Epilogue

Epilogue

Jeff

Eleven years later…

“Junebug,” I called from the base of the stairs. “We’re late.”

“I’m coming, Daddy!” Harper yelled.

That was the third time she’d said she was coming. “Two minutes.”

“I’m hurrying.” The thud of her footsteps pounded on the floor as she raced from one room to the other.

I sighed, checking my watch. I couldn’t remember a time when I wasn’t waiting on a daughter or my wife.

Not a bad way for a man to spend his life. Even if that meant we were always running behind.

“Carter, are you ready?” I asked.

“Yep.” He rounded the corner from the dining room wearing his coat and his backpack. Knowing my son, he’d been ready for ten minutes.

When it came to being on time, Carter was my only hope. He was the most responsible, organized seven-year-old I’d ever known.

“Do you have your lunch box?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?” I bent to give him a hug.

“Do you?” He smiled up at me, revealing the gap between his front teeth that would one day see braces.

“Yes, I have my lunch. It’s already in the truck.” I touched the tip of his nose. “Love you, bud.”

“Love you too.”

I smoothed his hair, the same shade as mine. Everyone always said that Carter resembled me, but when I looked at him, I saw Della. The same was true with Harper. Though not many disagreed when it came to our daughter. Harper looked more and more like Della every day.

“One minute,” I hollered up to her.

“I’m almost ready!” Harper was nine, almost ten, and it felt too soon for us to be at this stage. According to Della, she was a budding fashionista, always worried about her clothes or headbands or shoes.

“She’s never ready.” Carter blew out a long breath, leaning against my leg. “We’re going to be late.”

“You’ll make it.” I leaned down to kiss his cheek, then swatted his backpack. “Go load up in the car. They’ll be right behind you.”

“Okay.”

“Have a good day at school.”

“Bye.” He rushed down the hall, his backpack bouncing as he made his way to the garage.

A few years ago, we’d connected the house to the garage so Della wouldn’t have to traipse in and out with the kids. The minute the door closed behind him, I clapped. “Time’s up, Junebug. We’re out the door.”

“Two seconds!”

I tipped my head to the ceiling and let out a groan.

Della’s laugh drifted from the hallway. She walked my way carrying a travel mug of coffee in one hand with her own backpack slung over a shoulder. “We’re late.”

“Yep.”

“One day, I want to be early.”

I chuckled, pulling her into my arms. “You and me both, baby.”

“It’s probably overrated.”

“We’ll never know.” I dropped a kiss to her mouth, taking in today’s outfit.

Black jeans. Oversized sweater. Earrings so long they nearly brushed her shoulders. There was a reason Harper loved clothes. Because her mother loved clothes.

Instead of connecting the garage to the house, we should have built another closet.

But it was Della’s sparkling caramel eyes that took my breath away. “You look beautiful. I’m already looking forward to stripping that sweater off you later.”

“Tease.” She kissed the underside of my jaw. “Love you.”

“I love you too.” I kissed her again, lingering a bit to stroke my tongue against hers.

“I’m ready.” Harper’s voice broke us apart as she tore down the stairs. Her hair was up in a knot like Della’s.

“That’s not the outfit we laid out last night,” Della said, looking her up and down.

“I changed my mind.”

Just once, I wanted her to wear the clothes we insisted she set out the night before. “Carter’s in the car. Get going.”

“Bye, Daddy.” Harper gave me a quick hug and a kiss on the cheek as I helped her into her coat and handed over her backpack.

“Have a good day.” Della kissed me again.

“You too.” I followed them to the garage, making sure they were in. Then I breathed a sigh and checked the time.

Yep, they were late.

But Della wouldn’t drive fast to make up time, not with our babies in the car. She’d drop them at the elementary school, then get to the middle school, probably walking in the door the second the bell rang.

Thankfully, she’d taken her first period as prep this year so she didn’t have to worry.

She was still at the same school, teaching middle schoolers. That black mark on her record, earned by our relationship, never had amounted to much, not when we’d gotten married that next fall.

It had only taken a month for me to convince Della to move in. She’d left that house with Luka and never looked back—that idiot had changed schools the next year and neither of us had been sad to see him disappear.

A month after she’d moved in, we’d become engaged. Rosalie had given me an earful about rushing into a relationship with Katy’s teacher, to which I’d told her to mind her own fucking business.

Then three months later, surrounded by our family and closest friends, we’d gotten married in the backyard. Della had wanted a winter wonderland for the ceremony. Mother Nature had dumped six inches of snow two days before the wedding so she’d gotten her wish.

Harper was born that next June, and I’d been calling her Junebug ever since.

I was headed for the kitchen to grab my own travel mug of coffee for the drive to the office when my phone vibrated in my pocket. Someone must have forgotten something. I expected Della’s name on the screen but it was Katy’s. “Hi, Dandelion.”

