Epilogue

Strings of hundreds of bistro lights hang between the two white tents on the grounds of the Belacourt Resort, creating a twinkling web under the twilight sky covering Sunset Harbor. Under one tent sit two dozen tables, each with a white tablecloth and three glass cylinders full of soft white sand and glowing tea lights. Most of the tables are empty now, since everyone has migrated to the other tent. Below that one, Mia and Austin sing a ballad on the stage in front of the dance floor, where two dozen couples are slow dancing.

On the side of the floor, my parents stand talking with Mark and Joy Palmer. It’s a modern miracle—and one I don’t take for granted. It’s all thanks to Beau. Let’s be honest. There was no way my parents wouldn’t love him.

Fingers slip through mine, and a hand steals around my waist. Lips press to the hollow below my ear, and I smile at the familiar scent that envelops me.

“Hey, wife,” Beau says.

My heart flips, and I turn toward him as he hands me a drink. I’ve been parched for a while from all the dancing, but now that he’s beside me again, I have my eyes on a whole different tall glass of water. If I thought I loved Beau most in a dark suit, it’s only because I hadn’t seen him in a beige linen one. Now that he’s a full-time cop, he’s in his buttoned-up, pressed uniform more than ever, which is why I love that he’s wearing no tie and that the top button of his white collared shirt is undone.

“Hey, husband,” I say, setting the water next to the guestbook on the table beside me. On the other side of the table stands the infamous birdfeeder. It’s an eyesore in this otherwise gorgeous venue, but it was a non-negotiable for both of us. There’s not birdfeed in the well at the moment—instead, it’s full of folded-up papers where our wedding guests have left their well-wishes for us.

“Think they’d notice if we left?” His fingers toy suggestively with the button at the small of my back as his breath grazes my neck.

I shut my eyes and try to breathe, but I still haven’t gotten the hang of that when Beau touches me this way. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take.”

Grams’s house—no, Beau’s and my house—is waiting for us. We signed on it a week ago but decided we wanted to wait for our wedding night to sleep in it together, though sleep might be a generous term.

“Beau!” Grams’s voice barks.

We turn as she makes her way toward us, hobbling with her walker. She’s gotten worse over the past few months, but she’s a fighter.

“Are you ready or not?” she asks him.

“Ready for what?” I ask.

Grams stares me down, and I put my hands up in surrender, looking at Beau.

“Just a quick little thing I promised I’d do,” he explains. “Should only take a couple minutes. Here, just come with us.”

I follow behind them as Beau tries to help Grams get her walker unstuck from a crack between the pavers and gets smacked on the arm for his trouble. He looks back at me with a smile.

Gosh, I love him .

Grams leads the way under the tent with the dance floor and makes her way to the stage, tugging on the hem of Mia’s gold sequined dress.

Mia crouches while Austin finishes the song on his own. “What’s up, Grams?”

Grams leans in and whispers something in her ear. Mia’s brows go up.

“Just do it,” Grams says in an ornery voice.

“Okay,” she says, though she looks unconvinced. She leans over to Austin, who listens, then smiles, nods, and starts going through his phone.

I shoot a look at Beau, and he just grins.

“Come on, then, Palmer,” Grams says.

Beau kisses me on the lips, then follows after her. “You know, your granddaughter is a Palmer too now.”

“Don’t remind me,” she says as she scoots through the crowd toward the middle of the floor.

“We’ve had the traditional bride and groom dance,” Mia says from the stage, “but now we have a special dance between the groom and the bride’s grandmother.”

My brows shoot up as the first chords of a Journey song start. Beau and Grams are going to slow dance together?

Beau puts his hands on her waist, and she smacks them away, drawing laughs from the crowd. I laugh too, but it’s a nervous one. Sure, the two of them have made progress in the last nine months, but Grams is a powder keg, and today is a lot for her to accept. I’d rather not have the keg explode on my wedding night if at all possible.

I try to breathe and focus on the gesture this is—a public acknowledgement that Grams is putting the feuding behind her.

They both keep one hand on her walker, while their others clasp in the air, and they shift from side to side. It’s awkward. And really cute.

The electric guitar comes in, signaling that the pace of the song is picking up. Beau nods at Grams, and her mouth pulls into a huge grin. Their clasped hands drop, then Grams grabs her walker and shoves it across the dance floor.

My eyes widen as Beau and Grams hold hands and turn so they’re both facing the crowd. And then they start dancing. Not slow dancing. This is a choreographed dance routine to Mia and Austin singing “Don’t Stop Believing.”

My hand flies to my mouth as they do the cabbage patch, the robot, then the running man. Grams’s version is a little more subdued than Beau’s, but for a seventy-eight-year-old woman who’s been using a walker for months now, she’s knocking it out of the park. I can’t believe my eyes, and I find myself shaking with laughter and a few tears as they turn toward each other and Beau spins her around, then dips her.

About halfway through the song, Grams motions to Mia, sliding her hand across her neck to tell her to end it. She’s smiling but clearly out of breath.

I run onto the dance floor and pull her into my arms, laughing and crying all at once. “You crazy old woman! Do you even need a walker?”

“Nope! Haven’t for a couple of months. But lugging it around with me was worth the look on your face.”

I kiss her on the cheek, then turn to Beau, looking at him with a mixture of awe and you’re-in-so-much-trouble.

“I’ve secretly been going with her to physical therapy,” he explains through his own grin. “We wanted to surprise you.”

“Mission accomplished. She’s adamantly refused to go with me, though. What did you do to convince her?”

He shrugs. “When I floated the idea for this, she changed her tune. You know she loves being devious.”

I shake my head, still in awe, then grab his lapels and yank him toward me for a kiss.

Most of Sunset Harbor is here tonight, and everyone cheers as Beau dips me until I can feel my veil resting on the floor .

He pulls me to my feet, and our lips break apart. His eyes stare into mine, and he cradles my cheek with a hand. “Do you still love me, Gemma Girl?” It’s the question he’s started asking me every now and then.

My answer is always the same.

“Forever.”

And it always will be.

THE END