Epilogue

One Year Later

Dylan pokes at the little cake on its stand. "I think it's ready."

I swat his hand. "It's going to be full of holes if you keep that up."

In true form, Dylan can bench press 250 pounds, run a marathon, and climb precariously steep trails like a mountain goat, but somehow cannot manage enough self-control to let the top tier of his wedding cake defrost for his and Mateo's first anniversary.

"Besides, Sana's not here with the champagne yet," I remind him.

"She couldn't just grab something from the wine shop down the street?"

"Dylan. This is our ‘Jam-four-ee,'" I say, parroting the nickname that he gave this night himself, since we are celebrating four distinct occasions at once. "You think Sana wasn't going to seize on the opportunity to get one of those gigantic, toddler-size champagne bottles at the liquor store?"

His eyes light up. "Is she really?"

"Yes. And you're in charge of opening it. What else was all this lifting for, if not leading up to this specific task?"

The lights brighten around us then, illuminating the front of the shop—illuminating the brand-new Tea Tide. I glance around the familiar space with its unfamiliar new shades, and for a moment I feel a swell of pride so intense it nearly bowls me over. It took a solid year of hustling out of the commercial kitchen, driving the food truck all over Benson Beach, but little by little, we carved out enough of a space for ourselves in town that we were able to bring Tea Tide back to its original location, where everything began.

This isn't the Tea Tide it used to be, though. We've swapped out the vintage teacups for cozy mugs. The dainty florals and pastels are now a little bit bigger and brighter. The tables and chairs are lighter, easier to move around the space for events and rotating weekly themed nights. There's art from local artists hanging on the walls for sale, in collaboration with the museum. It's louder and looser and Benson Beach down to its core, a "no shoes, no problem" kind of vibe, somewhere you can kick back after a long day at the beach or relax with a book. Somewhere you can walk inside and get a sense not just of Tea Tide, but of the whole town it calls home.

Nancy had been subletting the old space for the year we were gone, but after seeing the strides we were making, she offered us the space back to bring that same energy into a fresh, new Tea Tide—one we both knew I could handle, now that we'd ingrained ourselves so deeply in the community. And as overwhelming as it might have been to make another big shift back into the space, the transition was almost seamless, like collecting all these threads we'd been weaving over the last year and finally twisting them into something whole.

With the new décor and vibe, it may seem like a total revamp, but after a year like this, it isn't, really. We've been at the heart of so many local events and gatherings with the Tea Tide Mobile that it was just a matter of collecting parts of Benson Beach along the way. Now we have a bartender from Games on Games who is leading game nights on Tuesdays, a bunch of university students who are leading an open mic on Wednesdays, Levi himself spearheading writer nights on Thursdays, and a local band we'd park next to when they performed in the park doing live music on Sundays. It's been a slow and steady change, one that has had its fair share of growing pains, but one we've grown into just the same.

Tonight, we're setting the stage, but tomorrow—our official reopening—we'll get to see it all come to life. I'm so excited, it will be a miracle if I sleep a wink.

"Were you guys just going to celebrate in the dark?" asks Levi, coming in from the back with his hand on the light switch, the other hand occupied with holding several champagne glasses.

In my defense, I've been so busy with last-minute touches to Jam-four-ee and keeping Dylan away from his own cake that I didn't realize the sun was starting to set.

"We were just waiting for you, the light of our lives," I tease, walking over to kiss him hello. It's been five hours max since we took a lunch break together at the condo we're now both living in, but with all the flurry of preparing for tonight's celebration and tomorrow's opening, it feels like we've been go, go, go all week.

Levi sets the glasses on the table, then leans in to deepen the kiss, settling his hands on my waist. I feel the last lingering stress of the day ease out of me as I sink into the familiar warmth of him, breathing in that earthy-sweet smell.

"Happy Tea Tide Eve," Levi says, eyes bright when he pulls away.

Mateo pointedly clears his throat to get past us, plates and nap kins in hand to set on the little table at the center of Tea Tide where we've propped the cake and a little shrine to all the things we're celebrating, including some new scones. Levi and I pull apart, his hands still on my waist, as Mateo takes in the display.

