Epilogue two

EPILOGUE TWO

MICHAEL

“ H urry!” Alice calls from the study.

“I’m right here, Baby.” I step through the doorway, two glasses of wine in hand.

Alice looks up from her spot on the couch, snuggled under her favorite blanket with a laptop balanced on her lap. “Oh, good idea.” She takes the glass I hold out for her.

Careful not to spill, I slide into the spot next to Alice and prop my feet on the coffee table.

It’s been three months since Alice became my wife, and every day is better than the last.

Even with filming only now starting up again for Second Bite , we’ve been busy since the New Year started—traveling, getting the foundation ready.

So, as a way to celebrate the launch of the Chef Mike and Alice Cooking Classes, we decided to rent a place in the mountains.

Alice suggested going back to the cabin in Bear Cove, but we both agreed we could find something with the same feel that doesn’t also have the creeper memories.

Though, to be fair, since Mr. Forde has recovered the backlist of photos, we have looked through them. Many times. Without clothes on. So it’s not all bad.

I drape my arm over the back of the couch behind Alice.

This is just a rental house, but I think I’ll put an offer on it. Our lives are only going to get busier after tonight, and having a little forest retreat might be just the thing.

“One minute.” Alice chews her lip.

I squeeze her shoulder. “Did they confirm that our end of the site would update in real time?”

We did what we discussed, selecting eight cities across the country to host classes, and now it’s just a matter of filling the spots.

Alice nods but still hits the refresh button on the website. “Yeah. The sale will open on the hour, first come, first served.” She blows out a breath. “What if no one signs up? It’s so expensive.”

“People will sign up, Baby Cakes. We might not sell out in the first five minutes like a Zelle concert, but we’ll fill every seat, I promise.”

“I really hope so,” Alice says.

A second later, the clock in the corner of her screen clicks over.

“It’s live,” she whispers.

We stare at the screen, the crackling fireplace across the room the only thing breaking the silence.

I open my mouth to remind her I’m proud of her. To tell her that no matter how long it takes, I love her so much.

But before I can say anything, the column for Minneapolis lights up.

A moment later, the first name appears, claiming two tickets.

Mr. and Mrs. Eklund.

Alice squeaks. “We sold a pair!”

Another set populates.

Mr. and Mrs. Vass.

Alice gasps.

Then another couple.

Mr. and Mrs. Gonzalez.

Alice lifts a hand to her mouth.

Another two tickets are sold. A singular name on both.

Nero.

I turn to Alice, lifting my glass to tap against hers. “Looks like our first class will be in Minnesota.”