Epilogue

GETTY

“It feels like forever,” I murmur as I take in the view of PineRidge from the passenger-side window.

“Four months is a long time,” he muses as he slowly eases his SUV off the ferry and onto the island. My eyes dart left and right trying to take in every little thing that has changed since I’ve been gone. The trees have grown bigger. The air seems cleaner. The town itself feels more like home.

It’s not until we arrived here that I realized how much I missed this little slice of Heaven. Yes, the complete lack of availability of rental properties on the island (besides renting a room in someone’s house) worked out to my benefit, since the only solution was to spend the last four months staying with Zander in Los Angeles. Lucky for me, that was during the tourism off-season, so Liam agreed to the time off with the promise that I’d return for high season again.

And there’s no way in hell I’d complain that the months I stayed with Zander during his off-season weren’t worth every single second together. We’ve laughed. We’ve loved. We’ve grown so much stronger together as a couple.

It still feels weird using that term.

Even weirder is how his family has welcomed me with the same open arms Rylee did that first day in Boston. I feel like I belong. And they want nothing from me other than to make their son happy.

And that is the easiest thing anyone has ever asked of me. To love Zander.

I glance over to him from behind my sunglasses. Take in his dark hair in need of a trim, the day-old stubble he’s sporting on his jaw, and the smirk on his lips because he knows I’m taking my time checking him out.

“I think we should skip looking at the places Liam sent you and you should just agree to live with me full-time.” I groan for effect. This conversation has taken place over and over the last few weeks as Liam and I made calls back and forth about places that were finally becoming available to rent. “C’mon, Socks. There’s no better place to have your first showing than in Los Angeles.”

“Don’t remind me.” I press a hand to my stomach, where nerves flutter at the very thought. My mind purposely repressing the fact that I actually let him and his parents and crazy cast of brothers talk me into finally taking the leap and organizing a show of my paintings.

“Are you telling me that after being together for basically nine months straight that we’re going to be able to handle this distance thing?”

I hate his words as much as I hate the inevitable separation that will happen in the coming months with the racing season starting again. God yes, I’ll miss him. But how do I explain that this place, this island, represents so much for me? That as great as we are together, as perfect as life has been for us, my past still clouds my thoughts occasionally?

What if I give this all up and things turn bad for us? Then once again I’ll have nothing. I’ll be in his house with his possessions and will be the one scrambling to survive again.

There’s no way I can tell him that. Can’t explain it properly. He’ll think I’m comparing him to Ethan when he’s nothing of the sort. It’s me. My mental block. My need to have a fallback plan. Just in case.

“C’mon, Socks. Think about it.” His soft smile tugs on my resolve.

“I promise you, you’ll be sick of me. It just that . . . I need this place, Zander. It settles me. Reminds me of who I was and who I want to be. It makes me happy.”

He reaches out and links his fingers with mine. “It makes me happy too. But you make me happier. You make me me.” The simplicity of his statement and the honesty in his words touch me. “Just don’t rule it out, okay?”

“I won’t. I haven’t.” I sigh. Maybe I just needed to come back here, be reminded that this will always be here, and that will be enough. “Can we stop by the bar before we start, to say hi to Liam? I told him we would.”

“Sure,” he says, distracted as he takes a turn the opposite way. “I want to stop by the old house first. I heard the new owners completely redid it. Inside and outside. The whole nine yards. I kind of want to see what it looks like.”

“Okay. Sure.” A part of me feels very hesitant about that idea, because I still think somehow my father had a hand in buying the place to push me out and back to him. And on the other hand, a big part of me fears the nostalgia of seeing it again. The place where we met. I’m not sure if it’s going to make me want to stay here more or hold tighter to Zander.

“Wow. It’s beautiful.” All concerns flee my mind as we turn the corner and the house comes into view. I take it all in: the new clapboard siding, the relandscaped front yard, the windows replaced with shutters added. Even the front steps and the deck have been rebuilt.

Now I definitely know my father had nothing to do with it, because he’d never take the time to make this place pretty. He’d buy and sell without a second thought and out of spite.

“C’mon, let’s go take a peek. No one lives in it yet.”

I hesitate. Of course we don’t belong here any longer and yet I can’t deny how much I want to see what the house looks like now that she’s been brought to her full potential.

