Epilogue

REED

One year later

Some days, I couldn't believe how lucky I was to be Reed Sunday.

"More pasta, Watt?" Chris asked, topping up Derry's cherry soda. He trailed a hand over my shoulder as he moved around the picnic table—a teak A-frame table that he and I had built with our own four hands in front of the caretaker cabin last November—before taking his seat next to me.

It turned out Chris and I really liked building things together, so much so that after we'd finished renovating the cabins last autumn, we'd decided we wanted more projects to work on together in our spare time. The picnic table had been the first. The new chairs arranged around the nearby fire pit had been our second. Fixing up the kitchen and the bathroom in the caretaker cabin had been the third.

We'd put a temporary pause on all renovation work around Memorial Day when the campers began arriving, and even though the last campers of the season had left three weeks ago, we hadn't started anything else yet. Life had simply gotten too busy. Too full of good things. And more were on the horizon.

"I think three helpings is probably enough." Watt pushed his plate away with a groan. "You're a damn good cook, Chris Sun—er, Winowski." He rolled his eyes. "That's never gonna sound right."

Chris's cheeks went pink. We'd come clean about the truth of our relationship—a certain version of the truth, anyway—last year, a few days after Danny had left town. We'd omitted the part about Chris's uncle, naturally, but after the O'Leary police had come to take Nicky away, other details about the incident had leaked out, and folks in Copper County had wasted no time embellishing the tale, so we'd felt compelled to get our own version of events out there. "Before they start saying you know where Jimmy Hoffa is buried," I'd told Chris wryly.

The one part of the truth that people refused to believe—or, at least, to remember—was that Chris and I weren't married. Watching Chris's adorable blush under the cafe lights he'd hung over the table, though, I decided I didn't mind that one bit.

"Thank you, Watt," Chris said. "It's my uncle Danny's recipe. He's an excellent cook."

"Sure is," Derry mumbled around a bite of his own fourth pasta helping. "This is good shit, Chris."

Watt cuffed his son gently on the back of the head. "Don't use fresh language. Especially in front of Chris."

"Sorry," Derry mumbled. He gave Chris a hopeful smile. "But I might have another helping if you're still offering?"

Laughing, Chris leaped up to refill his plate. "I love cooking for you, Derry. You have a real appreciation for food."

"It's been nice, having these pasta-and-charcuterie nights," Watt said. He gave his empty pasta bowl a forlorn look. "We're gonna miss this after you move."

This time next month, Chris and I would be knee-deep in renovations again, this time on our own place. A rustic, three-bedroom Adirondack—with a fieldstone fireplace that had brought tears to Chris's eyes and a three-car garage perfect for doing restorations that may or may not have brought tears to mine—had come up for sale a few weeks ago. This was a pretty rare event since we'd learned that most people who lived on Copper Lake stayed from cradle to grave, so Chris and I hadn't hesitated to put in an offer.

In a little over three weeks, I'd be an official Coppertian, a permanent resident of the tiniest town on God's green earth. And I couldn't be happier about it.

As my beloved would say, what were the hecking chances?

I rolled my eyes across the table at Watt. "You do remember we're only moving to the house on the other side of yours and not to the dark side of the moon, don't you? Take a left when you go out your back door instead of a right. We'll be the ones covered in orange shag carpet dust, picking popcorn ceiling bits out of our hair. You can't miss us."

Watt laughed. "True enough. And it'll be fun to help you out once the autumn rush at the orchard dies down, won't it, Der?"

Derry muttered something around another enormous bite of pasta, and Watt shook his head. "Christ alive, where do you put it?" he demanded. "There's a teenage appetite, and then there's… that. "

Derry scraped the tines of his fork against his plate, which was empty once again, and shrugged. "Hockey practice, Dad. I'm training like crazy." He wrinkled his nose. "Really hoping we actually get to play."

"Why wouldn't you?" I asked, automatically lifting my arm as Chris sat back down, then wrapping it around him when he leaned into me.

"Our coach is out for the whole season. They're trying to find a replacement but haven't had any luck yet." Derry ran one big hand through a crop of messy curls that were dark, like his father's. "Worst news ever. Whole team's bummed. Jesse Wise nearly cried."

