Epilogue

On a Saturday two and a half months after my neighbor died, we're finally holding his celebration of life. This is also a celebration for Claire, although she doesn't know that yet.

"Why won't anyone let me do anything?" Claire complains for the fifth time today. We're in the kitchen, eating a quick brunch before we join Nicole, Damien, Lainey, and everyone else at the venue. Lainey went with them because she's a Claire specialist—the two of them having been friends since they were old enough to walk. So it's the two of us, Rosie, and Claire's father, who flew in last night for the memorial party of the man who cuckolded him. He's a better man than I am; definitely a better man than Dick, a point the deceased wouldn't have argued.

If I owe Dick for introducing me to Claire, in the most roundabout way possible, then I owe Chuck that much more for having helped her become the woman I love. So I like him, a lot. Even if part of me thinks he's the kind of nice that's asking to get used up by the world. He's got Claire, though, and me, and now Nicole and Damien. No one's going to mess with him again on our watch.

Chuck wouldn't approve of me if he knew everything. He'd be a fool to. But he doesn't know, and he's the kind of man who doesn't know enough to look for trouble, so even though he'd no doubt prefer to see Claire settle down with a suited banker who lives in the same high rise he does, we get along well enough. He sees in me what I do in him—devotion to his daughter. Truthfully, I don't feel great about lying to him, especially not since I have every intention of marrying his daughter someday, but Claire figures he kept a secret from her for twenty-eight years, so we have at least a couple of decades to keep my past to ourselves before it becomes an issue.

To help even the score, I've let him in on a different secret. Chuck knows where we're going for the memorial party.

Hell, half the town does, but no one's spilled the truth to Claire. Probably because most of them are afraid of Nicole, the rest of me.

Rosie snorts and pushes one of the oatmeal muffins Chuck made last night around on her plate. To refuse such a man would be like kicking a puppy in the face, so we all took one of the dry hockey pucks, which he proudly announced lacked any flour, sugar, or added fat. We're used to Claire's baked goods around here, and Rosie's as a close second—so it's hard to pretend it's edible. Even Chuck has been pushing his muffin half-heartedly around on its plate, eyeing the covered dish of Danishes Claire and Rosie made the other night.

"What was the snort for?" Claire asks as she plays with her cup of coffee.

"Only you would complain about not being able to work," Rosie continues. "We need to get Shay down here so he can talk some sense into you."

"You're referring, of course, to his legendary ability to be so lazy he makes other people lazy," I say, feeling a tightness in my chest at the mention of my brother. He's talked about coming for a visit, and maybe he will, but things still aren't settled between us. I'll always be the guy who screwed up his future by choosing to run rather than dig in my heels and stay. He'd thought he could change the game, make his own rules, but I'd seen enough to know it was the kind of game that ate people up and twisted them. The way it had done to our uncle.

"I am," she says.

"Dad's a party planner," Claire says, gesturing to him. "Why wouldn't you let us help with the planning? And I still don't understand why we couldn't have it here, on your deck. Dick loved it here."

"Which is why we scattered his ashes out back, but we had a different idea for the party," I say. "One he'd like even more." I grin at Claire's father. "Besides, who said your dad didn't help?"

"Dad, you scoundrel!" Claire says, beaming at him. "I used to think you were an open book, but you're the ultimate at keeping secrets from people for their own good."

He beams right back, and I feel satisfaction deep in my gut. The sense of everything being as it should again. Finally. Finally. My sister gives me a wistful look, and I know she's missing the way things were. I do too. But I don't miss the man I became, for a while. I don't miss the hollow ache that drove me here to Marshall. I'm ready to leave that part of the past behind, so Claire and I can step into the future.

No one's really eating—we're all waiting, a pattern that Claire and I both have had too much experience with, most of it bad. So I ball up my napkin and throw it at Rosie, who scowls at me, then lean over and kiss Claire on the forehead. "Let's go put you out of your misery, Sandra Dee."

"Oh, thank God," she says, "I was starting to feel—"

"I know," I say, putting an arm around her.

