I know Dixie is still wounded and hurt from Knight’s father, although the details of whatever happened have yet to be disclosed.

I know Dean is nowhere near close to moving on from Rosie.

But I also know there’s hope for the both of them, and somehow, that makes me happier for them than I am for me about this book deal.

On her deathbed, Rosie asked me to bring them together, and for the past year, I’ve honored her request: hosting dinner parties, inviting them to restaurants, and making sure they’re around each other, even as the excuses for them to meet up have dwindled and become more and more forced.

Last week, Edie told me she saw them having an ice cream together. A quiet outing. They didn’t speak to each other. They did not hold hands. They simply marveled in the slow, creeping thing called love.

I caress my stomach, put the microphone to my lips, and open my mouth. Feeling the room take a collective breath, I try to hide my mouth with the mic, then start my story from the only beginning that truly mattered. Our beginning.

“It started with an abandoned toddler in a soiled diaper, but the plot twist was a boy with busted knuckles and a heart of gold…”

THE END