EPILOGUE
FOUR MONTHS LATER
It’s the middle of the afternoon and sunlight streams in through the living room windows. A group of older women ranging from their late 50s to late 70s sit in a small semicircle conversing with each other in broken French. Mrs. Walters sits closest to me and I listen intently as she practices simple sentences.
“Le chat brun.”
“Good.”
“La pomme verte.”
I shake my head. “Try it again, and this time emphasize the long m sound rather than the e. Like this: pomme, not pommay.”
The next time she tries it, it sounds much better. She’s learning fast, just like the rest of the women in our small French club. It all started a few months ago, after I first moved in with James. His neighbor Mrs. Walters came over to see if we needed help—though at 70, I’m not sure how exactly she would have assisted us with the moving efforts. Anyway, we got to talking. She asked what I did for a living, I told her, and when she heard I was out of work, she hired me on the spot. She’d always wanted to learn a foreign language, and she knew a few other women in the neighborhood who would jump at the chance to keep their minds active.
Our small French club started up pretty organically. We’ve met three times a week for the last two months, and I’m shocked at how quickly everyone’s been catching on. I’d always assumed children were my preferred students, but these women have been really fun so far. They’re all retired and dedicated to learning, so we’ve been tearing through workbooks and vocabulary, not to mention we’ve all agreed that if everyone can master a basic understanding of the French language by next summer, we’ll all take a trip to France so they can put their newfound knowledge to practice.
It’s the perfect arrangement for me. I have flexible hours, I still get to teach, and these women pay better than any of my previous gigs.
I stand and interrupt their conversations to let them know “class” has officially ended, though that usually doesn’t mean much. It’ll be another hour before everyone is out of the house, and I swear they do it on purpose in the hopes of catching James when he arrives home from work.
“Is that a car I hear in the driveway?” Mrs. Walters says, perking up in her chair.
“Oh! I bet James is home! It would be rude to leave now!” Mrs. Buchanan says with a wide smile.
I can’t help but laugh. “It should be Ellie coming over to help me make dinner.”
They all visibly sag in their chairs.
“But I’ll let James know you all missed him. Maybe he can make it home a little earlier on Friday.”
That gets me off the hook for the time being, and everyone stands and gathers their textbooks before heading to the front door. Ellie is already standing out front, holding the door open for them.
“Afternoon Ellie.” Mrs. Walters stops and pats her arm. “Are you sure I can’t set you up with my grandson?”
Ellie laughs. “He’s only 17, Mrs. Walters.”
“Only? Why, I was married at 17!”
They do this every time they see each other. Mrs. Walters thinks Ellie is the prettiest thing she’s ever seen, and she won’t rest until Ellie is dating her grandson—who, by the way, is currently in 11th grade.
“Tell him to send me a graduation announcement,” Ellie calls behind her before following me inside. “Maybe the life of a cougar will suit me.”
In the last few months, James and I have been slowly but surely settling into his house. His house—every time I say that, he insists I call it our house. I smile and shake my head at the thought that we’ve lived here together for three months. It’s still pretty empty because he insisted on hiring an interior designer. He wanted everything to be perfect for us, not just a hodgepodge of his old furniture mixed with some of my things, though my yellow bookshelf did make the cut. It’s sitting in one of the spare bedrooms, the room we’ve both agreed will make a good nursery one day.
“What’d you do today?” Ellie asks, whipping open the refrigerator and peeking inside for a snack.
“I went to SoulCycle this morning before I had to prep my lesson for French club. Oh, and Diego and Nicolás called.”
“How are they doing?” she asks, bending low to grab some string cheese.
“Good.” I sigh. “But Luciana still won’t talk to me.”
She frowns. “I can’t believe it. I really thought she’d forgive you by now.”
“Yeah, I thought so too.” I still think about her all the time. How could I not? For that year and a half I was in Spain, we spent most of our waking (and non-waking) hours together. I desperately want her to forgive me, but I can’t push it. “Anyway, part of why they called was because they’re still trying to find a good tutor. The girls haven’t been practicing their English as much, and they’re worried they’ll start to lose it.”
“Did you suggest they contact the agency?”
“No.” I nibble on my bottom lip. “Actually, I recommended you.”
She rears back in shock. “Me?”
I nod enthusiastically.
“But I don’t even speak Spanish.”
