Epilogue
Byron
Four months later...
T he MacLellan Inn has always felt like home, but never more than on mornings like this. Dawn spills through the stained- glass windows, painting rainbows across the polished wood floors as I make my daily inspection rounds.
My inspection rounds. At our inn.
Well, technically Lyra’s inn, since she owns the majority stake. But after a few months of living and breathing every aspect of this place, it feels as much a part of me as my law degree. Which, incidentally, still comes in handy—just not in the way I originally planned.
“You’re up early.” Lyra’s voice carries from the stairs, and my heart does the same flip it’s done every morning since she agreed to marry me. “Please tell me you made coffee.”
“What kind of partner would I be if I didn’t?” I hold up two mugs as she descends the last few steps. “Though I’m not the one who had a marathon budget meeting with their father until midnight.”
The fact that Lachlan MacLellan spent three hours reviewing our books last night still amazes me. But watching him and Lyra work together, seeing them rebuild their relationship one spreadsheet at a time—it’s the kind of progress I wasn’t sure we’d see.
“He says we’re exceeding projections.” She accepts her coffee and leans into my side. “Though he spent half the meeting critiquing our website.”
“The great Lachlan MacLellan, web design expert?”
“He’s actually right about the SEO strategy.” She rolls her eyes but her smile stays soft. The kind that tells me she’s healing. “And if you tell him I said that, I’ll deny everything.”
Things are still complicated with Lachlan, but they’re working on it. He started dropping by occasionally a month ago to see the renovations—and to update us on how Sarah Taylor is doing as the resort’s new manager. From what I understand, Lachlan grudgingly agrees she operates the place almost as well as Lyra did. He also mentioned he’s found a new lawyer. I choose to take all of that as progress.
“Speaking of criticism.” I set my mug on the front desk. “Judy sent another email about our breakfast offerings. Apparently, we’re still getting it wrong.”
“She’s just mad she’s having too much fun being retired to come fix it herself.” Lyra grins. “Though she did promise to help with the next Valentine’s Day party. And Leith said he’ll try to come back for it, if his shooting schedule allows.”
“Your movie star brother is finally gracing us with his presence?” I can’t help but tease. “Should I alert the media?”
“Please don’t. He gets enough of that in LA.” She laughs. “Besides, he’ll be here for the film festival in August regardless, so you’ll get plenty of MacLellan drama before Valentine’s Day, trust me.”
“About that drama.” I reach under the desk and pull out a small box. “Look what Tabitha’s aunts dropped off this morning.”
Lyra’s eyes light up as she opens it. Inside, dozens of handmade Valentine’s cards wait to be delivered. Just like her grandmother used to do. Just like we did last February when everything changed.
“They’re thrilled we’ve committed to making it an annual tradition.” I wrap my arms around her waist. “The whole town is talking about it. Emma says she’s already started to get pre-orders for flowers even though it’s months away.”
“I can’t believe how many people want to stay at the inn for the party.” She gestures to the reservation computer. “We’re completely booked and it’s not even until next year. Liam said he’s been sending his ski clients our way, convincing them to make reservations for their next trip while still on their current one. At this rate, we won’t be able to keep up with demand.”
I press a kiss to her temple, breathing in the lavender that seems to follow her everywhere. “Your grandmother would be proud. You took her legacy and made it your own.”
“ We did.” She turns in my arms. “I couldn’t have done any of this without you.”
“Sure you could have.” But I tighten my hold because the thought of not being here, of how it could have gone the other way, makes my chest ache. “You’re the one with the vision. I just provided the capital and devastatingly good looks.”
She snorts. “And the legal expertise. And the business sense. And the ability to reach things on high shelves.”
“I do excel at that last one.”
Her fingers find the ever-present glitter in my hair—a hazard of the inn’s attic that I’ve come to embrace. “You’re happy here, aren’t you? You don’t miss corporate law?”
“Are you kidding?” I catch her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm. “I get to wear jeans to work, make people’s dreams come true, and fall in love with you all over again every day. I’ve never been happier.”
Her smile goes soft. “Even when my father shows up with three pages of notes about our marketing strategy?”
“Even then.” I laugh. “I like your family.”
“It’s not too late to back out of taking my name,” she tells me.
“No backsies. For you either. It is one hundred percent too late for you to change your mind about marrying me.”
“I’m not backing out.” Her kiss tastes like coffee and promises and forever. When she pulls back, her eyes are shining. “I love you, Byron MacLellan-to-be.”
“I love you too.” I rest my forehead against hers. “Even if you still can’t make scones properly.”