Epilogue
Sawyer
Five Years Later
Theringhasbeenburning a hole in my desk drawer for three weeks. My palms sweat every time I think about it.
I’ve planned this moment a dozen different ways. At the coffee shop where we first really talked. At the hill where we had our first official date. But every scenario feels too small for what Alice means to me.
She’s in the kitchen of her grandmother’s house—our house now, since I moved in a few years ago—making breakfast while I get ready for work. Five years of mornings like this, and I still can’t believe this is my life.
“You’re going to be late,” she calls from the kitchen.
“Coming,” I call back, slipping the ring box into my jacket pocket.
I find her at the stove, flipping pancakes in one of my old t-shirts and nothing else. The kitchen smells like coffee and vanilla. My breath catches. Her hair is messy from sleep, and she’s humming under her breath. This ordinary moment in the house where she found safety feels perfect.
“Hey,” I say, wrapping my arms around her from behind.
“Hey yourself.” She leans back against me. “Sleep okay?”
“Better than okay.”
The pancakes are perfectly golden, just like everything else Alice touches. We eat breakfast together at the kitchen table where she used to sit alone, where her grandmother taught her to be strong, where we’ve shared thousands of meals over the years.
“Diane asked if we’re bringing anything tonight,” she says, cutting her pancakes into precise squares.
“Just ourselves. Though she did mention she’s making that apple pie you like.”
“Your mom spoils me.”
“She loves you. Almost as much as I do.”
Alice smiles, that soft smile that still makes my chest tight after all this time. “Almost?”
“Almost.”
After breakfast, I kiss her goodbye and head to the station. As sergeant, my days are different now—more administrative work, supervising officers, managing schedules. But I love it. The responsibility, the challenge, the chance to actually make a difference in how things are done.
“Morning, Sarge,” Chris says when I walk in. He still grins every time he calls me that.
“Morning. What do we have today?”
"Quiet night. Two noise complaints, one domestic that resolved peacefully, and Mrs. Henderson called about teenagers on her lawn again." He glances at his notes. "Oh, and Officer Bennett asked about the training schedule for next month."
"Wesley? Tell him to check with Rodriguez in scheduling."
"Will do."
"How's he doing, by the way?"
"Bennett? Good. Still green, but eager to learn. Reminds me of myself when I first started." Chris grins.
"That eager, huh?"
He turns to leave and looks back at me. "Exactly."
But I can’t focus on work today. Every time I try to read a report or review a case file, my hand drifts to the ring box in my pocket. By lunch, I’ve convinced myself that proposing tonight is either the best idea I’ve ever had or the worst.