"Oh, no," Chris said. "Is the coach sick? Is it serious?"

Derry shook his head. "Worse," he said solemnly. "She's pregnant."

Watt huffed out a laugh. "What Derry means to say is that Tamsen Monroe and her husband are having a daughter in November, and she's starting her maternity leave next week. None of the other teachers have volunteered to take over coaching yet. But her replacement might," he told his son.

"That'll be better than nothing," Derry agreed. "But they won't be like Coach Monroe. She played for Northeastern. That's a Division I school. And she has brothers who also play. You know Wells Monroe, the right wing for the?—"

"Bruins," I finished right along with him. "Wow."

"Yeah," Derry agreed. "It's senior year, and I was really hoping for a scholarship."

"I'm sorry, Derry," Chris said. "I'd volunteer, but I'm better skilled at skating that… you know…"

"Involves a toe pick?" I asked innocently.

Chris's eyes danced. "You could coach the team, Reed. "

I shook my head. There were many, many things I would do for my husband…

Former fake husband and protectee…

Boyfriend…

Love.

Coaching a bunch of sweaty teenagers was not one of them.

"I'm guessing they need the coach to be a teacher, baby, otherwise Watt would do it himself," I pointed out, and Watt nodded. "And don't forget I'm an entrepreneur now." I wiggled my eyebrows, then added dryly, "And I don't want Oak to fire me immediately after making me a partner in Bartlett Security when I have a mortgage to pay."

"True." Chris grinned. "Not to mention a half stake in a new but promising charcuterie business."

"Exactly. Once Cheese and Charm takes off, I'll quit and let you support me," I teased. "It'll happen, you watch."

This wasn't just me blowing sunshine either… at least, not in terms of Chris's company's success. Back in September, Chris's charcuterie storefront had opened in O'Leary, just a few doors down from Goode's Diner. He not only offered event catering but also sold premium wines, cured meats, cheeses, and custom charcuterie boards he'd sourced from a local woodworker. We'd expected he'd be running the place himself for a while, to save on costs, but in the past month, he'd already had to hire two new employees just to keep up with demand.

I stopped in for lunch almost daily myself, when I wasn't traveling to conduct risk assessments for potential clients once or twice a month. Though, admittedly, I'd have been there even if I hadn't developed a fondness for double-cream brie because I was really inordinately and enduringly fond of a certain charcuterie specialist.

I wasn't the only one who was proud of Chris's success either. Every time Danny emailed or called from… wherever he was… he didn't hesitate to tell Chris how happy he was that Chris was carrying on the family name in the cheese world. And Dolores and Bob, who'd stopped in Copper County twice on their endless RV tour, assured us that Danny was well and happy.

As for Chris's other family member… we didn't hear from him. We'd heard that Nicky had recovered from his injuries, and I knew—because I made it my business to know—that he was still in jail, awaiting trial. As long as I had a single string to pull, there would be no bail for Nicolas Costello.

Ironically, I'd been offered a commendation and a promotion after Nicky's capture and arrest, but I hadn't hesitated to turn it down and hand in my notice, even though Janissey had begged me to stay. The moment I'd kissed Chris in the forest while Danny escaped had been my real resignation from the Division; giving Janissey my letter of resignation was just a formality.

I hadn't regretted it for a single second. And with Chris's warmth pressed against my side and the clean vanilla scent of him in my nose, I knew I never would.

I liked my life. A whole fuck of a lot.

Across the table, Watt peered into the gathering darkness at something beyond the caretaker cabin, and then he froze. "What the hell is that?"

The rest of us turned to look, and I saw something I hadn't seen in the year I'd lived here.

A light in the big house on the hill—the Wrigleys' old house—was on.

"Oh, yeah," Chris said, turning back around to face him. "I meant to ask you about that. There was a moving truck parked by the house this morning. I stopped to say hello, but I didn't see anyone around. Did Mrs. Wrigley's heir finally decide to rent the place? Is the tenant going to be the new campground caretaker since we're leaving?"

Watt shrugged dismissively. "Who the fuck knows? I've given up trying to predict what Jasper Wrigley will do." Though he said the words easily enough, his face looked troubled, and his eyes kept returning to that light in the Wrigleys' window.