“You don’t have to! That’s the best part. The girls just need someone they can practice their English with. Seriously, Ellie, it’s the best job ever.”
It’s a brilliant idea if I’ve ever heard one. Ellie has been working at the country club for far too long, living with Dad and wasting time on guys who don’t deserve her. There’s nothing keeping her in Austin. She should take the opportunity to leave and try something new—not to mention, working for Diego and Nicolás is a dream.
“What’d they say when you suggested that?” she asks tentatively.
I beam. “They said if you want the position, it’s yours.”
Her brows shoot up in shock. “Seriously?”
“Yes!”
I can tell she’s not completely sold on the idea, and I’m nervous if I push too hard now, she’ll say no before she even gives it a real chance. “Just think about it for the next few days and get back to me.”
She nods slowly, seemingly already mulling it over.
I take out one last gun from my arsenal. “Oh, but be warned, if you do take the job, they’re definitely going to force Alejandro on you.”
She frowns. “Alejandro?”
Realization dawns on me: I never told her about him. At the time, it was a strategic move. If she knew there were so many eligible, cute men in Spain I was turning down, she would have jumped on the first flight out of Austin.
“Hold on a second,” I say, running to grab my cell phone. “I’ll show you!”
The last time I spoke to Luciana before telling her I wouldn’t be coming back to Spain was over text message. I show the conversation to Ellie.
Luciana: GUESS WHAT?! MY BF IS HERE.
Ellie reads her text and laughs. “Isn’t she like 12?”
I laugh. “Not even.”
“Who’s her boyfriend?”
I smirk and tell her to keep scrolling.
Brooke: BF?! I leave for two weeks and you get yourself a boyfriend? Who?
A few minutes later she sent back a photo and to this day, I can’t help but laugh. It’s slightly blurry, but there’s Alejandro standing at the kitchen counter chatting with Diego. He’s wearing his leather jacket, and his jet-black hair is all wavy and sexy. He looks completely unattainable, but what makes me laugh is the fact that Luciana posed the photo as a selfie so both she and Alejandro could be in the photo together without him knowing. Her smiling mug is in the foreground of the photo, taking up 75% of the shot.
“Who is that?!” Ellie demands, pointing at Alejandro.
“That’s Alejandro,” I say with a gloating smile.
“Holy…” She grabs my phone and zooms in until everyone but Alejandro has been pushed off screen. Then, she leans back and releases a heavy sigh right before she lobs me in the shoulder.
“You left THAT behind in Spain?”
“OW.” I snatch my phone back in anger and then lock the screen. No more Alejandro for her.
“No, seriously, Brooke—is he single?”
“I’m not sure. You’ll have to ask Diego when you accept the job.”
Her smile fades and her eyes narrow as she finally catches on to my little trick. “If I take the job, it’s not going to be because of him.”
I laugh. “Of course not. Think of Alejandro as a potential signing bonus.”
Just then a car pulls up into our driveway and a little bolt of excitement spirals through me. I love that sound because it means in a few seconds, James is going to walk through the back door of the house and find Ellie and me in the kitchen. He’ll smile in relief, hang his keys by the door, and loosen his tie as he approaches me to plant a kiss on my lips. He told me the other day that he still gets excited to walk in every night and find me here. I’ve assured him I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be here every night from here on after, but it doesn’t matter. To him, it’s still a novelty to get to come home to someone he loves every night. He told me it’s the best moment of his day, and I agreed.
In the last few months, James has kept a busy work schedule. The BioShield is weeks away from releasing to the public, and that means there’s never been more work for him or his company. Still, he makes a point to be home every night at 6:00 PM and not a minute later. I glance at the clock and smile when I see that it’s 5:59.
The back door opens and James walks in. His keys get hung. His tie is loosened, and with no regard for Ellie’s presence in the kitchen, he heads straight for me.
“Welcome home,” I tease as he grips ahold of my waist and tugs me toward him. My hips meet his as I wrap my hands around his neck and he bends low, planting a passionate kiss on my lips.
“Yeah! Hi! Yoohoo. Could you please stop grabbing my sister’s ass cheeks while I’m standing right here?”
I laugh as James breaks away and finally turns to Ellie. “Oh, hey, didn’t see you there.”
She rolls her eyes and turns back to the refrigerator. “Like hell you didn’t. For that, I’m opening the good wine.”
“Oh yes!” I agree. “You have to. We’re celebrating!”