We share a look of perfect understanding, and I feel a little more life sprout in my former hellscape, now populated by rosemary and apples and climbing, flowering vines. We all pet Rocket, tell him he's a good boy, and then board the Jeep. Before we take off, I send off a text to Nicole:

Bronuts aboard.

When we get downtown, I park on the street, around the corner from our destination.

"You've all been very mysterious," Claire says as I circle around to open her door for her. The Jeep is pretty far off the ground, so I help Chuck down too, earning an incredulous look from Rosie.

My heart starts pounding faster as I lead Claire to the corner we need to round to get there. There's a chance she will think we overstepped. That she won't be totally fucking delighted by our surprise. But I don't truly believe that. We may have overstepped, but she's going to love it, and I'm going to get to see the look on her face. No doubt Lainey will capture it ten different ways on her phone camera.

"Am I being paranoid, or are you all watching me?" Claire asks.

I squeeze her hand, and Rosie answers, "Oh, we're definitely watching you."

I lean in and whisper in Claire's ear. "Just around this corner." She looks up, capturing me with her golden gaze, and I feel a preternatural calm wash over me, chasing the last of my worry away.

"Is this a Nicole surprise?"

"Mostly, but we all helped."

She squeezes my hand, glances back at her father, and then we're around the corner, and the red awning of the bakery comes into view. Turning toward me, she looks into my eyes—and I see the hope in her gaze. It fills my fucking cup. The windows are still papered over, but I bring Claire to a halt and text Nicole again:

Bronuts landing.

The code wasn't my idea.

Then again, Nicole came up with this idea, so I was feeling pretty damn cooperative when she suggested it.

"Declan…" Claire says, her voice a little nervous.

"It's okay, honey. This is good."

And I usher her forward, her father and Rosie giving her sidelong glances. The paper in the window comes down as we get closer, revealing the interior of the bakery—the built-in bookshelves and velvet armchairs, the new bake case I installed. The name, emblazoned in golden cursive, hand drawn by Mrs. Rosings, for the window. Rainy Day Bakery—a name she'd whispered to me one night when she was telling me about her dream.

Although Mrs. Rosings made a fuss about needing to get a new assistant before the wedding, she was happy to contribute to the cause. For all her fussing, she loves Claire, same as we do, and wanted to help.

Rosie is hoping like hell Claire wants her to work in the bakery, but Lainey isn't much for waking up early, so she's offered to fill the gap and help Mrs. Rosings out part time until she can find someone else. Which isn't to say she doesn't have other projects afoot—Nicole's all about her idea to offer services for people fresh off breakups. They've argued about the name, but Claire, the ultimate referee, came up with a solution they both agreed with: The Love Fixers.

Claire turns to look at me, her eyes wide. "It's really mine? But it was rented."

"Yes, by Nicole," I say softly, cupping her face, very aware that her father is next to us, and regretting it at that particular moment.

"But it was rented the week after I arrived."

"She was motivated to keep you around. So was I. As soon as she told me about it, I offered to help."

"And me," Rosie pipes up from beside us.

"Lainey, too," I add. "She helped us decorate it. I installed the equipment and the shelves. We figured we'd have the party here, because it only seemed right. Honoring the old and the new."

This bakery is something else Dick helped build, even though he'll never know it. He would have liked that. Claire showed me both of the letters he wrote, to her and to Nicole, and it brings me comfort to think he does have a legacy.

Although I've never loved construction the way I do growing things, I have plenty of experience. I'd never had as much of a reason to be glad for it as I did in there—building Claire's dream.

"But…but the money from the insurance hasn't come through yet…and…"

"You can work that out with Nicole," I say, "but it's yours."

"It's too much," she says, her jaw working as she looks at the awning, the sign, at our friends waving to us from behind the plate glass window. Her eyes fill with tears. "It's too much."

But I can tell how much she wants it—and how surely she'll do justice to it. I'll be by her side, helping every way I know how—learning to do the things I don't know. Rubbing her back when she needs to get up before dawn to prepare for the day. I've spent the past few weeks researching what it takes to run a bakery, because I want to be ready, and I've prepared some extra starters down in the greenhouse so we can have fresh herbs to use in her baking.