"Dare I even ask what this one is?" asks Mateo, pointing at a plate of scones.

"A Fizzle scone," I say, beaming. "A Red Bull base with a baked Pringles crust."

Of the four celebrations tonight, one is marking the one-year anniversary of Sana's job at Fizzle , which they offered her almost immediately after her article, "Griffin Hapler: A Study in Modern Millennial Gaslighting," went so viral that everyone from college students to stay-at-home parents to pop stars was retweeting it. It only further blew up when Lisel not only shared it on Instagram but went way further into detail in a video about Griffin's manipulative personality than anyone was anticipating. (Griffin is now relishing a pseudo-career as the "villain" in Business Savvy spin-offs, which suits everyone just fine.)

Safe to say, Sana has been kicking ass right and left with hard-hitting cultural commentary pieces ever since. If we made a new scone every time one of her pieces went viral, we'd probably need to add another floor to Tea Tide.

"Hell yeah," says Dylan, visibly restraining himself from taking a bite of one.

"I'm scared of the inside of your brain," says Levi, not without affection.

"And this one?" Mateo asks.

"The Sky Seekers scone. Blueberry and sriracha." Off Mateo's curious look, I shrug. "It's the closest thing I could think of for a ‘water and fire' theme like the main characters' powers."

Levi smiles over my head, because it's also one of the few scones he'll actually eat since it isn't a "giant cookie." And also because he is sheepish that we're celebrating The Sky Seekers at all when he insists there's nothing to celebrate over yet. But a few months ago, when he finished the first version of the manuscript, the editor interested in his New York book put him in touch with an agent who specialized in young adult novels. The agent loved it, and now that the two of them have gone back and forth perfecting the draft these past few weeks, they're finally going to start submitting the finalized version to editors, starting tomorrow. Plenty to celebrate, in my opinion.

Mateo doesn't have to ask about the third plate of scones—the Revenge Ex, which we only whip out on special occasions these days. It seems like coming full circle on Tea Tide opening again counts as the perfect one.

"Oh, phew," says Sana, walking in with a champagne bottle large enough to hold half the Atlantic. "I was just texting Aiden to make bets over whether Dylan would wait for me before he wolfed down the cake."

"I wouldn't dream of it," says Dylan, taking the bottle from her. And then, after a beat: "But if we don't pop that bottle soon, I am going to start eating it with my bare hands."

We make quick work of our "cheers" then, raising our glasses to Sana's eloquent toast: "To all of us being stupidly in love and kicking ass at life." A minute later, we're cutting into the defrosted cake—a pistachio cake with lemon zest and lemon frosting, two flavors that do, in fact, pair perfectly together—and lounging on the cozy bench with mismatched pillows I put right up in the front, where there's a picturesque view of the ocean. We spend the evening recounting funny moments from Dylan and Mateo's wedding ("I didn't know June could scream like that until ‘Uptown Funk' came on," says Mateo, haunted), Sana's favorite articles ("I still can't believe I made a former cast member of The Office cry!"), our upcoming plans for the still-operational Tea Tide Mobile, and the ideas Levi is tentatively outlining before he decides on what to write next.

Once the night winds down and we've finished picking up after ourselves, I feel a thrill of anticipation and excitement jolt through me. They're those nervous first-day-of-school jitters I haven't felt in so long that I'm relishing them even as I take a breath and try to push them down.

Levi takes my hand in his, the gesture so instantly grounding that I feel myself relaxing even before he says, "Want to take a quick walk on the beach?"

I nod, squeezing his hand. We lock up the shop and I revel in the satisfaction of it, of having an entire place to open and close again, four solid walls that are distinctly, perfectly Tea Tide. Maybe not the Tea Tide we envisioned as kids, maybe not the Tea Tide Annie was striving for, but the Tea Tide that feels like home. The Tea Tide that feels like sitting on the porch with our mom, bare feet dangling from the chairs, little hands reaching for the decaf tea she poured out of the pot. The Tea Tide that feels like looking over at Annie from the brims of our mugs, a shared spark between sisters, a happy, hopeful, messy moment in time that feels more preserved in this version of Tea Tide than it ever was.

