Epilogue
HANNAH
Six months later, and Mama Mae's Sunday suppers still felt like barely controlled chaos.
I moved my laptop bag off the kitchen chair to make room for another casserole dish. Someone—Kane, probably—asked if I'd wrapped the Dallas project yet, and I told him two days ago, already invoiced. Freelance writing paid the bills from anywhere. Broken Bend worked as well as Dallas had.
Better, actually.
Through the window above the sink, the weather vane on top of the barn caught the last of the evening light, silhouetted against a sky going soft and purple.
The kitchen was full. More people than Grim would choose on his own, but he was here anyway, leaning against the counter with a beer, listening to Fuse tell some story about a busted clutch.
Kane stood nearby, arms crossed, looking skeptical.
A few other Lonestar Riders had shown up.
Mama Mae fed anyone who wandered through her door, and the club knew it.
Everett sat on the couch with his boots off, flipping through something on his phone. He glanced up when I walked past, smiled, then shot Grim a look that said he still wasn't entirely used to this. The look was habit now. Performance. He'd stopped meaning it months ago.
Hank sprawled under the table, accepting scraps from Mama Mae, who swore she wasn't feeding him.
Grim looked up from Fuse’s story and met my eyes across the room.
I pulled out my phone.
Me: My brother’s watching us.
His reply came fast.
Grim: Let him.
I set the phone down and crossed the kitchen.
Grim straightened as I reached him, setting his beer on the counter. I kissed him. Not for show. Not to prove anything. Just because I could, and because six months together hadn't dulled the ache I felt for him.
Everett groaned from the couch. Mama Mae laughed, delighted. Someone whistled.
Kane said, "Y'all know there's a bedroom upstairs, right?"
I pulled back just far enough to grin at Grim.
He was smiling. The same smile from the porch at the cabin six months ago, only now he was mine.
People drifted out over the next couple of hours.
Everett hugged me on his way to the truck, told Grim not to be a stranger, and drove off with a wave. Kane and the other Riders followed. Mama Mae still had a house full of boys, but she stood on the porch as we left, kissing my cheek and telling Grim to drive home safe.
Grim's place looked different than it had six months ago, now that it wasn’t just his. The restored chair sat in the corner of the living room, finished and sturdy. A new project waited in the garage, clamped in the vise.
Two coffee mugs sat on the counter. Both used. Both ours.
Hank flopped onto his bed by the couch with a contented sigh.
I headed toward the bedroom. Grim caught my hand.
"Wait."
He handed me his phone.
There was a message open. Drafted. Unsent.
Grim: I need a plus-one for the rest of my life.
I read it once. Read it again.
The same words I'd sent Thursday night. The same words he'd sent Sunday afternoon at my cabin door.
Now, once more, meaning something bigger.
I looked up to find him already on one knee.
"I'm not good at this," he said, his voice quiet and rough. "You know that. But you're the one thing in my life I picked instead of waiting for. I don't want to keep waiting to marry you."
He pulled a ring from his pocket. It was simple like him. Just a shiny gold band with a round diamond in the center.
"Will you marry me?" Grim asked.
"Yes.”
He slid the ring on my finger, then stood and wrapped me in his arms.
His phone stayed lit on the counter, the drafted message still unsent.
Hank raised his head to check on the noise, then put it back down with a huff.
The porch light glowed through the front window. The ring sat on my finger like it had always been there.
I had texted the wrong man by accident. Loving him on purpose was the first thing I'd ever gotten completely right.