Epilogue

Niles- Labor Day Weekend

S lowly, I peeled the paper from the decal, holding my breath as though restricting airflow might ensure perfect adhesion. Constance and I had spent a solid hour measuring and marking the wall for its placement so it would lay precisely where she wanted it.

When the paper popped free, I exhaled and peered along the musical staff with its delicately placed notes to where it ended on the far side of the wall.

Behind me, Constance giddily clapped. “You did it.”

“ We did it.”

“We. Thank you, Niles.” She used her voice a lot more lately—with August and me—despite hating its flat, husky tone, despite August’s growing proficiency with American Sign Language.

I glanced over my shoulder at where she stood at the base of the ladder. We shared a smile and took in the room with its fresh coat of paint and personalized adornments.

“That about does it. Time to move your furniture in.”

Constance pirouetted and danced about the room, wonder sparkling in her vibrant eyes. She had come to life over the past few months, smiling more and settling down.

“Dad,” she called into the house. “Come see. We’re done.”

On September first, August and Constance shut down the cottage, packed their belongings, and moved in with me.

Constance might have been returning to school on Tuesday morning and relocating to the dormitories to live among her classmates, but she deserved a space at home too, a bedroom to decorate as she pleased for when she returned for holidays and summer break.

I’d made it happen, converting a rarely used office into a suitable teenage dwelling. We’d chosen soft lavender paint and spent the past week coating the walls and shopping for customized decorations. The music decals provided the finishing touch.

Constance had declined August’s offer to live at home during the school year. The distance and fact that I taught at the school would have meant easy access, but the thrill of dorm living hadn’t worn off—she’d barely experienced it—and Constance eagerly counted the days before she could return to school in the same capacity as everyone else at Timber Creek.

Her relationship with her father grew in increments. Baby steps forward. It wasn’t perfect, and August still struggled to understand teenage mood swings. He didn’t take things as personally as before, but there were days I caught the two in mid-battle and had to break things up.

Constance had visited her mother a few times, but their bond had lessened as Constance slowly acknowledged and accepted what she’d been through. Her announcement that she wanted to teach had not gone well with the retired prima donna, and Chloé blamed August for polluting her brain.

As for August and me, our relationship flourished. The anger I’d clung to when he went back to Chicago was a distant memory. We’d talked for long hours about the changes he’d made to his life and about our future. He worried I couldn’t or wouldn’t forgive him, but forgiveness was easy when I absorbed the whole picture.

August had never lied. He’d never made promises he couldn’t keep, and for that, I loved him fearlessly, passionately, wholly, and completely. He was a man of strong morals and profound dedication—to his job and family. And I’d become part of that family.

We were both flawed. We both struggled with uncertainties. His oblivious arrogance drove me up the wall some days, but my self-doubt did the same to him. Ultimately, we learned to laugh and support each other through our imperfections.

August appeared in the doorway and glanced at the new decal. “Wow. It looks lovely, and might I say, I’m eternally grateful the notes are hung in the correct direction.”

“Dad.” Constance rolled her eyes.

“Don’t be a shit.” I tossed him a wad of crumpled paper from the back of the sticker.

August caught it, chuckling. “What? It’s a reasonable concern. I distinctly remember fixing incorrectly hung music notes on your classroom door nearly daily.”

“And you blame me for that?”

“It was your classroom.”

I deadpanned.

August laughed again and scanned the room, nodding. “It looks fantastic.”

“Can we set up my furniture?” Constance pressed her hands together in prayer formation. “Please, Daddy.”

I checked the time. “You can start if you want, but your dad and I have dinner plans tonight, remember? Are you sure you don’t want to go?”

Constance wrinkled her nose and shook her head. Dining with two of her teachers on the last day of summer vacation was not high on her list of fun activities, and I’d told Koa as much when he’d invited us over.

“Just don’t hurt yourself. Save the larger pieces for when we’re home to help.”

“I will.” She dashed down the hall, and the hollow thunk of footsteps descending the stairs to the basement sounded a moment later. We’d temporarily moved her boxes down there while we worked on her bedroom.

“Are you ready?” I asked August as I folded the stepladder and collected the rest of the garbage from the decals.

“I am. Are you?” He scanned my person.

“Ten minutes. I have to change.”

We were out the door in eight, August shouting a warning to his daughter about having boys over when we weren’t home. She either ignored him or rolled her eyes in the privacy of her room.

“I thought she and Cody broke up.” I buckled my seat belt and eyed August.

“No. They’re back together.”

“Again?”

“Again.”

I chuckled. “Teenage love. It’s so finicky.”

August drove. He’d been flaunting his newly leased vehicle since he got it a few weeks ago. I didn’t mind and texted Koa to tell him we were on our way.

Although August had met Jersey and Koa several times in passing, we’d never officially done anything as couples. I’d needed to have August all to myself for a time before I was ready and willing to share him. Also, formally introducing August to my ex, a man I’d been intimately involved with for over a year, who was now my best friend, was strange.

Jersey greeted us at the door and motioned toward the kitchen. “The chef is hard at work. If he’s behind schedule, I take full responsibility.”

“Save it. I don’t want to know.”

Jersey chuckled. “Believe me, I wish that was the reason.”

We found Koa hard at work at the counter, a glass of wine within reach. A mixture of spicy and savory smells permeated the air. Classical music played softly in the background.

The island was littered with a mountain of books, all of them either tabbed or lying open, the pages weighed down with various kitchen implements.

“Ignore the mess. I would have cleaned, but…” He eyed Jersey.

“I said I was sorry.”

“We’ll eat in the dining room.” Koa turned back to the counter.

