Epilogue

DYLAN – 6 MONTHS LATER

M ackenzie emerges from the art storeroom at the back of the studio. "I've finished unpacking that order and taken inventory, Grace," she calls out. "Just have to get the supplies sorted for today's first class."

"I'm one step ahead of you," Grace replies. "I've already laid everything out on the tables."

The brand-new Abstract Palette re-opened in its Cliff Haven location about three months ago and Kenz and Grace have been doing an amazing job with it. Henley and his crew had done the fit-out according to their vision and the space looks incredible. It's bright, airy, and spacious, with an epic view of the beach across the road.

And as if working in the studio and running art classes wasn't enough to keep Kenz busy, the commission orders have been flowing in. I'm so proud of her.

As I sit and watch my girl here in her element, I'm in complete and utter awe, my chest warm with gratitude that the universe somehow managed to align my path with hers.

"Oh, awesome," I hear her reply. "But what happened to those new fine line pens. They were right over here this morning when I arrived."

I snicker, a smile lifting the corners of my mouth. "I kind of borrowed them."

"Shit!" Mackenzie shouts, clutching at her chest in shock as she spins around. Her eyes settle on me in the corner of the studio where I sit at one of the back tables. "Where did you come from? Grace, did you know he was here?"

"Yes. I saw him sneak in." Grace beams and the bell above the door chimes as she opens it. "I'm going to the Haven to pick up our coffee order. Would you like anything, Dylan?"

"No, thanks," I reply.

"Okay. I'll be back in time for opening." The door closes gently, and I turn my attention back to Mackenzie.

"How long have you been sitting there?" she asks.

"I snuck in while you were out the back." I stand up and stride over to her, a piece of art paper and the missing pens she was searching for clutched in my hand. "I've been working on something for you."

Her eyes narrow, a twinkle in their icy blue as a dubious grin spreads across her face. "For me? What is it?"

"I drew you a picture."

"You did not," she challenges.

"I did," I tell her. "And I put all of my heart and soul into it so you better like it."

"Okay." She chuckles. "Let's see it."

I'm definitely not an artist and I can't wait to see her reaction. I hand her the scrap of art paper and watch as her grin expands. She begins to laugh as she takes in my stick figure art.

"This is me here," I say, pointing to the badly drawn character. "See? Those are my abs there and that's my boat in the background. Oh, and there's Chance." I gesture to the little dog stick figure in the centre.

"And is this supposed to be me?" She chuckles, pointing at the stick figure on the left that I've clearly tried to make look female.

"Obviously," I scoff. "Because you've got long hair and boobs."

She laughs louder now, bringing a hand to her mouth. "It's brilliant. Can I frame it?"

"Not yet," I say. "I haven't finished."

"You haven't?"

I snatch the drawing from her fingers and grab one of the markers, pulling the lid off between my teeth. "Turn around for a sec."

She shakes her head but does as I've instructed while I add the extra additions to the page. "Okay. Finished."

I click the lid back on the pen as she spins around, reading the text aloud that I've written in the speech bubble alongside ‘stick figure' me. "Will you move in with me?"

It's a question I'd been wanting to ask her for a while now and it's really only a formality at this point. She stays over at my place almost every night anyway and I'd cleared a couple of drawers for her to keep her things in my dresser months ago. Waking up next to her is my absolute favourite thing in the world.

Her bottom lip disappears between her teeth as she plucks the marker from my grip. "Turn around."

I do as she says. I'm pretty sure I know what her answer will be, but my heart beats out of sync all the same. After a painstakingly long moment, she taps me on the shoulder, extending the drawing back to me.

I read the text she's written in a speech bubble next to ‘stick figure' Mackenzie. "Only if I get to be in charge of the TV remote every night."

I roll my eyes, pretending to think this over, then I pull her into me, enveloping her in my arms. "Deal. I guess I'm doomed to a future of watching Outer Banks on repeat."

