“Jesse, are you sure about this?”
“Never been more. Move in with me, Madi-girl.”
“I can’t believe I’m saying yes to this.” I smile at him. “But I am. Yes, I will move in with you.”
He chuckles and kisses me as I dissolve in his arms. When I pull away, we stare at each other for a second, smiling at one another like two love-sick fools.
This strong, beautiful man is all mine.
Jesse dips his head to mine, his forehead brushing gently against my own just as a camera clicks somewhere to our left. Then again—this time with a flash. Jesse doesn’t pull away. Instead, his mouth curves into a soft, unguarded smile, like he’s forgotten we’re standing in the middle of a press event, like it’s just the two of us. I stay tucked into his chest as another camera goes off.
The next morning, there’s a photo of Jesse and me splashed across social media. The caption reads:
COVE CO-FOUNDER JESSE WINTERS DEBUTS NEW COVE ERA AND A LOVE STORY TO MATCH.
For the for first time in my life, the story the world sees feel like the truth.
EPILOGUE
TWO YEARS LATER
Jesse
“Jesse…Jess!”
I glance down at Oliver, who’s strapped to my chest, his tiny cheek pressed right over my heart. “You hear your mom, little man?” I murmur. “She needs us. Better go find out what she wants.”
In the kitchen, we find my beautiful wife taking a spinach dip out of the oven. A dish towel is draped over her shoulder, her hair is loose, her cheeks flushed from cooking. She stops when she sees us and smiles. After all this time, it still knocks the air out of me.
“Can you grab the extra drinks from the garage? And the ice bucket. Don’t forget the ice.” She rips a sticky note off the cupboard, crushes the paper into a tight ball, and flicks it towards the garbage can. I can’t help the grin that pulls at my mouth. My Mads and those damn notes.
“I’m on it,” I assure her, tugging gently on Oliver’s toes. He blinks back at me, entirely unbothered by the noises in the kitchen. “But you know you can ask the caterers to do it. I hiredthem so you wouldn’t have to lift a finger on your birthday. You shouldn’t be sweating over a spinach dip.”
“I have to make the dip,” she says, like it’s obvious. “Your brothers expect it. It’s their favorite. How am I supposed to have them over and not make it?”
“Talented, beautiful,andthoughtful,” I say.
She shrugs. “Now go get the ice bucket. They’ll be here any second.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As if on cue, we hear footsteps on the deck, followed by the unmistakable sound of Poppy’s squeal. My brothers come into view, along with Ryan and Cara, and of course Marigold.
“Door’s open,” Madeline calls from the stove. “And wipe your feet if you value your lives. You know how Jesse is about his floors.”
I fill the metal bucket with ice and cans in the garage then carry it out back. When I set it on the long, cedar table, I pause. The deck I finally finished stretches out in front of me exactly the way I pictured it back when it was just an idea—wide planks, stone fire pit, plush loungers, string lights catching in the evening breeze. Madeline is wrapped up in Landyn, laughing into her shoulder while Cara and Ryan take Marigold on a walk around the yard. Wes, Noah, and Ford are watching Poppy in the bounce house I rented for the day. For a second, I just stand here, hands resting on the rim of the bucket, taking it all in.
A lot has changed in the last two years. I asked Madeline to marry me right out here because I couldn’t stand not officially calling her mine any longer. It was a quiet night, the fire pit low, Madeline curled into my side. She turned the page of her book and found the sticky note I left her there: “Will You Marry Me, Mads?”
She gasped, then cried, then said yes when I got onto oneknee on the deck and held out a ring. I swear the whole world went quiet. It was so perfect it hurt.
The wedding, just four months later, was exactly what Madeline wanted. No ballroom. No miles-long guest list. No stuffy speeches. Just the back yard with strings of lights overhead and hundreds of flowers. My brothers stood by my side. Cara and Lottie were next to her while Poppy kept Marigold entertained, both in frilly white dresses with baskets of flowers. Madeline wore a simple dress. I wore a suit she picked out. We promised forever without fanfare, kissed under the stars, and drank champagne out of rented glasses. None of it was flashy or over the top. Just the two of us and our closest family and friends as we chose each other for every step of the way.
Neither her parents nor my dad were at the wedding, and somehow that didn’t feel like a loss. My dad was still in treatment, and too fragile physically and emotionally. Madeline’s parents were out of town, tied up in one of her dad’s campaign events. They are technically present in our lives—phone calls and carefully worded messages here and there, invitations declined and occasionally accepted. They still don’t love that she chose me, and I don’t think they ever will, but Madeline’s okay with that.
She’s learned how to keep them in her life without letting them shape it, how to hold space without handing over ground. Besides, what matters more is what happened on that warm Saturday afternoon in August and every day since then—Madeline and I building a life that not long ago I didn’t even know to dream of.
Finding out she was pregnant came not too long after that summer night. She came out of the bathroom holding the test, eyes wide, breath caught in her lungs. I stared at the stick, then at her, then back at it again, and then I yelled loud enough for both of us, pulling her into my arms and laughing like an idiot. We’d only been married for a little less than a year but having ababy was something we both wanted. We sat on the kitchen floor for a long time after that, her between my legs, talking about what life was going to look like with a newborn. Would he or she have my nose or my wife’s big brown eyes? We got lost in the tiny details, obsessing over the small things, because it was easier than talking about the big ones—like how neither of us had any idea what we were doing. Both terrified and thrilled in equal measure.