Eventually, he stood and clapped his son on the shoulder. "Come on, Der. Let's leave these guys to enjoy their last few nights here. You down for John Ruffian on Wednesday, Chris? The usual crew, at my place?"

"Oh. Sure." Chris's lips turned up in a friendly smile. "I'll bring snacks."

"Looking forward to it. Uh… and you can come, too, Reed. If you want."

I rolled my eyes, and Watt shot me a wink. Then, the two men turned on their phone flashlights and made their way home across the field.

"What was that about?" I demanded.

"Hmm?" Chris fluttered his eyelashes. "What was…" He fluttered a hand in the air. "… what about?" He stood and stretched. "Gosh, it's getting chilly, huh? We should go inside and?—"

I stood, too, only to pull him down on my lap in one of the Adirondack chairs by the fire. "I'll keep you warm. And don't try to wriggle out of this. You said sure in the same tone of voice you said sure when Gage offered to get you a glass of Boone's Farm apple wine last time we were in the Hollow. You said sure like you weren't sure at all. Tell me the truth, baby." I paused to fix his glasses for him. "Are you falling out of love… with John Ru ffian?"

Chris snickered. "Bite your tongue. It's just… I worry about Watt sometimes, that's all. He's a good friend. He needs something that's his . You know? Something besides a TV show."

I grunted.

He laughed. "Is it weird that I've learned to enjoy your grunts now that I know how to interpret them?"

I rolled my eyes and grunted again.

"See, now that grunt means ‘No you don't, Chris, because I'm a flipping former Division agent who knows how to do the click-click thing with a gun, which means I'm deep and brooding and mysterious and not the sort of person whose grunts can be interpreted.'"

I lifted an eyebrow.

"Whereas the other grunt, the one about Watt, meant ‘Chris is doing his people thing again, and I don't understand what he means because Watt has plenty that's his. An orchard, a kid, a sister, a whole community who loves him. And he'd better keep his moony eyes off what's mine .'" Chris grinned up at me smugly. "How'd I do?"

I opened my mouth to protest, but… he'd nailed it, honestly.

I grunted a third time.

Chris pressed a kiss to my jaw and settled his head on my chest. "Yeah. I knew I nailed it even before you grunted," he sighed happily. "The thing is, Watt does have all those things, but they're not all his. They're his right now, maybe. His to care for. But they aren't his the same way I'm yours. They're not for him the way you are for me. I hope he finds what we have, that's all."

I frowned. "Wasn't he dating someone recently?"

"You mean Kayla? Yeah, but there was no chemistry. Watt told her they were better off as friends." Chris lifted his head to give me a severe look. "Which is the same way he sees me."

I wrapped my arm around Chris's neck and pulled him in for a long and decidedly passionate kiss before settling him against my chest once more.

I knew, of course, that Watt didn't really have designs on Chris. I also knew that, even if he did, Chris wouldn't be tempted in the slightest because he'd given one thousand percent of his heart into my keeping. I wasn't actually jealous… because there was nothing to be jealous of.

But when you knew someone as well as Chris and I had come to know each other, when you loved someone and saw the truth of them as well as we did… it turned out that sometimes pretending was fun.

"So what I hear you saying is there's no good reason Watt keeps putting his moony eyes on my husband," I grumbled.

Chris laughed and shook his head, his fingers toying with the top edge of my Henley. "I'm not your husband anymore, remember?"

"Hmm." I dug my hand into the pocket of my jeans and grabbed the ring I'd stashed there. A ring I'd been carrying around for months, waiting for the perfect moment, forgetting that every moment Chris and I were together was perfect.

"I think you mean not yet ," I said, sliding the ring onto his finger. And then, as he stared down at it in shock, I added in a whisper, "Marry me, Chris."

When he looked up at me again, his big brown eyes positively glowed with happiness, so bright they outshone the fire, outshone the stars, and made every other damn thing in the world seem dull and unimportant in contrast.

He wrapped his arms around my neck. "Heck. Yes ," he whispered. Then he pressed his lips to mine in a kiss that went on for a long, long time.

But when I finally picked him up and carried him to bed a little while later, the light in the house on the hill was still on.