Aunt Dee leans forward, her expression sharp. “So this shipment of supplies from New York that’s coming in,” she says, her eyes locked on Knox. “Does that mean we finally never have to deal with Port Blossom or Arnold again?”
A collective silence falls over the table. This is it. The question we’ve all been asking ourselves.
Knox nods, his expression grave but certain. “I’m reassuring you all right now,” he says, his gaze sweeping over each of us, “I have spoken to Mayor Jake. There’s no chance that Arnold can even set foot in this town ever again. Not just as a deputy, but as a civilian. The order is ironclad. He tries to come near any of you, he goes to jail. No questions asked.”
The relief that washes over me is so potent it makes me dizzy. It’s over. The constant, looming threat of my father, the ghost that has haunted my entire life, is finally being laid to rest.
I look around the table, at the people who have become my world.
There’s Millie, her eyes shining with unshed tears of relief. There’s Maddox, his hand resting on the back of her chair, a silent, protective presence. There’s Knox, the stoic sheriff who has become so much more than that.
There’s my mom and Aunt Dee, the two women who raised me, who fought for me, who are finally safe. And Jessica, our friend.
My pack. My girl. My family.
Epilogue
MILLIE
The baby kicks, a fluttering punch against my ribs, and I rest a hand on the swell of my stomach, a silent hello.
Spring has finally decided to stay in Driftwood Cove. The sun streams through the big front window of the Cocoa Nook, catching the dust motes dancing in the air and turning the polished wood floors to gold.
The air smells of dark roast, cinnamon, and the sweet, clean scent of rain-washed earth from the garden outside. It’s perfect.
“Another one, babe?” Liam asks, his voice a low, teasing murmur right beside my ear.
He slides a plate onto the counter in front of me. On it sits a chocolate croissant, still warm from the oven, a little pool of melted chocolate oozing from one end. It’s my third, but who’s counting?
“You’re a bad influence,” I say, but I’m already breaking off a piece.
He just grins, that lazy, confident grin that still makes my stomach do a little flip. He leans against the counter, his arm brushing mine, a casual yet possessive touch that feels as natural as breathing. “Gotta keep our girl and our little croissant-addict happy.”
Across the room, Maddox is on a stepladder, his shirt stretched tight across his shoulders as he tightens a screw on one of the new floating shelves. The shelves were his idea, a way to store extra bags of beans and boxes of tea without cluttering the small space.
He’s always thinking, always planning, making our world run more smoothly. He catches me watching him and winks, a quick, private gesture that sends a warm wave of affection through me.
The bell over the door jingles, and I look up to see Knox and Clara walking in. Clara, now sixteen and all legs and attitude, has her headphones around her neck, but she’s not hiding behind them anymore. She makes a beeline for me.
“Hey, M,” she says, using the nickname she’s given me.
“Hey, you,” I say, smiling as she leans in to give me a one-armed hug, careful of my stomach. “How was school?”
“Boring,” she says, rolling her eyes. “But I aced my history test. Dad said he’d buy me pizza to celebrate.”
“Did he now?” I glance over at Knox, who’s talking to Liam’s mom, Maren, by the espresso machine. He catches my eye, and a small smile touches his lips. He looks different here, softer. The hard lines of the sheriff’s face ease away, replaced by the contentment of a man surrounded by his pack.
Maren laughs at something Knox says, her head thrown back. She looks happy. Truly happy. The dark circles that lived under her eyes for so long are gone, replaced by a healthy glow. The café is bustling, the air filled with the low hum of conversation and the clink of ceramic.
We are whole. We are not the fragmented, scared people we were a few months ago, huddled in a hospital waiting room or facing down a monster from the past. We rebuilt. Together.
The bell jingles again, and I glance up, expecting another familiar face, another resident of Driftwood Cove stopping by for their morning fix. But it’s not.
The woman standing in the doorway is wearing a tailored black pantsuit, her hair cut into a sharp, stylish bob. She carries a leather briefcase, and her heels click on the wooden floor with a sound that doesn’t belong here. For a second, I don’t recognize her. She looks like she’s stepped out of a different world, a world of skyscrapers and courtrooms.
Then she turns.
My breath catches.