“What are you working on?” I rotated a few books to view their spines and read their titles.

“I’m rearranging parts of my curriculum and choosing new material. I need to freshen it up.”

“Holy crap. Are you finally moving out of your depressive era?”

Jersey laughed, almost choking on his beer, earning a tight-lipped glare from his partner. “Sorry,” Jersey mumbled, still chuckling.

To Koa, I said, “I take it that would be a no.”

“No.”

“You’re not adding Faulkner, are you?”

“Honestly, Niles. Do you think my students would take to Faulkner?”

“Not in this lifetime. What’s for dinner?” I asked before he could rant about my poor literary opinions.

“Lebanese cuisine. Mujadara, tabbouleh, and pistachio baklava for dessert.” He nearly spat the last menu item like he wasn’t pleased.

I quirked a brow.

“The baklava is homemade,” Jersey added.

“The cake was too,” Koa spat.

“Cake?” I asked.

“He tried a cake thing first, but—”

“Tried? The effort isn’t the issue, Jersey. The cake was sensational.” Koa chopped with more vigor. “Rather, it would have been sensational, but my lovely partner got into it, and there was nothing left but crumbs, so I had to start again. I didn’t have enough ingredients to remake the cake, so you get baklava and a late supper since it put me behind.”

Jersey at least had the grace to look ashamed. “I didn’t know it was meant for dinner. It was delicious.”

“You’ve said. Wine?” Koa asked, wiping his hands on a towel.

August perked up. “That would be lovely.”

“In the fridge. Niles, would you be so kind? I’m busy.”

I found glasses and retrieved a bottle of Zinfandel. “This one?”

“Yes.” Koa gestured to the bottle with a tip of his head. “It’s Lebanese as well, both rich in aroma and flavor. Let me know what you think.”

As appreciative of good wine as Koa, August accepted the challenge, examining the color and aerating it before taking a minimal sip and sloshing it around his mouth. He turned thoughtful, and Koa paused dinner preparation to study my partner as he awaited the verdict.

“Oh boy,” Jersey and I said at the same time.

“This could get ugly.” Jersey took the words out of my mouth.

I feared August and Koa’s fervent love for wine might cause disagreements. They shared a passion and bullheadedness I was only then coming to realize.

August licked residual wine from his lips before speaking. “Finding an appropriate accompanying wine for Lebanese food can be challenging. The cuisine tends to utilize several particular spices that are hard to match, but I find selecting one with a similar structure of flavors helps.” He sipped again, examined the meal Koa prepared, and nodded approvingly. “Excellent choice. I couldn’t have done better.”

“Oh, thank god,” I muttered, knees almost buckling. “I was afraid you might bring the fires of hell down upon us.”

Seemingly pleased with August’s assessment, Koa shifted his gaze to me, brows meeting in the middle. Before he could open his mouth, I held up a finger. “Yes, I know. There is no god, and the only hell that exists is in your classroom during the winter semester when you teach existentialism.”

Koa guffawed.

Jersey snorted beer out his nose and went into a coughing fit to try to cover it up.

August quirked a brow with a smile.

I sipped my wine and smirked. “You’re right,” I said to August. “This is good wine.”

Koa pointed at August. “He’s your problem now.”

“Isn’t he delightful?” August wrapped an arm around me and drew me against his side, pecking a kiss on my temple. I warmed at the contact, leaning against him and taking comfort in his scent and solidity.

Koa’s animosity shifted to a look of contentment. “He is. Welcome to the family, August. I haven’t seen Niles this happy in a long time.”

Koa returned to meal prep, and Jersey joined him, offering to help.

I took August’s hand and led him into the large den so we wouldn’t be in the way. August took in the high bookshelves before zeroing in on the piano in the corner. “Does Koa play?”

“Yes, but his love for music is complicated. Tainted, in a way. It’s a long story. Music requires you to emotionally invest in yourself. One must be willing to risk exposure, be vulnerable, and display one’s true heart to the audience. Koa’s never been able to do that. He’s… emotionally compromised, and I say that kindly. It’s not his fault. But how can you properly translate the meaning behind what the composer has written if you’re afraid to bear your soul?”

August released my hand and approached the piano, lifting the fallboard. He tinkled a few keys before shifting and meeting my gaze. A thoughtful expression glimmered in his dark eyes. “You believe that?”

“Of course. You don’t? Music is a communication of raw emotion.”

“In that case, I feel like I’ve won the lottery.”

“I’m not following.”

“Maybe you don’t remember this, or maybe it bears less significance for you, but shortly after my return from Chicago, you sat down at the piano and played for me. I didn’t ask you to. You simply decided on your own to take that step. Before that day, you rarely shared your music. Getting you to play anything was a struggle. But in that moment, your reticence vanished. It was the first time I saw you play with confidence. Ever since that night, you’ve lost all inhibition. You don’t second-guess yourself and are no longer tense or fearful of judgment. Your music reflects those changes. It’s become soulful and deep. Moving… beautiful.”

It was true, but I didn’t understand the relevance.

August lowered the fallboard and approached. He tucked a stray piece of hair behind my ear from where it had fallen from the tie. “Based on your logic, you are no longer afraid to be vulnerable in front of me. You openly and willingly display your heart, and—”

“I’m emotionally invested,” I finished.

August smiled and cupped my cheek. “Exactly. You trust me… This .”

“I do.”

“You have no idea how happy that makes me. I love you, Niles… you’re my salvation.”

August’s lips met mine, and I’d never felt more at peace. Maybe a symphony was locked inside me, too, ready to be brought to life.