So I climb out of the car and follow Zander up the walk, my eyes darting to take in everything that’s new and shiny, but remembering the old. How I first saw Zander in workout gear repairing the step. Or the oil-stained concrete of the driveway where I watched him fix my car in the pouring rain.

“What in the hell? Why did they . . . ?” The laugh falls from my mouth as I take in the ugly pink handrail I painted that night in anger and haste. Why would someone replace all the old stuff and leave this hideous reminder of the former tenants?

“That is pretty ugly.” He shakes his head. “Maybe they think it’s art or something and didn’t want to get rid of it.”

I snort in disbelief. “Seriously?”

“Maybe they left it as a reminder that when your wife gets pissed, hide the hammers and paintbrushes.”

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.”

“Or maybe they left it so that every time one of them comes home pissed or they have a fight, it’ll remind them that they always need to stop, listen to what the other person is saying, have some patience . . . because life’s never going to be perfect, but in the end it’s going to be okay.” He’s got his head angled to the side, and I have to wonder how he made all of that up on the fly.

“Perhaps.” Something feels off here. I narrow my eyes at him as I try to figure what exactly it is.

“What do you think their story is, Getty?”

My smile is automatic at the memory of the night so long ago that started things for us. “Hmm. Newlyweds perhaps. He can’t wait to bring her home, carry her over the threshold, and make love to her on the deck with the moonlight above and the sound of the ocean around them.”

Zander’s smile seems sentimental when he meets my eyes. “My, how much you’ve improved at this game since that first time at Mario’s.”

I shrug. It’s easier to believe in the idea of happily-ever-after now that I have Zander in my life. “Then again, she could be a madam and is going to open the first brothel here on PineRidge.”

Zander’s laugh is sharp as he takes the two steps to the front door. When he presses the handle on the new front door, it swings open.

“Holy shit. It’s open. Let’s look,” he whispers, and steps inside without hesitating.

“Zander,” I half whisper, half shout, my head swiveling left and right to see if anyone’s watching or calling the cops. “Zander!”

When he doesn’t answer, I step hesitantly just inside the door. It’s the new tiled floor beneath my feet that catches my eyes first. The fresh paint on the walls in browns and tans next. And I’m so taken with how this house could be the same as the one I lived in before, my feet take a few steps farther inside.

The kitchen’s been redone with granite slab and glossy white cabinets. The sliding glass doors to the deck replaced with French doors. The mini-blinds switched out for shutters.

Forgetting that I don’t belong here, I keep looking at the beauty that has been restored in this old house. The bathroom gutted and replaced. New fixtures. Crown molding added.

“Zander?” I realize I haven’t seen him. Panic. Then I feel ridiculous.

“In here.”

I venture into his old bedroom and my eyes widen. Not only at the striking image of him standing in the empty room with the sun behind his back. A halo of light around his head. But also because the entire room has been transformed. Bigger windows facing the ocean. Built-ins installed. Shelves and cubbies. Overhead lighting taken down and adjustable lighting put in.

“Zander?” Questioning. Asking. Wondering.

“Yes.” Coy. Smug. Implying.

This can’t be right. You’re crazy, Getty.

But when I turn around to face the wall where Zander’s old bed used to be, the one where we spent our first time together, the hints and inklings I’ve been feeling walking through the house finally come together. There is a huge sign on the wall with three easels set up below it.

And the sign reads GETTY’S STUDIO.

I spin back around, hand to my mouth, heart beating out of my chest. “Zander?” His name again, but this time it’s fueled with even more emotion. Hope. Want. Awe. “Is this really . . . ?”

He takes a step toward me, jaw clenching, eyes so serious. “It’s yours, Getty. One hundred percent yours. I know how much it makes you happy.”

“No. Yes. Oh my God. What did you do?” I reach out to him, needing to touch him to make sure I’m awake, that this is real, so I can process this. And he is real all right, because he takes both of my hands in his and lifts his eyes to mine.

“It all came down to two words. Grand. Gestures. My mom mentioned them in her letter to me. Rylee mentioned them when I was trying to figure out how to get you to believe me. It was my sign. My moment of clarity. About what you need to feel safe. What I can provide for you.” He shakes his head and smiles softly. “What I can do to show you I know what matters most to you.”

He draws in a deep breath and all I can do is give him the time he needs, because he’s effectively stealing the words from my mouth right now.

