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“Oh, love.” He drops a kiss against the corner of my mouth, my jaw, my earlobe. I gasp against his touch. “You already have.” Then his Adam’s apple bobs, and his eyebrows knit together. “I know I’m not the best at saying how I feel, but I want to say this. Happiness, I’m discovering, isn’t in what we do. It’s in who we are with. It’s not in where we live, but where we belong.” He pauses. “And the short of it is, I will always belong with you. I knew it twelve years ago and I know it now. You really are it for me.”
Seriously, have sweeter words ever been spoken? “Freddy,” I breathe. His name is an exhalation on my lips, an inhalation for my lungs, my heart, my everything. “You’re it for me too. And I promise to show you every day just how much I love you.” Then I lean in and kiss him and spend as much time as possible right there proving that he is not the only person in this relationship who can keep their word.
Is love like this for everyone? Just being with a person and knowing you fit? That you belong?
All I know is that I’m so grateful we found each other. That he loves me through it all—in the normal and abnormal, in the spotlight or in anonymity.
I’m so glad that we are Chloe and Freddy, now and always.
And that that’s always going to be enough.
epilogue
LUCY
And this is why I love Hallmark Beach.
It’s been my home for twelve years now, and there’s not a day that goes by that I don’t love it a little bit more. I mean, where else could two foreigners who were already in love (and didn’t know it) come and discover said feelings in such a magical way?
Needless to say, I’m thrilled for Chloe and Frederick. Even more thrilled that they’re staying in Hallmark Beach.
It’s nice when people stay—when they stick it out, even if things are rough. That’s more than I can say forsomepeople.
“You’re doing that thing again, Lucy.” Elisse tugs on my elbow and I jolt, moving my gaze to my long-time friend in her gorgeous gold dress. Next to me—who only managed to find a dress in the very back of my closet, quite possibly from the last high school dance I attended—she is like a runway model beside a little girl playing dress-up.
But no matter. We’re having a great time at this wedding even if I had to get gussied up. Elisse’s family vineyard looks as amazing as all get-out, so elegant and lovely and yet … homey too. There’s a dance floor filled with many of my favorite people (who Chloe was nice enough to invite to her brother’s wedding), twirling in an array of colors that’s creating a nighttime rainbow under the bulb lights strung across what, two days ago, was just an open field filled with junk.
Music pumps through speakers and into the yard, and a cheer goes up from the crowd when the iconic YMCA song comes on. I take a sip of the champagne in my flute. Hold back a grimace. Give me a bottle of beer any time, but this is still tasty enough, and it will always remind me of this iridescent evening. There’s always something good to find in every situation—even if you don’t get exactly what you want.
I smile at Elisse. “What thing is that?”
Using her own flute, which she’s had no problem draining, twice, she points to the food truck positioned at the edge of the revelry. It’s not a fun bright color, like pink or lime green, or—heaven forbid—yellow.
No. This food truck is painted black and white, with red lettering that says The Urban Melt. It’s as dull and grouchy as its owner—and like the man inside, it takes itself much too seriously. I mean, sure, this is a wedding, and the guests are all dressed up, but was it really necessary for him to wear a full-blown suit while he works a grill?
Even if that suit looks good on him, with the jacket discarded and the white shirt hugging his broad shoulders and trim waist, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal delicious forearms that are just wasted on such a jerk. And then there’s the tie all loosened like he’s just gotten off work and is ready to relax on the couch. How is it possible he looks even more handsome now than he did six years ago—the last time he was in Hallmark Beach?
Oh, how I loathe him even for that.
Elisse continues. “That thing where you make crazy bedroom eyes at Blake Moffitt, that’s what.”
I fling a hand on my hip and squeak out a protest. “I amnotdoing that!”
“Are too.”
“I was just … reading the menu.”
“You can’t read the menu from way over here.”
Elisse appraises me with those eyes that have always called me on my crud. Why do I keep hanging out with her again? She keeps my life interesting, though, and I love her dearly, just like all of my friends—new and otherwise. I mean, I’ve forgiven Marilee for having such an awful brother, so I suppose I can forgive Elisse for being able to discern things I never want to talk about, right?
“I can too.” I wave my hand in that direction. “It’s just a bunch of grilled cheese sandwiches. Guess some of us never grow up.”
“Have you not had one yet? Because those sandwiches are completely divine. They’re not like your regular grilled cheese. They’regourmet.”
She says the last word with an eyebrow waggle, as if gourmet is the new sexy.
Like anything about Blake could be sexy. Objectively handsome? Maybe. But sexy? No. Sexy implies wanting, and there’s no way in you know where that I would everwantBlake Moffitt. Not again, anyway. “I’m not hungry.” My stomach chooses that unfortunate moment to gurgle. I’ve been betrayed by my own body.