James glances back and forth between us. “Are we? Why?”
I grin as I announce, “Ellie is going to take my old job and move to Spain!”
“We don’t know that yet,” she points out, opening the cabinet to pull out three wine glasses. From the sound of her voice, I can tell she’s actually going to consider it.
“I think it’s a great idea, Ellie,” James says, maneuvering around the island to uncork the wine. I use the distance as an opportunity to take in the black suit he put on this morning, the suit that does funny things to my insides, even with his tie loosened and his hair a little messy.
“We have something to celebrate as well,” James says. “Did you share our good news, B?”
I glance up to meet his gaze, not even slightly embarrassed at being caught checking him out. “What good news?”
He delivers a devilish grin before turning toward Ellie. “Your sister asked me to marry her last night.”
She squeals, whips around, and nearly drops one of the wine glasses.
My mouth drops open and my face burns scarlet red. “JAMES!”
“Brooke! Did you really? Wait, why are you so red?”
“Because I did not really ask him!”
The incident he’s referring to happened late last night. We were in bed together, tangled in the sheets. We’d already had sex and were supposed to be getting up to shower and get ready for bed, but neither one of us was in a hurry to move. I’d just had the orgasm to end all orgasms—like, I saw my life flash before my eyes—and James had finished moments after, collapsing down half on top of me, half on the bed. My hand was strung through his hair and I was breathing hard against his neck, my eyes still closed. I was surrounded by his scent, his breath, his weight, so overcome by how much I loved him.
“Marry me,” I say on a whim.
He stills and then props his hand beside my head so he can lift himself up enough to look down at me. “What did you just say?”
I don’t bother opening my eyes, but I let a lazy grin spread across my lips. “I think I asked you to marry me.”
“Brooke, open your eyes.”
“No, I can’t. I’m dead. You—that just killed me.”
He strokes his finger along my cheek, and then higher, around the corners of my eyes, trying to convince me to look at him. “Please.”
I sigh and blink my eyes open, reluctant to reenter the world after what just happened between us. His face is only a few inches from mine and I’m shocked to see how wide and vulnerable his eyes are as he stares down at me. “Did you mean that?”
“Marriage?” I ask gently.
He nods, never taking his eyes off me.
Did I mean it?
“A little,” I respond sheepishly. “Does that scare you?”
He shakes his head. “Of course not.”
I rub circles around his shoulder blades, concentrating there for a moment so I have the courage to continue. “I don’t want you to think we have to get engaged right away or anything. I guess I just want you to know I’m ready when you are.”
“We haven’t been together long,” he points out, trying to see where I actually stand on the subject.
I smile. “Martha told me once, ‘When you know, you know.’”
A handsome grin overtakes his features before he dips down and plants a kiss on my lips. When he pulls away, he whispers, “I know.”
I kiss him again. “Me too.”
With that, he finally pushes off of me and pads toward the bathroom in the buff. I ogle his derriere without a care in the world. He might look killer in a suit, but this is definitely how I prefer him. Just before he steps past the doorway, he turns back to look at me over his shoulder with an amused smile.
“Harry will be happy when I tell him.”
Harry the goldfish, our first wedding RSVP.
I frown, trying for my best solemn expression. “I bet the last few years have been really hard for him. Me away in Spain, you moping here.”
He nods in a mock agreement. “You can’t imagine what it’s like being a single dad these days.”
I have to stifle a laugh to stay in character. “I’m sure you’ve done the best you can.”
He grins and tips his head toward the shower. “You coming?”
“In a second.”
He turns and walks away. A moment later, the sound of the shower running filters into the bedroom. I pause, stare at the doorway long enough to make sure he isn’t going to come back, and then crawl toward his side of the bed and pull the top drawer of the bedside table open.
There, in the corner, is the small black velvet box I found the other day while I was cleaning. Inside, nestled tight, I find the antique engagement ring that leaves me breathless. It seems even more flawless than before, twinkling in the low light. I brush my finger across the round diamond, careful not to dislodge the ring from its cushion. My finger itches to try it on; I know it will fit, but it feels wrong to do it without James watching.
“B?” James calls from inside the shower. “Water’s hot!”
I jump, close the black velvet box, and shove it back into its terrible hiding place before scurrying off the bed to join him.
“Coming!” I call back.
Soon, I remind myself, I’ll get to put that ring on and never take it off. I smile at the thought.