“It’s not the house that matters to you. It’s what it represents to you. It was your sanctuary when you first ran. Then it was your proof that you were making it on your own. And for me . . . for me it’s my very first memory of you in that hall back there, naked except for those socks, and wielding that mini-blind wand,” he says with a smile as he points to where the wand sits as a memento on one of the new shelves.

“I know the next step for us is hard for you. You may not say it, Getty, but you’re afraid still. Fearful that if you move in with me, you’re giving away everything you’ve gained back. You said it yourself in the car—this is who you are. The island. The sea. The town. And so I wanted to give you this. This place is your security. A promise that you’ll always have this home you created for yourself no matter what happens between us.”

His hands reach up to frame my face in that way of his that’s strong but tender and tells anyone watching that I’m his and he’s going to kiss me soon.

“This is incredible, Zander, but it’s just too much. It’s not a cell phone this time. . . . It’s a house.” I’m dumbfounded. My mind is skipping over every other thought, because I’m so overwhelmed by his love and that he’d do something so meaningful. “A gorgeous house, but a house nonetheless.”

“You’re right.” His chuckle rings around the room but warms my soul, my heart, and any part of me left untouched by the beauty of this man in front of me. “She is beautiful. She was broken and bruised at first, but with a lot of patience and some hands-on attention, I think I was able to bring out the beauty that was hiding beneath it all. The real her.”

My eyes swim with tears. He’s talking about so much more than just the house.

“And since she’s your house now, I think it’s fitting you complete the final item on her to-do list.”

I stare at him in wonder, heart swelling, as he pulls out a pad of paper from the drawer behind him and hands it to me.

Repair List

Gut House and Rebuild

Build Getty a Studio

Keep the Ugly Pink Handrail

Have Sex with Kiss the Repair Guy

MARRY the REPAIR GUY

My breath hitches when I read the last item on the list. My eyes flash up to meet Zander’s. And every single thing I want to say fades at the look of absolute love on the face of the man in front of me.

“You don’t have to run anymore, Getty. Not from me. Not from your past. But I understand you need to have a place of your own. A safe haven you can run to if needed. And like you, I know what I need. And I need you with me. Not just to move in. Not on a part-time basis. But in my life permanently. I want to make a life with you. Not because I want to control you or have you decorate my arm, but because you brought me back to life, Getty. You make me live. You make me feel. You make me laugh. You make me want tomorrows and sunsets and forevers when I never even thought twice about any of them before. And I only want them with you. I want to come back here often. In the off-season. On vacations. Bring our kids here someday—show them that god-awful pink railing and tell them about how sometimes you need to give someone a second chance because they are worth it. I want to sit on that deck and listen to the ocean while telling them the PG story of how you and I met. And someday I want to grow old here with you.”

The sob catches in my throat. How can it not when he’s creating memories so real I can feel them? So clear I can see them.

“You see, for so long I’ve feared the damn white squall. Being pulled under by its water . . . and then I realized how stupid I was, because you’re my water. The one thing I can’t live without. I want to marry you, Getty. I want years filled with kisses and memories and laughter and love and patience like only you can give me. And I want to give the same to you. You are my truth now. So just jump with me, Socks. Leap without looking, because I promise I’ll be there to catch you no matter how far the fall.”

I look at him—this incredible man, inside and out—and am reminded of my motto from what feels like forever ago: Carpe diem. Hell yes, I’m seizing the moment, so long as I can seize the man.

I laugh out loud. Grab his neck and pull him toward me so I can pour everything I feel and can’t express into the kiss. Show him with actions.

“Is that a yes?” he asks, eyes hopeful as he pulls out a box from his back pocket and opens it. Inside rests a diamond infinity band. It’s simple and subtle and exactly what I’d pick for myself.

And the sight of the ring makes this real. Makes his words and his intent and everything he just said hit home in an even bigger way.

“Yes. No. I don’t know.”

His eyes widen in shock. Just for a moment. But my smile tells him the real answer. “Cute. Very cute, but this time you only get to pick one answer.”

“Only one?”

“And here starts the questions to the questions,” he says, laughing and shaking his head.

My heart bursts with love for this man standing before me. With belonging, with everything I’ve never had, and I wonder how all this happened. How this scared, gun-shy woman fell in love with this incredible, generous man.

And the answer’s simple.

His love roared loader than my demons.

And he made me want to be found again.

I lean in and press a kiss to his lips.

And whisper.

“Yes.”