“And then another,” I add. “And then another. As many chances as you want.”
He watches me, eyes brimming with relief, and slowly, he pulls me closer.
“I love you, Scarlett Moore,” he whispers on my lips. “I want to watch you fall in love with one book after another until we’re old and sore and our hair’s gone silver. I want to build a life that looks like us—I want boring Tuesdays and chaotic Sundays, takeout dinners and late-night chats.”
“Rafael,” I cry against his lips. I was so scared I’d never get to hear his voice again, and now he’s saying this. I don’t think my heart can take it.
“I want to watch you chase dreams, change your mind, grow into new versions of yourself—and love every one of them.”
He holds me close, his voice wavering like it’s not close enough.
“I want this life with you. And the next. And every one after that. If there are a hundred versions of me, I want every single one to find you.”
My chest is aching, breaking open, full of him.
And then he kisses me.
It feels like coming home. His hand cups my face, his thumb wiping away a stray tear, and I melt into him, every inch of me craving the closeness, the connection.
When we finally pull apart, he rests his forehead against mine.
“You know, I think I finally figured it out.”
I sniffle. “What?”
“I needyou. When I have you by my side, I’m the best version of myself.”
I pull his hair back, savoring the feeling of his warm skin under my fingertips. “I’ll take any version of you, Gray.”
He cups my cheeks, thumbs swiping under my eyes. “Scarlett, about what you said, you know Celeste and Booked It have nothing to do with the podcast, right?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,youare the podcast. Nobody who’s ever listened toMurders & Manuscriptshas done it because of Celeste. They want to hearyou. And you have a sound engineer. Whatever equipment you need, we’ll get. What’s stopping you?”
Nothing, I guess.My own podcast.I’ve always been so comfortable at Booked It that I’ve never considered leaving, but the thought of launching my own venture seems exciting. “Maybe. I just… I’m not sure I want mywholelife to revolve around murders.”
I guess watching the man you love nearly bleed out in front of you will do that to a person.
“So don’t. It’syourpodcast. Make it about whatever you want.”
I huff out a single chuckle, but the thought takes shape in my mind. My own bookish podcast about whatever I want. “Mystery novels and smutty romance?”
He weakly claps. “We’ll call itFuck, Marry, Kill.”
“Or…” I bite my lip, an idea taking shape. “A Killer Kind of Romance.”
epilogue[trope]
a final exhale at the end of the story; created to offer a glimpse of what “after” really looks like, reward hopeless romantics with proof that love didn’t end at the last kiss, and let characters linger just a little longer in the light they fought for
And that’s all for today’s episode ofA Killer Kind of Romance,the podcast where we toy with the line between murder and happily ever after. Whether you’re here for blood, butterflies, or both, I hope you found something worth obsessing over. Until next time, never fall for the man with too many secrets… unless he’s got tattoos and a tragic backstory.
I grin as the podcast comes to an end. My voice goes quiet, replaced by the chirping of birds outside the home office window.
Setting my pen beside the spiral notebook, I lean back in my chair and shoot Theo a message.
Scarlett