“Hi, Dad. I’m running late.”

“Your outfit? Because that was your sister’s struggle this morning.”

“No.” She laughed. “I’m dressed. But I was trying to find some old pictures. I had this idea for the Michaelson project, and I was thinking about that trip we took to Oregon my sophomore year. What was the name of that hotel?”

“The Gallaway.”

“That’s it. They had the prettiest flower beds. I was hoping to use it for inspiration, but I can’t find any pictures from that trip in the photo books Della made me.”

From the day we’d gotten together, Della had made it her mission to document Katy’s life. Every year, she put together a photo book. She’d been doing the same for Harper and Carter since they were born.

She’d print two copies, one for us. One for the kids.

When Katy had moved into her own house last year, Della had taken over her books, but maybe she’d missed one.

“I can check in the shed,” I told her.

“Okay, thanks. I’m leaving now so I’ll see you at the office. Be warned, I got so distracted by this I didn’t pack a lunch.”

“Then I guess we’d better plan to go out to lunch. The Maysen Jar?”

“Where else?”

That little restaurant hadn’t changed much over the past decade. Not that it needed to. It had a timeless charm and no matter how often we ate there, we kept going back.

“All right,” I said. “See you in a bit.”

Katy had turned twenty-three this month. After graduating from Montana State with her degree, she’d decided to come work at Alcott. Originally, she’d planned to help me run the business side of things, but lately, she’d taken an interest in the actual landscape design.

Maybe it was all those years she’d tagged along with me on jobs.

Whatever the reason, I was more than happy to have her riding shotgun in my truck. Her, and the dog.

She and Della eventually wore me down and we adopted a puppy after Harper was born. A golden retriever named Ollie. He’d always been Katy’s dog, even when she hadn’t lived in our house. So when she’d finally gotten a place of her own, the dog had moved out. But since Katy was never far from Ollie, the back of my truck was covered in his blond hair.

Della had made a few comments lately about another dog for Harper and Carter. This time, I wanted a dog that didn’t shed so damn much. Maybe a dog, like Ollie, who’d tag along at work too.

It had been a successful decade for Alcott Landscaping. Hans had been happily retired, traveling the world with his wife, while I ran the business. The last five years had been so profitable that I’d nearly paid off my contract.

My goal was to own it free and clear sooner rather than later. And someday, if my kids wanted to take over, it would be the legacy Della and I could give them.

With my coffee and keys, I headed to the yard, walking beneath the light strings. Every night, Della turned them on so that their golden glow shined through the house’s windows, even in the dead of winter.

This space had become the signpost for important events in our lives. Birthday parties. Katy’s high school graduation. Baby showers. Della and I had talked about moving to a bigger house, especially during those years when we had three kids under our roof. But in the end, we’d decided to stay. Mostly because we didn’t want to leave this yard.

Instead, we’d found little ways to expand storage, like the shed we’d built onto the back side of the garage. I unlocked the door, then ducked inside and flipped on the light. The far wall was lined with storage totes, so I set my cup aside and started digging.

The first three tubs I pulled down were full of Christmas decorations. The fourth was full of Katy’s stuff from her childhood bedroom.

I dug through the jerseys and art projects and mementos, feeling a book at the bottom, so I tugged it free.

A diary.

“I remember you.” I chuckled, inspecting the dandelion diary I’d given her ages ago. The diary that had caused so much drama. I thumbed through the pages, my heart squeezing at the young, blocky handwriting inside. Katy didn’t write like that anymore.

Della would kick my ass for even touching this book, but I thumbed to the first entry.

Dear Diary,

My dad needs a girlfriend, and I’ve already picked her out.

“What the fuck?” My jaw dropped as I continued to read, entry after entry. By the time I was done, my head was spinning.

She’d set us up. A twelve-year-old kid had entirely manipulated her grown-ass father.

From that first day when she’d gotten in trouble for cussing, to the day she’d cried in class. Even to that last day when Rosalie had found her diary.

Not this diary.

According to this one, Katy had planted a fake diary, knowing Rosalie would read it. She’d counted on her mother making a scene. Hoping it would bring Della and me together.

Katy hadn’t realized that Della and I weren’t broken up. We’d just been waiting for the end of the school year.

“I’ll be damned.”

Manipulated by my own flesh and blood.

A laugh bubbled free, followed by another until I was roaring, my hand on my belly because it hurt to laugh so hard.

It took a few minutes to pull myself together. I returned that diary to the bottom of the tub, closing the lid, then found the photo book Katy wanted.

With it tucked beneath my arm, I locked the shed and headed to work.

“Morning, Dad.” Katy smiled as I strode into her office.

“I love you.” I rounded her desk, dropping a kiss to her hair.

“Love you too.”

With a wink, I retreated to my own office and sent Della a text.

Remember that diary Katy used to write in all the time?

Her reply was instant. The dandelion diary?