Here’s to LA. And to us.
Epilogue
Nicole
One year later…
“Ugh, I swear, he’s just out to tear my arm from my body,” I mutter as Cocoa takes an enthusiastic detour into a row of potted plants along the sidewalk leading to the beach.
Dom laughs, then reaches down with his massive hand and scoops him up as he untangles the leash. “I think we’ve come to the conclusion he’s built for speed, not obedience,”he observes, and even though I know he’s talking about the dog, he squeezes my hand right after.
It’s just our usual evening walk, but still, something about the whole thing feels off. Dom keeps fiddling with the cuff of his hoodie or jamming his hand into his pocket, checking something and then putting it right back.
Honestly, I really want to call him out, but I also don’t. I like the suspense. It gives the evening a little buzz, like waiting for the plot twist you already kind of guessed was coming.
And I seriously hope it’s a good one.
Together, we cross the street and hit the pedestrian ramp down to the beach. The sand, cold and soft, immediately invades my sandals.
“Remind me again why we don’t just live at the beach?” I ask, wiggling my toes with each step.
“Because then you’d have to wash Cocoa every day,” Dom deadpans as he sets our fur child down to run once more. As he does, I note the way he grips his hoodie pocket…
“You good?” I nudge him with my shoulder.
He blinks, startled, and then does this half-smile that makes his left dimple pop. “Yeah. It’s just … a good day. Kind of hard to believe, honestly.”
I nod, feeling the exact same. “Want to talk about it? Or do I need to wait for a Dominic Neelson combustion of emotion?”
“Let’s walk.” He chuckles, shaking his head.
I nod, but as we keep walking, Dom does that thing again—shoving his hand into his pocket, fingering whatever is inside, and then taking his hand out like nothing happened.
Ugh.I can’t take it anymore.
“What is in your pocket?” I demand, narrowing my eyes at him. “Are you hiding snacks?”
He freezes, then shoots me a sheepish look. “Not snacks. Sorry.”
I keep the intensity. “Is it … a weapon? Do you think we’re going to get mugged or something? I need to know.”
“No.” He shakes his head and then clears his throat, changing the subject. “What’s your week look like? You have that meeting with the architect, right?”
“Tomorrow,” I say, rolling my eyes. “He keeps calling me ‘Ms. Farrarah’ in emails, and every time I ask him to use Nicole, he doubles down and says, ‘Ms. Nicole.’”
Dom snorts. “Maybe you should respond with, ‘Dear Mr. Architect.’”
“Tempting,” I admit. “But I’m worried he might actually like it.”
Dom grins. “Sounds rough.”
“It’s exhausting. But I think he’s the only one in the city who gets my vision.”
“I get your vision,” Dom says quietly. “I always have.”
“Thanks,” I say, exhaling.
We reach the halfway point between the parking lot and the tide pools, and the sun is almost gone, leaving the sky a saturated ombre of gold and purple.