The door to the bakery bursts open, and Nicole and Lainey stick their heads out. Just beyond them, I can see Mrs. Rosings drinking something from a fluted glass. She has the knowing smile of someone who was in on the joke, her preferred place to be.

"Get in here, already," Lainey shouts, "the party's getting started."

Chuck squeezes Claire's shoulder. "I'm very proud of you, bug. You've made a real place for yourself here."

"But I didn't do any of it," she insists. "I don't—"

"Do you think they would have gone to all this effort for someone who doesn't mean anything to them? For someone who isn't worth it?" he asks, turning into a hardass before my eyes. It's obvious he won't let anyone question her worth, including Claire herself, and he automatically rises in my esteem.

"No, I guess not," she says, tears dripping down her cheeks, but I can tell they're happy tears. That this is a sight she never thought she'd see, and she needs an extra moment to let it sink in. "I need—"

"You kids take the time you need," he says. "I'm going to escort Rosie here inside."

"Please do," Rosie says brightly.

"Send Nicole out," Claire says.

I try to follow her dad and Rosie inside, to give her a moment alone with her sister, but she tugs me back. "I want you to stay. This…this feels like one of the most important moments of my life, and I want you here for it."

So I stay.

Nicole emerges from the bakery, grinning like the cat that stole the carton of cream and left the bowl untouched, and Claire wraps both of her arms around her and squeezes.

"I love you. I love you, and I'm so glad you're my sister."

For a second, Nicole looks stunned, like someone just dipped her into a cold pool, and then she pushes away with a grin. "Save that shit for your boyfriend."

"I can't believe you did this for me," Claire says. "How did you even know to do it for me? You must have rented this place weeks—"

"Bought." Nicole digs a set of keys out of her pocket. "Bought. It's yours. And if you don't want people to know what your hopes and dreams are, don't post them all over Instagram. "

Claire's eyes get larger as she takes the keys, and fuck, mine probably do too. I didn't know that part. It's obvious she and Damien have money. They drive a Lexus and wear brands favored by my uncle, but this is something else. Marshall's not Asheville, but storefronts don't come cheap.

"But—"

"No buts," Nicole says, giving her a harsh look. "None. But you're officially calling your brownie things Bronuts. They're going on the menu that way, and you're going to advertise them that way, and it's going to be a thing. Plus, you're going to help Lainey and me get the Love Fixers off the ground. That's how you'll thank me."

Claire swallows. "That's hardly equivalent."

"Well, that's the plight of big sisters everywhere, isn't it?" Her grin turns mischievous. "Besides, I've cornered you into staying in this part of the world, which was my intention all along. So you can tell yourself I'm being selfish. You won't be wrong."

Claire shakes her head slightly in disbelief, her mouth curving up. "You're the most generous selfish person in the world."

"Don't go around telling people that," Nicole says with a forced scowl. "You'll ruin my cred. Now, get your ass in there, so we can give Dick the sendoff of a lifetime. I want this party to make Marshall history."

"It won't be hard," I say. "This place isn't known for its ragers."

Nicole puts a finger next to her nose. "It's not known for its ragers yet."

Then she turns and swaggers back into the bakery.

Claire turns to me with an adorable lost look, and I lower my head and kiss her. Because she can't look like that without getting kissed—everything inside of me revolts against the thought.

"This is insane," she says in an undertone. "I can't just accept this."

I nod to the keys in her hand. "Possession is nine tenths of the law. Trust me, I'm a former criminal." I wrap a hand around her waist and take a step toward the bakery, bringing her with me. Because I can't let her turn down her dream. Frankly, I won't. "Besides, I think our lives have turned insane. That's not necessarily a bad thing, though. Maybe it's the best thing of all."

With that, we walk into the bakery together, and it feels very much like we're walking into the future. I have to wonder if it's a future Dick saw. I know it's one he would have liked.

I sure as hell do.