The warm breeze lifts Levi's curls and ghosts up my thin Tea Tide shirt as we wander down, still hand in hand, walking to the faint glow of the lamps on the boardwalk beyond us. It's a quiet night, the beach mostly empty, the waves sounding like little whispers against the sand.

"Hey," says Levi. "You want to race to the pier?"

I raise my eyebrows. We haven't done this in a while.

"What are we racing for?" I ask, turning to look up at Levi.

Only it's not the Levi I'm expecting to see, with that new, easy smile I've gotten used to or the old mischief in his eyes. They're both still there, but under something that's brimming, something that's hopeful and nervous and so sincere that it feels like the breeze has dipped low in my stomach before I even know what he's going to say.

His throat bobs, his eyes so earnest on mine that my heart starts fluttering in my chest like it's trying to fly out of it.

"If you win," he says, his voice quiet and steady, "you marry me."

All at once my eyes are welling up, a smile blooming on my face.

"And if you win?" I manage to ask through the tide already swelling in me, threatening to tip me over right into the sand.

"If I win, you marry me," he says, with a watery smile of his own.

I twist my lip, trying not to laugh, trying not to cry, but the way he's looking at me right now—with so much love that it puts the infinite expanse of the ocean to shame—it's proving a near impossible feat.

"Those are some pretty high stakes," I say, my throat tight with happiness.

Levi nods and says, "We'll have to give it our all."

"All right," I say, drawing a starting line in the sand. The first one I've ever drawn knowing that it doesn't have a finish. "On your mark—get set— go. "

And then we're off, feet flying, wind whipping around us, breathing in salt and sand, past and future, heartache and hope as we run our last race, the endless one, the only one that counts. The one that stretches beyond the pier, beyond the view I used to stare at from the top of my old tree, beyond the two of us, pulling us forward even as we push ourselves toward it. Already I can feel these moments becoming a part of our history; already I can feel the magic of them crystallizing in my heart, a steady certainty against wild joy. The beginning of something that isn't the end of anything else, that doesn't have an end of its own.

I know what's going to happen before Levi's arm wraps around my waist, before he swoops me up again the way he did a year ago, just before the photo of us in the sand dune went viral. I let out a giddy, half-shrieking laugh just the same as we cross the pier together and Levi angles us back into the dune, the two of us rolling in a heap until we come to a breathless stop, backs against the sand and eyes staring up at the stars. I turn my head toward his and find his eyes already on mine.

"Dead tie," he observes, shifting himself up to offer me his hand.

I take it, easing back onto my feet. "So what now?" I ask, lightly teasing as he pulls me in tight.

His voice is low, almost hoarse with feeling, as he gives me a quick squeeze before he lets me go. "It seems I'm just going to have to ask the old-fashioned way."

Levi's hand dips into his pocket, producing a small velvet box. He gets down on one knee in the sand, and I know he's probably had this planned for weeks—probably expected this to go a certain way—but suddenly I can't stand to have him that far from me, so I'm sinking to my knees too, facing Levi as his lip quirks through the beginning of happy tears.

"June Hart." His eyes have the same spark in them that I feel igniting in me, like we're passing back and forth a shared flame. "I'm already the luckiest person I know—lucky for every single day I've spent with you, from the time we were kids to the life we have now to all the days we have ahead."

He leans in close and opens the ring box, but I don't look down. I'm staring into the blue of his eyes and seeing that endless ocean from the top of the world again, a lifetime of possibility, a bright, wide-open future that's all ours.

"Will you marry me?"

I lean in to kiss him because he already knows my answer. Because we've known what we are to each other since the end of the very first race we ran, and every one we've run since—the two of us side by side in a constant tie. Same as we always have been, same as we always will be. Wherever it is we're going, we'll be together, every step of the way.