“I like the sound of that.” He smiles, but there’s a fire roaring in his eyes.
“We have time,” I say.
He kisses my neck and we keep dancing. Right before my eyes close in contentment, I take a moment to marvel at the friends and family who’ve come out to support us. People I never expected to befriend, people I never expected to care about.
I’ve found where I belong. Here, with these people. With this remarkable man.
When Sean and I first met, he asked, “What are you going to make happen?”
I never imagined it would be something as beautiful as this.
Want more of Sean and Kayla’s happily-ever-after? Check out this exclusive bonus scene of a very pregnant Kayla during the final game of the Stanley Cup Playoffs!
And read on for TWO bonus epilogues—one featuring Fletch and his mystery woman, and another featuring Scottie and Lucas!
BONUS EPILOGUE ONE
FLETCH
I don’t do weddings.
I don’t do parties and happily-ever-afters and small talk.
If I hadn’t promised my boss to smile and play nice, I wouldn’t be here at all.
Was becoming head coach for a Triple-A ball team worth the pain?
The jury’s still out.
Speaking of which …
My phone buzzes with a notification from GracieLou, my chat room … friend? Nemesis? We fight as much as we agree, yet I’m more excited getting in an argument with her than I am getting along with anyone else.
Even if I don’t know anything about her.
Well, not nothing.
I know a lot about her, even if very few of those facts are … demographic. The messaging board we met on requires identification to sign up, so there’s no catfishing allowed. I don’t know if Grace is her actual name, but I call her that, just like she calls me Arrow. (My name is Oliver Fletcher and a fletcheris someone who makes arrows, and Oliver Queen is the Green Arrow and the most underrated DC Superhero … you know what? Doesn’t matter. My handle is GreenArrow11, and she calls me Arrow, and I like it.)
Even though we’re not supposed to give out identifying information, I know she has some tie to Rochester, NY, where I grew up. I know she’s around my age based on her mentioning a song that was big when she was in high school.
I know she’s beautiful.
I don’t mean physically.
Over months of chats, I’ve seen the core of who she is: compassionate, funny, and firm on her values while still being open-minded.
And also, we were talking about bars once, and she let slip some of the worst pickup lines she’s ever gotten, and they were classic Crypto Bro pickup lines, which means, yeah, she’s alsobeautifulbeautiful.
Not that it matters. We’ll never meet in real life. I wouldn’t want to even if we could.
Talking to Grace is the only bright spot in my day, and considering how adept I am at ruining things—futures, relationships—I’d rather keep this particular spot bright and unsullied by the dark cloud that is Oliver Fletcher.
I’m sitting at a long picnic table, a few feet away from the nearest reception guests. They’re mostly people from the team, but I don’t want prying eyes as I pull up Grace’s latest message. We moved our conversations from the main thread to a private discussion months ago. We’ve never swapped phone numbers. I wonder if she’s as eager as I am to maintain anonymity.
Between you and me, the mystery is half the fun.
GracieLou
