Epilogue

P eyton has been a good sport today. I know it stung a little not being the one to ride the one-mile stretch down Main Street for the Fall Festival. But she’s been rocking the fundraising part to the point that she’s blown past being named royalty. She’s a tycoon.

“What’s the grand total so far?” I ask her as she takes the towel from my hands on her way out of the dunk tank. Every cheer member did fifteen minutes in the hotseat, and last I checked, they were up to six grand. Peyton had a hell of a line waiting to send her to the cold water. She even let Bryce pay for a round but charged him double.

It took every ounce of self-control in my body to sit back and let him throw at the target like that. Unlike the rest of her customers, she didn’t even have to heckle him to get him going. He’s still working through his bruised ego. At least my girl got forty bucks out of him.

“Tash, where are we at after my turn?” Peyton steps behind her friend as she counts cash, then adds the newest round of bills to a deposit bag and tally spreadsheet.

“Sixty-eight hundred. You pulled in eight on your own. Damn, girl. People love to hate on you!”

They high five, but when Tasha goes back to managing the booth, I make sure to square Peyton’s shoulders with mine and look her in the eyes.

“Nobody hates you,” I say, not wanting anything negative to ever tear her down.

Her head tilts to the side and she glances up through her batting lashes.

“ Pshh , I know. I’m awesome,” she says, laughing before finishing her brag.

She glances over my shoulder, her smile falling a tad. Bryce is lifting another Coolidge cheerleader over his shoulder and carrying her to the Ferris wheel.

“Is that hard to see?” I ask, that jealous itch in my belly needing a scratch. I look back to Peyton. She shrugs.

“Not at all. I’m just not sure who I feel worse for in that duo—Stephanie or Bryce. Maybe they deserve each other.”

I nudge her chin toward me and tickle her lips with mine, closing my eyes as I hum.

“I don’t deserve you,” I say.

She lifts up on her toes and deepens the kiss, suckling on my bottom lip, which is maybe my favorite thing in the world.

“You don’t just deserve me, you’re stuck with me,” she says, falling back on her heels and patting the center of my chest. “So, are you going to suck it up and come to my homecoming with me next weekend or not?” She gives me a coy look, but I decided the second she told me she got permission from the school for me to attend that there was zero chance I’d miss out on being her plus-one. Apparently, Coolidge homecoming is a big deal. And it’s in her family’s barn. I don’t think I could avoid the event if I wanted to.

“I am. But I should probably ask your dad’s permission. You know, sort of a classic gentleman move.”

She smirks, and I tilt my head and suck in my lips, curious—and very cautious.

“That look means something,” I say.

“No, it doesn’t. Oh, and are you going to donate to our booth? You promised.” She holds out a flat open palm.

My head falls back as I chuckle and reach for my wallet.

“Ah, I see. This is all to get twenty bucks out of me,” I joke.

She rips the bill from my fingers as soon as it’s out of my wallet and immediately hands it to Tasha at the booth behind her.

“Thank you very much, Mr. Stone. Here are your three softballs, and there”— she spins me around to face my idol, now perched on the dunk tank hot seat—“Is your chance to ask my dad for permission.”

“That was not nice, Peyton,” I laugh out.

“What’s this I hear about homecoming?” her dad shouts at me, clearly in on it.

“Uh,” I stammer.

“What’s wrong, big fancy record-breaker? Cat got your tongue?” Reed is piling it on, and his voice booms so there’s now a bit of a crowd. Coach Watts has even stepped up behind me to throw his weight in my corner.

“Don’t fuck this up, Stone,” he taunts. Okay, so maybe not quite in my corner.

I toss the ball in my hand a few times, then let it fly at the target, missing by a few inches. Reed’s laugh breaks through the area like a sharp thunder roll. Soon, others are laughing with him. This is fun for him; I can tell. And I get it. I’m the young punk who broke his records. And I’m in love with his daughter. But I’m gonna hit that target with one of these.

“Guess my accuracy record isn’t in trouble,” he barks out.

I scowl jokingly.

“That’s not even a thing,” I yell, letting the next ball rip. It misses but comes closer.

“Good thing, because you’d never make the list!”

Shit. Now I really want to dunk him. But I’m also still a little afraid of him. And literally half the town is here watching. I glance up and catch the Ferris wheel cart that Bryce is in, and it’s hard to tell from here, but I’m pretty sure he’s watching too. I bet if it weren’t so loud out here with music and the crowd, I could hear him razzing me from up above.

“Come on, Wyatt. You wanna take me to hoco, don’t you?” Peyton says at my ear, her teasing voice definitely not appropriate for her father to hear. I swallow hard and block out the distractions, my focus on the black and white target about thirty feet away.

“All I’m saying is I would have done it on the first toss. So maybe you’re not the hotshot they say you are,” Reed says, and before he can finish his taunt, I sail the ball at the target, nailing it dead center and sending him plummeting into the frigid tank.

“Yes!” Peyton shouts, rushing at me and leaping into my arms, her legs wrapping around my waist as her wet hair chills my cheeks and neck. She kisses me as I swing her around, and when I put her back on the ground, she rushes to her dad with a towel. He’s climbed out of the booth.

“Did you seriously get in that thing just to harass me?”

He chuckles and runs the towel over his head, his CHS coaching shirt glued to his body. Dude looks like Jack Reacher.

He walks past me, still laughing, and his massive hand slaps me on the back twice.

“I sure did, kid. I sure did.”

I turn slowly as he walks over to a picnic table where Nolan is waiting for him with a dry shirt. She holds up a hand in a wave, her smirk matching the same one her daughter flashes.

“You were all in on that, weren’t you?” I piece it together as the words leave my mouth.

“Maybe,” Peyton hums, circling her arms around my waist and resting her head on my chest. “Welcome to the family, Wyatt Stone.”

I keep my eyes on her parents and baby sister while I bend my head down and to the side to kiss the top of her head. I manage to keep my breath steady, but I don’t know what my heart is doing. I don’t want to freak her out with how much her words just hit me, and I definitely don’t want to cry in public right now with so many eyes on me. But that one word— family —is big. It’s maybe even bigger than love. Or maybe it is love. My tiny family has had a really hard year, though. And the fact hers just opened their arms—that Peyton gifted this to me—means more than any stupid record in the books. It’s everything. And so is she.