Epilogue

EPILOGUE

LAINEY

Christmas

Professor X has snatched approximately ten ornaments since we put the Christmas tree up late last month. It's become a game, getting ornaments only for her to destroy them.

Her Christmas present, which we brought home early a few days ago, caught her by surprise—a big, lazy orange cat named Jeffrie. Because I firmly insist that Jake Jeffries is what got Jake and me and together, not Cleo.

Jeffrie is completely unrattled by her antics, and it obviously drives her crazy. But she loves it too—when she thinks no one's looking she'll groom him, and last night, Jake and I found them curled around each other like a yin and yang.

Now, it's Christmas morning, and Jake and I are sitting beside the tree with cups of coffee. Later, we'll go over to celebrate with Claire and Declan. Nicole and Damien will be coming over with their own brand of chaos, and in the afternoon we've been invited to a tea at Smith House, probably so Mrs. Rosings can interrogate us as to whether we've found a wife for Anthony yet.

No, because he keeps saying no to all of them, but he has less than a week left, and Jake remains persistently positive, insisting that he'll pick someone before the wedding bells ring on January first.

I'm less sure, but far be it from me to dampen his light, which is one of the things I love best about him.

This is another: he looks like a kid let loose in a candy store as he shakes and rattles and squeezes the wrapped gifts I set out for him.

"Just open them," I say, nudging his shoulder.

He shrugs. "Then the anticipation will be gone, and I'll be left with…" He eyes me with as much mischief as that fox on his arm. "A mug. Not much you can do with a mug."

"You're currently drinking coffee out of one." I point to one of the gifts. "Open that one. It's more of a present for both of us."

He snorts, then motions to my small pile of presents. "What about you?"

"We'll take turns," I say.

He looks up at me, then rips into the present like he's a Tyrannosaurus Rex.

I'd make fun of him, if I weren't so eager to see what he'll think. It's a swag pack for The Love Fixers—a bag bearing the logo he designed, plus redesigned business cards that we've decided to leave in Free Libraries around Asheville, Marshall, and the surrounding towns. We'd also discussed matchbooks, but we figured it would be best not to tacitly encourage people to set things on fire.

He looks up at me with wide eyes, then leans in and gives me a kiss. "I love it." He looks just as excited as he did two minutes ago, when he nods to one of my packages. "Open one of yours. The one that's book shaped."

A laugh gusts out of me as I open it, then all the air gusts out of me entirely.

It's a bound book—his bound book. Not the story about the fire fox brothers, but our story—The Love Bandits.

He shrugs when I look at him. "I figured we should be the Love Bandits for this first one. Because of the necklace and all."

I flip through it, mesmerized, taking in the carefully drawn pictures of us, Mrs. Rosings, and Professor X, laughing to myself when I get to the cookie bouquet. Then looking up at him and whistling when I get to the scene in the car parking lot. "I take it this is the book that's just for us?" I say, setting it down and climbing into his lap. Nearly toppling him over as I do it.

"Yes," he says into my ear and kisses just beneath it. "And you nearly knocked my totally useless mug over."

"This is the best thing anyone's ever given me," I say, leaning into him.

He buries his face into my neck. "Then Professor X is going to be really disappointed."

"What are you talking about?" I ask, craning my head to get a look at his face.

"Here, get up for a minute, but please be prepared to return to that position at a moment's notice."

I give him a salute and watch, fascinated, as he pulls some heretofore never seen cat treats out of the cabinet sitting by the sagging sofa.

The cats come running, and sure enough, there's a little gift affixed to the top of Professor X's collar.

I give Jake a curious look, feeling very concerned that he's won Christmas. In addition to the swag, I got him art supplies, a shirt that says Don't make me use my therapist voice , and a framed, blown-up Seven of Wands card. I couldn't bring myself to look at a bleeding heart all day, so I refrained from getting him both.

But the book, and now this…

"Go on," Jake says with a slow smile. I detach the gift box from Professor X's collar, glancing up at Jake.

"Open it," he says, practically jumping. "But before you do, I really can't emphasize enough that I didn't steal it. It's a regifting because I'm nowhere near wealthy enough to afford something like this, but it's not stolen. One hundred percent not stolen."

"I don't think that's as reassuring as you think it is," I say, but my heart is thumping wildly now. Because it's a little box. The kind that holds…

"Jake," I say, worried now. Because I love him, more than I'd thought I could possibly love anyone, but I just ended an engagement that made me feel small and alone, and I'm not—

"It's not what you're thinking right now," he says, his voice low and reassuring, his hand on my chin, lifting it up so my eyes meet his, so warm and full of love. "But not because I'm not ready. I'm fucking ready. And when you're ready, I'm going to race you down the aisle to the closest Elvis lookalike we can find. But I still want to worship you the way you deserve to be worshipped, and we're lucky enough to have an elderly friend with way more jewelry than she can wear or give away in a lifetime. She agreed you need to have these."

"I'm blown away by you," I say, my voice shaking. I feel so deeply understood. So loved.

"Just wait until you open the box," he says with a cocky grin.

So I do, and I laugh with glee at the sight—a pair of earrings that match the design of the Heart of the Mountain necklace. My gaze lifts to meet his. "These must be…"

"Very expensive, but they were made afterward. Don't worry, I've prostrated myself a lot, and also promised to pour the entire next week of my life into twisting Anthony's arm to marry one of the candidates."

"I love you," I say, running my finger over the earrings. "I love you so much it fucking hurts."

"But I don't want it to hurt," he says, trailing his hand down to my throat, and pulling me lightly closer. "I just want it to feel really, really good."

And it does. It does again, and again, and again beneath the Christmas tree, with the lights twinkling above us and our cats yowling somewhere in the house.

And maybe I stole this life—from the universe, from fate, or possibly even from the kindness of my friends—but I am never, ever giving it back.