yes. I want this. I want you. All of you.”
For half a second, there’s stunned silence.
Then the crowd erupts.
Cheers crash over us like a wave. Someone whistles. Someone screams. The rodeo announcer yells, “Well, I’ll be damned,” directly into the microphone.
Jesse laughs, half sob, half disbelief, and stands, pulling me into his arms. Wyatt’s hand finds mine, warm and anchoring, slipping one of the rings into place. Marshall rises last, pressing his forehead to mine for just a moment, a vow spoken without words, before sliding the third ring home.
Eliza throws her arms around my waist.
“She said yes!” she shrieks.
Caleb pumps his fist. “I knew it!”
Applause spreads outward, contagious and joyful, until the entire ridiculous, wonderful rodeo seems to be cheering with us.
And standing there, rings warming my fingers, honey still clinging faintly to my hands, dust on my boots and love in my chest, I know with absolute clarity:
This isn’t the ending.
It’s the sweetest beginning I could have imagined.
The end.