Epilogue
Karley
Tenmonthslater
I stretch in the bed, fingers brushing against cool sheets. The spot where Oliver should be is empty. A hint of disappointment tugs at me until the smell of fresh coffee and the faint tang of salt fill the air. My heart lifts. With a lazy grin, I flip the blanket off and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. The dark wood is cool beneath my feet.
After a quick stop in the bathroom, I open the door to see Oliver walking in, wearing just boxers, a wooden tray balanced carefully in his hands. Steam rises from a cup of coffee, the bright orange of fresh-squeezed juice catching my eye. A plate with a toasted bagel sits in the center like a prize.
“Get in bed, Petal,” he says, his eyes crinkling with warmth. “I made you breakfast.”
My heart does that silly little flip it’s been doing since the day we met. Climbing back in, I nestle into the pillows, watching ashe places the tray over my legs with careful precision. “How did I get so lucky?” I ask, looking up at him with genuine awe.
The flush on his face is instant. It spreads from his cheeks to the tips of his ears, softening his sharp features. His hair is a tousled mess, free from the product he usually uses to tame it. He looks younger this way, so much so, that for a moment, I’m tempted to ditch breakfast altogether. But today is too busy to give in to that urge.
“So… you think I’ve earned Husband of the Year this time?” He smirks.
I grin, nodding. “You already did. Did you eat?”
He sits on the edge of the bed, hands resting on his thighs. “Yeah, I had to taste it. Quality control.” He shoots me a wink. “I’m gonna shower. You’ll be okay?”
I hum, picking up the glass of orange juice. The cool sweetness hits my tongue, and the bits of pulp surprise me. Lowering the glass, I squint at it suspiciously before eyeing him. “Did you make this yourself?”
“Of course,” he replies, chest puffing slightly. “You can taste the difference, can’t you?”
His face is so serious, eyebrows slightly raised, lips pressed together in a firm line, that I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. He’s too cute, and I’d never tell him I can’t taste the difference. Not today.
We’ve had our fair share of battles in the grocery store, though. Most of the time, I just go alone. I’ll buy his organic, pesticide-free, fermented foods, but I’ll also grab my sugary treats. We’ve learned to mix and match. There are even nights where dinner is peanut butter toast on the sofa while binge-watching our favorite shows.
He leans in and kisses my forehead before heading to the bathroom. Moments later, the sound of the shower running fills the air. I’m halfway through my bagel when I notice a small,folded note tucked under the edge of the plate. I unfold the paper, already smiling before I’ve even read it.
No punchline today. Just a simple I love you, Petal. Love your (actual, real-life) husband xo.
I read it twice, pressing my lips together to keep from grinning too wide. My heart swells with that aching, sweet kind of love that makes you feel like you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be. I tuck the note into the drawer of my nightstand, where all his letters are stored. One day, I’ll turn them into art. A piece to hang in this house, our home.
I’m about to get out of bed, but I pause, lifting the tray off my lap, setting it aside. Bagel still in hand, I wander over to the bathroom doorway. He’s under the stream of water, head tipped back, droplets sliding over the contours of his back and shoulders. The sight makes me pause.
He must sense my attention on him because he turns, eyes locking on me. “Is it good?” he asks, nodding toward the bagel.
I let my gaze sweep over him, slow and deliberate. My tongue skims my bottom lip, catching the crumbs. “Delicious.”
His eyes narrow, and a wicked grin spreads across his face. “Get in here.”
I arch an eyebrow, bringing the bagel to my mouth for another bite, chewing slowly, savoring it. “Make me.”
He’s out of the shower in a heartbeat, water dripping from every inch of him. Before I can react, he’s in front of me, snatching the bagel from my hand and tossing it onto the tray. His arms wrap around me, his grin turning feral as he lifts me up and over his shoulder. Laughter bubbles out of me, but it’s cutshort when he rips the oversized t-shirt from my body, the cool air against my skin sending a shiver down my spine.
The next few moments blur as his hands skim across my skin, the rough scratch of stubble against my neck, the breathless sound of my name on his lips. He’s not gentle, and I don’t want him to be. Every move is a claim, every touch a reminder that I’m his and he’s mine.
A few hours later, we arrive at the house to open the door for its first day. I once thought it would be mine, but now it’s something so much bigger. A place for families to meet up.Lotus Connections.The name feels perfect. Each petal of a lotus connected to the center, just like the people who will find their way here.
I step onto the porch with Amber, Wren, and Rufus, taking in the sight of the navy door welcoming everyone in. Inside, the smell of fresh flowers mixes with the faint scent of lavender candles we lit this morning. The soft hum of calming music plays in the background. Every room is decorated with care. Soft, cozy furniture, and walls covered with art from local children. It feels like home with color and comfort, and it’s exactly what I envisioned.
The licensed social workers, security personnel, family support specialists, child life specialists, and maintenance staff were all handpicked and meticulously trained. Which wouldn’t have been possible without the Lincolns. At first, accepting their help felt like swallowing glass, but Oliver’s gentle persistence wore me down.“We’re married,”he would remind me.“Helping you is helping us.”Every time he said it, the walls around my pride crumbled a little more. And as I move through the house with a buzz of excitement and confidence, I’m glad I listened. Ipaid for what I could with my own money from selling paintings and the shifts I still take at Till’s Sip N’ Paint. I’m there less now, though; my days split between school, work, home, and here. Somehow, it all balances itself out, though I’m still learning to lean on Oliver, just as he leans on me.
We’ve made plans to travel, including returning to Vegas on our one-year anniversary. Vegas gave me a taste of art and history, and now I crave more. More of the world.
Today, a few families are scheduled to visit, and nerves twist in my stomach. I smooth down the front of my pale blue dress, my hands shaking just slightly. What if they don’t like it? What if this place doesn’t feel like the safe haven I dreamed it would be?