"You know it. Pogues for life." she says, bringing her lips to mine.

"Oh! Get a room, you two!" May's grumpy voice interrupts the otherwise quiet studio.

Mackenzie grins and then lifts the drawing up, one eyebrow quirked. "Should we tell her we're about to?"

We both turn to find Betty and May watching us. May is completely disinterested, but Betty's gaze is intent on me, her eyebrows wiggling high on her forehead. Man, that woman knows how to creep me out.

"I think this is my cue to leave," I say, reluctantly releasing Mackenzie from my grip. "Meet me later at the marina?"

"Wouldn't miss it." She lets go of my hand, a wistful smile on her lips.

Then I lean in and whisper into her ear, just loud enough for her to hear. "Happy birthday, Kenz."

Her smile remains but there's a warning in her glance. Mackenzie doesn't like to talk about her birthday and if it wasn't for the fact that she had to include the date in her employee profile at the tavern, there would be no way I'd even have known when it was.

I get it. Birthdays have never been something to be celebrated for her and the attention is unwanted, but I'm desperate to show her that it doesn't have to be like that.

"Have fun, ladies," I say to the two older women as I exit the shop.

Twenty minutes later, I'm on the dock heading to my boat when I hear someone call my name from behind me. The voice is one I could pick a mile off, but in this setting it's completely unexpected.

I turn to find my father, strolling down the dock, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his pants. I'm not angry at him anymore, though I am curious as to why he's here, given that we haven't seen each other in months. I'd stopped making any real effort after the day he tried to bribe me to take my old job back.

"Dad. What are you doing here?"

"I came to apologise," he says.

"Okay."

He looks away, taking a deep inhale before he brings his gaze back to mine. "I'm sorry, Dylan. I regret the way things are between us. I should have let you exit the company quietly." His eyes seem to mist over as he thinks about his next words. "I should have believed in you."

"Thanks, Dad. That really means a lot."

My father isn't generous with apologies. He doesn't like to admit when he's wrong, so the fact that he's here truly does mean everything to me.

"How's Mackenzie?" he asks.

"She's doing really well. She's busy with the new studio." I can't help but smile as I speak of her.

"I'm glad." He scratches the back of his neck before he continues. "I don't want you to be a stranger. I want you to visit us frequently. And if it's okay, I'd like to visit you and Mackenzie."

I nod. "I'd like that."

"And one more thing," he says.

"What's that?"

"I've reinstated the original conditions of your trust. The money should be available to you by this afternoon."

"Wow. Dad. Thank you." I almost choke on the words.

I've gotten used to living from paycheck to paycheck, never even considering that I might one day gain my inheritance back.

I had asked myself the questions though.

Would I still live in a run-down beach shack with a stray dog if I was a millionaire? Would I have kept working on a boat that needed loads of work instead of buying one brand new?

Would I still have the same dreams?

And the answer is yes. To all of them. Yes.

I know that without that money I would have been just fine, and I have no intentions of spending it right away. I'd like to make sure that it's used for a greater purpose, but it helps to know that I could use it to help Mackenzie too. That after everything she has been through in this life, financial hardship won't ever be something she has to worry about again.

"I'm proud of you, Dylan," Dad says, placing a solid hand on my shoulder.

I nod, swallowing down the emotions his words have resurrected. "I'm proud of you too, Dad. And I'm sorry if I ever seemed ungrateful for everything you've done for me. I know how blessed I am."

"I know you do, son." He pulls me into a half hug, slapping me on the back with his other palm. "I'll let you get on with your day. I'm sure you have a lot to do."

"Okay," I say. "Thanks, Dad."

He clamps his lips together to form a thin line as he turns on his heel and begins to walk back down the dock.

"Hey, Dad," I call out.

He spins around slowly, his hands still in his pockets. "What are you doing right now? Would you like to come aboard?" I point to the newly refurbished diving boat moored in front of me.

He smiles and his face lights up. "Yeah. Sure, son. I'd like that."