"Grant—"
"I'm starting over. Completely. Sweet Harmony isn't just a name—it's a promise. Ten percent of everything we make goes to support local music programs for kids." He glances at my students with a soft smile. "Because everyone deserves a chance to find their song. I don't know if this is going to work, but I'm sure as hell going to try." His gaze returns to me, vulnerable and hopeful. "I know I might be too late. I know I hurt you, and that's the last thing I ever wanted to do. But you helped me see that escaping the castle was always in my hands. I just needed the courage to try."
He takes a deep breath. "I reached out to my old mentors, secured some angel investors who believed in the vision, and took out a bank loan to cover what the investments didn't. This shop—this place my father thought was just another Pierce & Sons asset to control—is now mine. Completely mine." He gestures around at the transformed shop. "So this is me, trying.Living my own story instead of my father's. And hoping... hoping you might want to be part of it."
Brass instruments gleam on the walls, as if punctuating Grant's words. I take a breath, filled with the sweet scent of waffle cones and chocolate sauce. Behind Grant, Jamie gives me a thumbs-up that makes me want to laugh and cry at the same time.
"Did you really think I'd say no?" I step closer, close enough to see the hope blooming in his stormy blue eyes. "You fought the dragon, Prince Charming. That deserves at least one more chance."
His smile brightens, brighter than any fairy tale ending, as he pulls me into a tight embrace. Around us, the kids burst into an enthusiastic (if slightly chaotic) rendition ofOnce Upon a Dream.I can't help laughing against Grant's lips as he kisses me.
Because maybe he's right. Maybe this is what real magic is—not perfect fairy tales or carefully scripted endings, but the messy, beautiful chaos of people who show up for each other. Of dreams worth fighting for and second chances taken. Of a whole town's worth of music coming together to create something sweeter than any ice cream.
And as Grant holds me close while our unlikely orchestra plays on, I know we've finally found our own kind of happily ever after. One as sweet as rainbow snow cones, as comforting as jazz at midnight, and exactly like coming home.
Rachel
EPILOGUE: A SYMPHONY OF US
The spring breeze carries the scent of salt and new beginnings through the music room windows. My fingers tap their familiar rhythm against the piano lid—one-two-three-four—but today the beat feels like celebration instead of nervous energy. Around me, students tune their instruments, the cacophony of preparation filling the space with promise.
"Ms. Williams?" Jamie peeks around the door, his trumpet case adorned with a few more competition stickers than before. "My mom wants to know if there's still room in the front row for grandma?"
"We'll make room." I can't stop smiling. My cheeks actually hurt from grinning so much today. "There's always room for more family."
He beams and disappears back into the hallway, where I can hear the growing buzz of audience members finding their seats in the auditorium. The spring recital always draws a crowd, but this year feels different. Special.
Maybe it's because of how close we came to losing the program. Or maybe it's because of all the changes the past year has brought—the renovated music room with its state-of-the-art ventilation system and vaulted ceilings, the new instruments gleaming in their cases, the way the whole town still shows up to support these kids at every performance.
Or maybe it's because of the man currently leaning against the doorframe, watching me with those stormy blue eyes that still make my heart skip a beat.
"Ready for the big show?" Grant asks, crossing to press a kiss to my temple. He smells like vanilla and sea salt, and his linen button-down emphasizes his broad shoulders.
There's a postcard in his hand—probably another one from his brother Owen, who's finally living his gelato dreams in Florence. It warms my heart to see how Grant's courage inspired his brother to find his own path, even if their father still refuses to speak to either of them. But his sister Vivian visits often, bringing her kids to ‘Uncle Grant's magic ice cream shop.'
"Almost," I answer and lean into his touch, remembering all the moments we've shared in this room. "Though if you keep distracting me, we might start late."
"Can't have that." His smile turns playful. "Though I have one more surprise for you."
"Grant." I narrow my eyes. "What did you do?"
He pulls an envelope from his back pocket—thick, cream paper that matches the letter he left on this very piano all those months ago when he finally chose to fight for his own story. "Open it."
My fingers tremble as I pull out the document inside—a deed. My breath catches as I read the details—ten acres a few miles outside town, plans already approved for a summer music camp. Complete with cabins, performance spaces, and...
"Is that a theater and recording studio?" My voice catches.
"The kids need somewhere to practice during the off-season," he says casually, though his eyes dance with excitement. "And maybe they could even put on a few performances to raise money from tourists."
"But how?—"
"A few angel donors with ties to Magnolia Cove pitched in," he says, his tone softening. "One of them actually went to middle school here and said the music program reminded her of what got her through tough times. I also put the infamous Pierce charm—and my family's connections—to work. Between that and the buzz we've built with the shop, the jazz nights, and some very generous patrons, we were able to pull it together."
"You did all this... for the kids?" My voice wavers, but it's more than for the kids—it's for me too. I can feel it in the way his eyes hold mine, unflinching, like he's daring me to see just how much he cares.
"For the kids," he says, but his lips curve into a soft smile, "and for you."
I turn in his embrace, overwhelmed by this man who keeps finding new ways to show me his heart. "I love you," I whisper against his lips. "Even if you are ridiculously extra sometimes."
