He kisses my hair, my temple, my mouth again. “I love you too.”
Sometimes, buildings and people have to fully collapse before they can be rebuilt from the foundation—a necessaryintervention because the structure wasn’t sustainable. In medicine, we call it injury followed by repair. Removing what no longer works, stabilizing what remains, and allowing healing to begin. And sometimes, when it’s done right and you’re lucky, you end up exactly where you were meant to be all along.
Epilogue 1
HER QUESTION
Robyn
Four Months Later
I’ve really tried.But the back of the cake still leans, caving in onto itself at the top where it’s thinnest. It’s not a total disaster. I’m quite confident it’s not enough to collapse, but one side definitely dips a little lower than the other.
I stare at it, arms folded. Maybe I can make the rows of fondant seats curving imperfectly around the center shape themselves into precision.
“Is that an arena?” Nate asks behind me, voice threaded with amusement.
“You weren’t supposed to see it yet!”
When I turn around, he’s leaning against the counter, arms crossed, keys circling around his index finger.
“What’s the occasion?” He throws the keys on the little bowl on the kitchen counter. Because apparently, he’s tired of me losing them every five minutes.
“It’s a lecture hall,” I insist.
“A lect—why are you sculpting a lecture hall cake on your own? It must have taken you hours?”
“You see it now, though? The shape.”
“Sure. It’s a… lecture hall-adjacent,” he corrects, pushing off the counter and stepping closer. He rests his palm, fingers splayed on my waist. “But I’m impressed. The tiering is exceptional.”
I huff, but I lean into him anyway, letting my shoulder brush his chest. “You’re impossible to please.”
“Not true,” he murmurs, gaze dropping to the cake again, then back to me, softer now. “This is—” He exhales. “I’m catching up here. Why?”
“Because of you.”
The teasing fades from his face, the corners of his mouth easing as his eyes warm, reddish hues in his eyes carrying a softness that wasn’t there before. “You made this for my first class.”
“Of course I did.”
He glances back at the cake, pacing around the table to examine every angle. It’s easy for his brain to fire up with every imperfection in its structure, his brows drawing together faintly while his lips part, the look on his face shifting into something deeper, almost awed. That wide, high-cheeked smile breaks through—the one that softens everything about him, the one that I promised I’d make it a point to see more of. He keeps looking at it. Then at me and back again, trying to hold both things in at once.
“Cut it,” I say, nudging the knife toward him. “Before it caves in anymore.”
He laughs under his breath, but he takes the knife. There’s a bit of hesitation before he takes a picture of the cake. Then he slides the knife carefully through the fondant seats, through the center, steady even as the dough crumbles under the pressure.
When he lifts the slice, something catches inside—paper, folded small, tucked in the hollow center of the cake.
His brow furrows. “What’s that?”
“Just—look,” I say, stepping closer into him until my front is pressed to his back, my chin resting just below his shoulder. Suddenly very aware of my pulse, and I don’t know what to do with my hands, so I hold onto the sides of his plaid button-down.
He sets the knife down, fingers already unfolding the note, slower now. I’m too nervous to go around him and watch his face as he reads it, so I hide my expression between his shoulder blades.
“We’re endgame.Live with me.”
The room goes quiet around us. My cheeks warm with embarrassment the longer he stays silent. Maybe I’m rushing it… again.
