Epilogue

Sincerely, Yours.

– Marcella

Finn’s eyes sparkle like two fancy smancy champagne flutes over his armful of two incredibly fat stuffed chickens with square eyes. The longer I stare at him, daring him to explain why he’s interrupting me during work when his schedule says he’s supposed to be answering the emails I forwarded to him an hour ago, the wider his grin.

“What’s with the chickens?” I ask.

“They’re Stardew chickens. Your favorites. The blue and black ones.”

I hum. “I did absolutely notice that. Which is problematic. Because that probably means they’re for me, and you are on a buying me things ban ever since I made a joke about hating how our bedroom is on the top floor and I’m too tired in the morning to survive walking downstairs, and—”

“And I put in a slide. I know .” His eyes roll.

I smile.

He got that little trait from me .

And, as I bite my lip, I’ll give you one guess as to what I’ve picked up from him…

He continues, “That was three weeks after we got back from our honeymoon on the island, and I’ve behaved myself ever since, haven’t I?”

“I would say yes , but the proof that you haven’t rests before me. Like an adorable bruise.”

Heaving a sigh, Finn sets the chickens down atop my keyboard, leans over my desk, and grips my chin in his palm. He stretches my neck while I forget absolutely everything I’m upset about. “Pumpkin,” he murmurs, “do you know what today is?”

“November 30…ohhh…” I press my lips together. “It’s our anniversary, isn’t it?”

“Indeed it is, my love.”

“Well then. That is unfortunate. For you.” I begin to stand. “Mr. Marsh, I’d like to take some time off for a special occasion.”

“Sit down.”

I pop my sweet little rump back in my seat and pout.

“Don’t give me those eyes,” he murmurs.

“Why not? They’re big and brown for a reason.”

He sighs and has the audacity to move himself behind my desk with me, where he rests against the edge and curls a few fingers in my hair before tugging on the strands. “The reason cannot be to torment me.”

“Can,” I say. “Is.”

Leaning forward, he kisses the locks of my hair, then my cheek, then my forehead—whispering each location before his lips land. His thumb swipes my bottom lip when he moves back, and for a breathless moment I think he’s about to be mean to me. We have been working on it, after all. Once, last week, he went out to get food and pretended he didn’t get me any when he got back.

I had the best time stealing his dinner while he smiled and let me. Even though he should have wrestled me to the ground over that handful of french fries…

But, anyway, as I said: we’re still working on it.

“You didn’t forget,” he says at long last. “You don’t forget things.”

“I don’t forget grudges. Or vendettas. My spite is immortal. But fluffy little anniversary dates? Why do I need to remember those when we’re together all day, every day?” I smile pretty and tilt my head away from his grip so my hair pulls. “What could we even do that would be special?”

“Break the buying you things ban.” He threads his fingers at the base of my head, twists, and tugs, lifting my face so he can plunge in for a kiss. “Take you out to dinner with our new chicken children.”

“ Our? ” I whisper against his lips. “We have to share them?”

“Duh.”

My stomach flutters. “That was an excellent duh. Almost demeaning. Which has mean in it. I’m so proud.”

He squishes our noses together, whispering seductively, “I’ve got it. I know what we can do that would be phenomenally special.”

“Finnegan Marsh, if you say go to therapy , we are getting a divorce, and you didn’t have me sign a prenup, so I hope you don’t mind that I’m taking the island.”

“First you steal my heart, now you steal my jokes. What’s next? My liver?”

“Hearts sell for the most on the black market, and you know you handed me yours on a platinum platter. Theft was not involved.”

He kneels, places his hands on my knees, and looks up into my eyes. “I did do that, didn’t I?”

“Well, okay. Hand is a stretch. You kind of chucked it at me, like a frisbee, and I didn’t know what to do with myself for several business days.”

His fingers tap, tap against my thighs. “It’s very cute that you know what sells well on the black market.”

I comb my nails through his pretty hair. “How else do you think I wooed you, if not with my random, disturbing knowledge of concerning topics?”

The elevator to the top floor dings, and I look up to find my beautiful friends stepping out with their husband and, ever since the wedding last year, bodyguard boyfriend. Mark escorts Penny up to the desk like a princess in paint-stained overalls, and she tosses her sunglasses up into her curls like the model she’s always been. “Did we arrive too soon?” She flicks her finger between my husband and I. “You two look like you’re still flirting.”

Finn peeks over the top of my desk, past a blue chicken butt. Rising, he says, “We’re just about to wrap it up. Too soon for what, though?”

“The triple date Marciboo planned.”

Brigid interjects. “We’re getting food then learning knife throwing.”

Finn tilts his head back toward me and my folded arms…while I twist my stupid chair back and forth, back and forth. “Forgot, huh?” he accuses.

“No comment on the knife throwing?”

“I shall take great care that I don’t grow into a complacent husband.”

Penny’s musical laughter fills the office floor, and she turns her smile on Finn. “Did you tell her yet?”

“Tell me what yet?” I say as I pull a chicken into my lap and squish it.

Finn says, “Nope. That’s a surprise for after.”

My eyes narrow. “I hate surprises. What have you done?”

He extends his hand. “It’s mean not to tell you, isn’t it?”

Ignoring his hand, I rise and remind him, “You’re very bad at being mean.”

“Because I don’t practice enough.”

Brigid checks her phone. “Guys, I thought you were wrapping this up. We’re going to be late if we don’t get going. We have a reservation.”

Finn plants a firm hand at my waist and guides me around my desk. “Marcella hates being late.”

“Marcella hates a grand number of things,” I say, snatching my other chicken so neither will be lonely during the ride to dinner. “That is perhaps my single defining trait.”

Finn glances down at me for many long moments, chuckles, and says, “Nah. Not even in the top ten.”

How dare he.

Nevertheless, I’m smiling all the way to the limo, where he breaks and tells me he bought me something else for us to parent. Something I’ve wanted for a long, long time. Something that makes Cody’s face twist in abject disgust.

Shrieking with uncharacteristic glee after my husband shows me the most perfect, most precious, most darling picture of a baby corn snake ever , I dive into his arms—and bite him while I kick my legs.