Epilogue
MINDY
“Vrrmm vrmm. Vrrrmmmmmm.”
Little Alysa kicks her legs in excitement from the seat mounted to the back of my bike.
“Come on, Mommy. Faster. Faster!”
I chuckle between my huffs and puffs. “Mommy… is… going… as fast… as she… can.”
Which, in fairness, isn’t terribly fast. But I am pedaling uphill at the moment, and I refuse to let a three-year-old shame my cardio.
Behind us, I hear Jesse laugh.
“Careful,” he calls. “You’re going to hurt your mama’s feelings.”
“Daddy go faster!” Amber shouts from her perch on his bike.
“Traitor,” I mutter under my breath, though I’m smiling.
We crest the hill together, and the path levels out. I stand on the pedals, push harder, and let the wind catch my hair.
“Hold on!” I call over my shoulder.
Alysa squeals in delight as we pick up speed. Jesse falls into pace beside me, Amber’s little arms wrapped around his waist from the back seat attachment.
The morning air is crisp. The path is busy with joggers and other families and the occasional dog who thinks bicycles are a personal insult. The sun is high but soft, just warm enough to feel like a promise instead of a threat.
I glance over at Jesse.
He’s grinning.
Not the cocky bar-owner grin.
Not the slow, teasing grin he wore the night we met.
This one is quieter.
Content.
His hair is a little longer now than it was back then. His shoulders broader. There’s a small scar near his eyebrow from that fight years ago, faint but visible if you know to look.
That night feels like another lifetime.
And yet.
Not that long ago, we were two strangers trying to figure out if a misunderstanding at a bachelor auction could turn into something real.
Now we have two little girls shouting for more speed and a minivan parked back at the trailhead.
Life is strange.
In the best way.
We slow near the park entrance, coasting to a stop by the playground.
Jesse hops off first and helps Amber out of her seat.
“Did Daddy go fast enough?” he asks.
Amber nods solemnly. “Yes. But Mommy go fast too.”
I beam.
“See?” I tell him. “Fan club.”
Alysa kicks her legs until I unclip her.
“Again!” she demands.
“In a bit,” I say, lifting her down. “Snack first.”
We settle at a picnic table, unpacking juice boxes and apple slices like the deeply suburban adults we have apparently become.
Jesse catches my eye over the girls’ heads.
“You happy?” he asks quietly.
The question isn’t casual.
It never is with him.
“Yes,” I say without hesitation.
And I am.
My job has grown in ways I never imagined. What started as event planning for one casino turned into a full portfolio. I manage major galas now. Charity auctions. Corporate launches. I’ve built a reputation in a city that once intimidated me.
Jesse’s bar thrives too.
He hired a manager three years ago so he wouldn’t miss bedtime. Or Saturday mornings. Or school performances.
He still works hard.
He just doesn’t work at the expense of this.
Of us.
He reaches for my hand under the table, thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Good.”
Later, when the girls are running wild on the playground, I lean back against the bench and watch them.
Amber is fearless. Alysa negotiates every climb like a contract.
They’re so different.
They’re so ours.
“You ever think about how ridiculous it was?” I ask Jesse.
“What?”
“That I showed up to meet you in spandex because I thought you were a cyclist.”
He laughs softly. “Best misunderstanding of my life.”
“I was mortified.”
“You climbed on anyway.”
I glance at him.
“You remember that?”
“Every detail.”
He nudges my knee with his.
“You showed up. Even when you were scared.”
“That’s what you said.”
“And you were right.”
I smile.
Back then, I thought bravery was getting on a motorcycle.
Now I know it’s a hundred smaller things.
Staying.
Building.
Choosing each other every day instead of just once.
Alysa runs back toward us, face flushed.
“Daddy! Push me!”
He stands immediately.
“Coming.”
He jogs toward the swings, scooping her up effortlessly.
Amber toddles over to me, climbing into my lap.
“Mommy,” she whispers, pressing her cheek to my chest.
“Yes, baby?”
“I like bikes.”
I kiss the top of her head. “Me too.”
She runs back to play and Jesse soon returns. He settles next to me on the bench and rests his arm on my shoulder. “You remember the tandem?”
“How could I forget?”
“That was a gamble.”
“So was everything else.”
He glances at me. “Worth it.”
“Absolutely.”
We built this.
Not perfectly.
Not without bumps.
But deliberately.
That night in Vegas could have been chaos.
Could have been a story we told once and never revisited.
Instead, it became foundation.
Jesses brushes a kiss over the top of my head.
“You ever think about that night I ended up in the holding cell?” he asks.
“Sometimes.”
“I was convinced I’d ruined everything.”
I turn to look at him. “You didn’t.”
“I know that now.”
He presses another kiss to my temple.
“Never have I ever,” he murmurs softly, “been this grateful for a bad first impression.”
I laugh. “Never have I ever thought I could be this happy.”
He looks at me, searching. “Really?”
I nod.
“But every day,” I continue, brushing my fingers along his jaw, “you find a new way to make me even happier than the one before.”
Thank you for reading Jesse and Mindy’s story.