Page 108 of The Marriage Mistake

His eyes sparked, and his lips curled into a wicked smile. “Is that a yes?”

My heart sang. I let my fingers drift to the nape of his neck so I could pull him down for a kiss. “Yes. I love you, Jack. I choose you.”

He exhaled, his whole body expanding like I’d just lifted a crushing weight off his shoulders. And then he kissed me long and slow, until I knew in my body and my soul that he was right: Beside him was exactly where I was meant to be.

“One more thing,” Jack murmured, pulling away from the kiss. He unzipped his jacket and pulled something out of the inner pocket. A familiar velvet box. He flicked it open and took out my rings. “You need these. Promise me you won’t take them off again.”

“Well, if I’m at the gym, or I’m gardening, or doing the dishes, or⁠—”

“Ember. You know what I mean.” He was smiling as he said it, his brow arching.

I laughed as he slid the rings over my finger, and we both watched the diamonds sparkle. I suddenly felt less bare with them on, like the last missing piece had clicked into place.

Jack kissed the inside of my palm, then pulled me close and kissed my lips. I wrapped my arms around him—my husband, my love—and let him show me just how much he’d missed me while I was gone.

TWENTY-EIGHT

KNOX

My grandmother was scheming again. I could tell by the way she met my gaze and smiled that evil little smile of hers. She had me in her sights.

It was Sunday, and we were all at her house for lunch. Jack had just come back to town with Ember, who had packed up her life in Chicago and officially moved here. They were both happy and in love, but Grandma Mars wasn’t satisfied.

No, she was looking at me like I was next.

But I didn’t need Grandma Mars’s matchmaking; I already had a woman in my life. Problem was, that woman hated my guts.

It was because of that pesky little secret she’d tried to keep hidden. The one I’d found out a few weeks after she’d rolled into town and bought that bakery. She hated that I had that leverage over her, but she didn’t want to leave the safe haven she’d found in this town.

I ignored my grandmother’s pointed stares and headed into town. I pushed open the door to Knead More Bread and inhaled the scent of sugar, dough, and coffee. A dark head was bent over the espresso machine. I watched as it lifted, and hazel eyes narrowed at the sight of me. Plump lips pursed, so very angry.

Without saying a word, Caroline Black marched to the display cabinet, grabbed an old-fashioned donut, and fired it at my head. Her aim was getting better. I caught the donut and took a bite.

“Out!” she snarled.

I grinned. “Hello, Caroline.”

EPILOGUE - EMBER

EIGHT MONTHS LATER

The scissors made a satisfying shhink noise as they sliced through the red ribbon in front of the glass door of my new shop. The cut edges of the ribbon fluttered down to the sidewalk, and applause echoed off the buildings on Main Street.

It was June, and the leaves on the trees were a vivid green, the ocean the same blue as Jack’s eyes. We’d survived the winter.

The Gilded Teapot was officially open to the public. A golden teapot poured out gold liquid that dripped into the lettering of the sign above the door. I’d planned on calling this place something bland and descriptive, like “Marswood Harbor Tea Shop,” but Darby had grabbed my little yellow teapot and come up with the name on the spot. She’d beamed at me, and that was that.

My heart fluttered as I turned to face the small crowd assembled on the sidewalk. My eyes immediately found Jack’s. He had his arm around Darby, who was bouncing around with a big grin on her face. She let out a loud whoop, and a smile burst over my face.

I hadn’t planned on starting a business in Marswood Harbor, but Etta Mars had other ideas. When I moved back to Marswood Harbor with Jack, she gifted us this small space just a block up from the seaside and told us we’d figure out what we wanted to do with it. Then, over the weeks, on Thanksgiving and during the Christmas break and into the New Year, she dropped hints about my interest in tea and how good it would be to have something available in town for everyone to expand their palates.

I resisted. I really did. I had a good job. I was a great actuary. I made good money. I knew the risks of starting a small business, and I wasn’t interested.

But then I got my father’s money, and everything changed. I could invest part of it, save part of it, and still have a lot left over.

Maybe part of me wanted to use the money for something my father would have found frivolous. I really did want to give him that final middle finger. But a bigger part of me wanted to give back to this town that had given me everything: husband, family, home, community, and happiness. Marswood Harbor needed people who cared about keeping it going, and I had enough money to be one of them.

So I started researching. I looked up tea wholesalers and interior designers and got quotes from various tradespeople. At one Sunday lunch, Jack’s cousin Fletcher, a talented woodworker, offered to make custom tables for a hugely reduced price. Then Darby dragged us to another estate sale where we found half a dozen tea-related artworks and about a gazillion cups and saucers.