Epilogue

"Hey, Noah."

I set my bag down on the kitchen table before walking up behind Noah. He's stirring dinner cooking on the stove. I wrap my arms around him and press a kiss to the back of his neck.

"Hey, babe." He cranes his neck back to kiss my cheek. "How was work?"

I shrug and absentmindedly ruffle his hair before stepping away and peeling off my coat. "It was uneventful. We start that new project tomorrow, though. Nora's flying in in the morning for the intro."

"Oh, great! I haven't seen her in ages."

"Don't lie, Noah. I know you don't like her," I inform him matter-of-factly, to which he swivels around with a sassy hand on his hip that goes just swell with his "Trophy Wife" apron.

"I like her just fine. It's her incessant need to interrogate me that I'm not so fond of."

I know the feeling.

"You know how Nora is. She doesn't mean anything by it."

"I know, babe." The corners of his mouth tilt up and I can just barely make out the indents in his cheeks where his dimples are. He regards me for a moment more before returning to his meal, and I take it upon myself to join him, wrapping myself around his arm and peeking down into the suspicious brown-looking liquid.

"That looks...new," I comment, hoping I sound more sure than I feel. Noah has a lot of talents, but unfortunately, cooking is not one of them. But…he loves trying it out and I'm trying to be nice about it.

"Yeah!" he beams. "It's my own recipe that I'm trying out. It's got chicken broth, carrots, and cinnamon."

Oh, Lord.

"Well, it's definitely gonna be unique." I run my thumb along the warm skin of his bicep, tracing my favorite tattoo of his—a chess piece, the queen—then I let my eyes wander and inspect the length of his soft jaw. His stubble is freshly shaved, but I can still see the shadow of where it will grow back. His hair is short and curly, just how I like it, and for once, it seems to actually be in order as opposed to the mop of chaos it usually is. He's got dark circles under his eyes that tell me he was probably up all night working on lesson plans again. School doesn't start for another two weeks, but he's been obsessed lately with making sure his first year of teaching goes well.

"What'd you do today?" I inquire, resting my head on his shoulder. He wastes no time in leaning down to kiss the top of it.

"Well, Mom brought the girls over for lunch. Betty was bothering me again about giving her free A's, but she shut up when I pulled out the ice cream."

I laugh at the thought. Ever since Betty found out that Noah was going to be her sixth-grade teacher, she's become even more rowdy than usual. Noah has the patience for it, though, which will never not be impressive. He's certainly much better than me because I'd have lost my patience a month ago when she told him she would "allow him the privilege" of sitting with her and her friends at lunch.

"Your mom is a saint for staying home with them all summer."

Noah lets out a sharp breath of air that I know means the kids put him through the wringer today. I think briefly of ways I can find to relax him once we're in bed later.

"My mom's a saint for not dropping them off here and making me babysit," he counters. "I think she enjoyed the time with them, though, especially since she's about to get so busy. She starts at the school a week before I do, y'know. The secretaries have to get the paperwork sorted, or something like that."

I tilt my head to the side. "She's excited about it, though, isn't she?"

"Oh, yeah, absolutely," Noah confirms. "Betts, though?"

I grin and recite the line we've all memorized in unison with him, "She'd rather die than have to see her mom at school every day."

We laugh, and I pat Noah's shoulder. "She gets her dramatic streak from you."

Noah gapes at me and puts a hand to his chest. "Me? Dramatic? As if."

"As if," I mock in an exaggerated pitched voice. "You're ridiculous, Laurier."

"Me?" he repeats just as excessively. "Ridiculous?"

"Oh, hush," I placate him. "I take it back, alright? You are, have been, and always will be perfect. Better?"

"Much." Noah tugs at a loose strand of my hair. He pauses his vigorous stirring of his mystery soup to lean in and take a long sniff of it. He thinks for a moment then his eyes brighten. "Vanilla! It needs vanilla!"

I grimace and take the spoon from his hand. It's become a weapon at this point.

"Baby, what it needs is a fresh start."

Noah waves me off and snatches the spoon right back. He fills it to the brim with his concoction and takes a big sip. I note the exact moment that the pain flashes across his face.

"Okay," he admits after a thick swallow. "So maybe it needs a little salt. Or a lot of salt. Or a trip down the garbage disposal."

I laugh at the adorable crease between his brow and reach up to smooth it out. "You dump the cinnamon soup, and I'll go order a pizza."

Noah nods with a sheepish little smile. He looks so sweet I think I might just die.

Okay, so maybe dramatics run in the family.

"Sorry, Luce. I wanted to have something ready for you when you got home."

"You did your best." I gather his hand in mine and gently squeeze. "That's more than enough."

Noah's smile deepens, and his eyes soften. He squeezes my hand right back, and I relish in the thought that even after all this time, we fit so well. Our hands, our bodies, our minds, our lives. He's my cheat code, the one that will always be there to help me outsmart the game.

"You're kind of a sap," he teases delicately. "You know that?"

Fate is a funny thing. It'll seem like it's always out to get you, then when you least expect it, it shows you that it was on your side all along. I think about it a lot, the course my life would have taken if I hadn't missed that first flight. Maybe I'd be jaded and alone. Maybe I wouldn't. Maybe, sometimes, I'd still think about the rude boy from my Women's Literature class and wonder what dumb girl he conned into marrying him. Maybe I'd have moved back in with my mother (God forbid). Maybe I'd be married to a different man.

Maybe there's no such thing as fate. Maybe I just lucked into a happy ending.

All I can say for sure is that life is tricky. It tested me and pushed me so far beyond my limits that I thought I'd never return. The problems seemed unsolvable, and maybe some of them still are.

It turns out, though, that sometimes the good just so happens to outweigh the bad.

"Only for you, Noah Laurier."