Epilogue
BRYNN
ONE YEAR LATER
Not so long ago,I’d have bet every dollar in my bank account that the phrasedream come truewas reserved for lottery winners, new parents, and people who collected inspirational magnets. But as I stood behind the polished quartz counter of The Corner Scoop’s Grand Re-Opening, surveying a sea of happy, sunburned faces, I realized I’d become that cliché—the girl with the happy ending.
The shop was alive, a joyful collision of sound and sugar. The walls, freshly painted a pale robin’s-egg blue, glowed in the afternoon sun. Above the counter, a chalkboard menu listed every flavor I’d ever dared to create, written in my own loopy, imperfect handwriting—a declaration of independence in chalk dust. The far wall showcased local artists: ocean photography, driftwood sculptures, and an impressionist portrait of a manatee that lookedsuspiciously like Eli Coleridge if you squinted. The place was packed, a line snaking out the door and onto the sidewalk. The bell over the door chimed so often I’d started hearing it in my sleep, a constant punctuation mark in my new life.
Best of all, I wasn’t drowning. I wasn’t even treading water. I was swimming, head above the surface, arms strong and steady.
I handed off a waffle cone piled high with Sandbar Cookie Crunch and braced myself on the counter, pausing for the first time all afternoon. For a beat, I let myself remember who I’d been that first day in Dove Key—a girl terrified she’d peaked atutterly unambitious, a woman so scared of even trying she’d almost let her ex-boyfriend’s bitter words become her truth. Now I was someone who’d gutted a small business and rebuilt it from the studs up, who was recognized at the bank, and who had a favorite place to watch the sunrise with the man I loved. The realization hit with a force that made my eyes sting.
The Coleridge siblings had taken over a corner of the shop, turning it into their personal headquarters. Harper was perched at a high-top, her manager’s eye instinctively critiquing my new employee Sydney’s attempt at a rainbow sprinkle gradient, though a smile played on her lips. She caught my eye and tipped me a wink. Braden was telling a story with wild hand gestures to a table of off-duty marina workers, his laughter booming over the din. And Eli, true to form, had already charmed his way behind the counter, shamelessly quality-checking samples with the gusto of a child left alone in a candy store. He’d just slung an arm around my shoulder, declaring to the room at large that I was “the best damn ice cream maker in three counties.”
That was when I spotted Dean, leaning in the doorway, hands in the pockets of his slacks, an expression I’dlearned to read as fondly exasperated. He was tan, his hair a little longer and messier than it used to be, and he wore a relaxed, open smile I’d once believed existed only in vacation commercials. He looked gorgeous. He looked happy.
He navigated the crowd, sidestepping a gaggle of grade-schoolers with the ease of someone who now considered this his natural habitat. He paused at the counter, scanning the chaos before settling on me. “You know, for a Grand Re-Opening, this feels more like a city-wide block party. Did you forget to charge people?”
I grinned, my cheeks aching from smiling all day. “You have Doris to thank for the turnout. She may have moved to be closer to her grandkids, but she still runs this town by text. I think she threatened the entire Rotary Club with eternal damnation if they didn’t show up.”
“Of course she did,” he said, taking my hand in a quick, private squeeze. I felt it down to my toes. He leaned closer. “So, is it finally ready?”
My heart did a little flip. “It’s ready. I was waiting for the official taste tester to arrive.”
“I take my duties very seriously.”
I ducked into the back freezer and returned with a small paper cup of a flavor we hadn’t put on the menu yet, a secret I’d been perfecting with Sydney for weeks. It was a gorgeous swirl of deep, glossy chocolate threaded with bright ribbons of gold. I passed it to him.
“Sydney and I finally nailed the salt content in the caramel,” I said, trying to sound casual. “I’m calling it Sunset Charade Swirl.”
I watched Dean's face as he took the first bite. The chocolate was dark, bordering on bitter, but the caramel—shockingly rich and just salty enough—smoothed out everyedge. It was a little sharp, a little sweet, and a lot more complicated than it looked.
It was us.
He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring it. When he opened them, his forehead had gone slack. “Brynn, this is absolutely perfect. And not just for us.”
Finally, the crowd began to thin. Braden came over. “Gotta run, guys. Time to make the beer. Place looks amazing, Brynn. Seriously. From one business owner to another, you’ve done great work here.” Pride filled me at his praise. After exchanging nods, he traipsed out the door.
Eli approached and clapped Dean on the back. He hooked an arm over my shoulder and pointed to Braden’s retreating form. “Hey, there are going to be two-for-ones at Tidal Hops tonight. You guys should come by.”
My heart leaped. I looked at Dean, and he was smiling, already knowing what I was thinking.
“Sounds great,” he said, his voice easy. “Perfect place to catch the sunset.”
He met my eyes, and the promise of the evening to come showed in their depths. As the Coleridge brothers headed out, Dean slipped his hand into the pocket of his pants, a subtle gesture I almost missed. I couldn’t think of a better way to end the perfect day.
Several hours later,the buzz of Tidal Hops faded behind us. It was replaced by the gentle lap of water as Dean led me to the long wooden pier with its weathered planks. As much as I loved my own slice of Dove Key, Sunset Siesta Resort was the place where I’d first connected with him, a handsome co-wedding attendant trapped in a conversation. Though Dean was a local now, this was whereour ridiculous, wonderful charade had begun. Every step was charged with memories of our first night, the solidness of his hand in mine, the ghost of a kiss that had changed everything.
We walked past the quiet dive shop to the end of the dock. We stopped, leaning against the railing as the sun melted into the Gulf. The sky flared, a riot of impossible orange and hot pink, the colors so intense it almost hurt to look.
Dean turned to face me, his eyes reflecting the fiery sky. “I used to think sunsets like this were a cliché. Just a predictable, overly sentimental ending to the day. A distraction from real life.”
I nudged him with my shoulder. “And now, O Cynical One?”
He shook his head, a wry smile on his lips. “Now I know my life in Atlanta was the fantasy. An emptiness I built out of fear.” He took both of my hands in his, his grip warm and steady. “The moments I spent with you on this pier, at this resort, even when we were pretending, were the first time in years I felt like myself. You, this town, this living, sunburned heartbeat of a place… This is the real life I want.”
My heart did a slow, squeezing flip in my chest.
