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Epilogue
Shayla - 4 years later
It’s like herding kittens, trying to keep an eye on all the kids and corral them in one area while we figure out which performance we’re going to next. We’ve gone all out, dressing up in pseudo-medieval Lords’ and Ladies’ costumes for our first trip to the Texas Renaissance Festival as a family of six—well, six and a half, if you count our third biological child together currently growing in my belly.
Now that I’ve graduated from Texas Tech and we’ve moved back to our hometown, the drive to the festival is much more manageable as opposed to the seven-plus hours it would take to get here from Lubbock.
My mouth waters for a bite of a giant turkey leg on a stick that the festival is well-known for, and my stomach rumbles. I look longingly at the food stalls, even though I finished off a whole turkey leg all by myself thirty minutes ago.
James, in all his nerdy, adorable finery, unfolds the festival map. “It looks like The Dublin Harpers will go on in about thirty minutes. Then we can make our way to the arena to watch the jousting after that. Sound good?”
I nod and hand our two-year-old son, Artie—short for Arthur—to James, then stretch my back with a moan. James shoots me a hot look, and I wag my brows before wincing when the baby kicks me in the ribs.
“Oh, there they are,” I say to James when I spot Isaiah standing a head taller than the crowd.
James waves his hand in the air, and Isaiah beelines toward our group when he spots us. He is followed by Martin, Eden, Ivy, and their two-year-old twins—Amelia, who takes after her mother and older sister with brown hair, and Daphne, who takes after her father with bright, ginger hair.
“Hey there, little Bartletts.” Isaiah smiles and gives Lainey, Grayson, and Gentry a high-five in greeting before patting Artie and James simultaneously on their backs. “Man, it feels good to be back here. I can’t wait to sink my teeth into a turkey leg.”
“Oh god, me—” I start.
“Isaiah!” Bailey yells with pleasant surprise after she and Autumn return from a food cart with paper cones of cinnamon sugar pecans.
Isaiah’s smile drops off his face, and his dark skin pales slightly. “Ah shit, James. You didn’t tell me Bailey would be here.” He hikes a thumb over his shoulder as he starts backing away. “I gotta go.”
Bailey takes off, chasing after him.
Autumn snickers. “This never gets old.”
“Wait! Isaiah!” Bailey huffs, weighed down by her costume’s dark blue, heavy skirts. “Are you coming to my birthday party? I’m turning eighteen!” she yells with hope in her voice, as if her turning eighteen—legally an adult—will make Isaiah, who is nearing thirty-three, stop running, spin around, and take her into his arms as he confesses his love.
Hope that is quickly dashed.
“Fuck no!” he yells over his shoulder, trying his best to push through the dense crowd.
My heart breaks for Bailey, no matter how inappropriate her crush is. She’s been in love with Isaiah since she was thirteen years old. We thought she would grow out of it when she got into high school, especially since Isaiah has made it abundantly clear that he wants nothing to do with her—as he should. But nope. Her unrequited love for him grows stronger with each passing year.
I look at my handsome, wonderful husband and think about the soul-crushing devastation I would feel if he didn’t return my love. If he cursed and bolted every time I came near him, I’d be a shell of a person. Then again, we didn’t officially meet until after I turned eighteen—big difference.
“Please—” Bailey cries out when she stumbles over an abandoned umbrella stroller and falls to her hands and knees in the dirt, her pecans scattering on the ground.
We collectively gasp. I think Autumn speaks for all of us when she says, “Dang, now I feel bad.”
I waddle my way to help Bailey when Isaiah whips around at her pained voice and rushes back, reaching her before I do. He picks her up by her waist to set her on her feet, then looks her up and down, checking for injuries.
“Oh shit, B, are you ok?” His black brows pinch together with concern laced with guilt.
She clutches his arms with tears in her eyes, yet she smiles brilliantly and cries, “I knew you loved me!” She tries to throw her arms up around his neck.
Isaiah drops his hands from her waist as if she burned him. “Damnit, B. No!” He grabs her hands and pushes them down to her sides. “Give up already!” he yells before turning and dodging around people to disappear.
Bailey growls and stomps her foot in frustration. “I’ll never give up, Isaiah! I love you!” she screams while everyone stops and stares.
I pull her into my arms and turn her around to rejoin our group before she’s tempted to take off running after him again. I’m surprised to see her smiling, though, and the slight conniving look to the set of her eyes.
Before I can ask her what she’s planning, Lainey yells, “Mom! Tell Grayson to stop pulling my hair!” I look up just in time to see her yank her long, bright blonde braid out of Grayson’s hand and slap it away. She tries to push him, but he’s already a head taller than her and nearly twenty pounds heavier. When that doesn’t work, she grabs hold of his short, brown strands and tries to rip them out from the roots.
Instead of yelling and crying out, he laughs. With her distracted, he pulls on her braid again.
