“What now?” I ask.
My words break a spell, and Alex hauls me into a hug. His hand rubs soothing circles over the small of my back, coaxing me closer. “You tell me.” He sighs, and the sound unfurls along my neck and ears. “I’m far from perfect. I probably need therapy, and I think I still want to freelance wherever the jobs are. Hopefully here. All that said, you tell me, Casey.”
I breathe in his musky scent—like linens left in cold rain. It’s different from what it was when we first met, but better now.
His lips graze the shell of my ear, and I say everything I mean: “Be with me.”
We kiss like two starved and half-crazed wild things, so desperate to drink each other in that we both forget to breathe.
“Gonna take some time off,” he mutters, fingers in my hair. “Lawyers, probably, and depositions, plus apartment hunting, for you, and—hiking.”
“Hiking?” I gasp when his teeth graze my ear.
“Southern coast of England. I’m into hiking now, thanks to you.”
I try to smirk against his chest, but my body is pulled taut, my emotions as stretched out as a limp rubber band. “Hiking would be good,” I say lamely, trying to steady my breath.
He lifts my chin and says hoarsely, “Maybe our life together won’t ever be steady or sure-footed. But I will always come back to you. You are my North Star, my safe harbor, and I love you so much I could die.”
I stretch onto my toes and wrap my arms around Alex’s neck. “I’m proud of you,” I whisper to him. “I think you’re brave. I love you, too, and I’ll always be your home.”
“I’m sorry you had to think I let you leave without saying goodbye.”
I shudder. “You’re here now.”
“I’m here now,” he agrees.
His trembling fingers trace my lips in reverence, and his mouth parts open when he leans in to kiss me. The last vestiges of winter chill expel from my body the moment our lips touch once again. He pushes his mouth gently against mine, tipping my head back and pressing his arm into the small of my back. It’s the most romantic moment we’ve ever had. The rainy slush gets a bit more serious, but I can’t feel it at all. There’s only him, the perfect words shoved in each of our pockets, and a sense of calm that tells me we’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.
EPILOGUE
Behind the Zines: A Day in the Life of Casey and Alex
Did y’all see they’re dating irl???? There’s a reddit thread!
Alex WOULD be the type to want flavor added to his （iced） coffee （in the dead of winter）
The set of pink reusable utensils at Casey’s greenhouse （i.e., cubicle）， and how happy she got when she showed them to the camera
I’m a sophomore in college and because of Casey I just changed my major from Economics to Finance. Love you Casey!
Did anybody see the SEC case against Alex’s dad??? Fckn wild!!!!!
* * *
Jack and Jill’s wedding reception is all soft pinks and royal reds, with tall flower bouquets and four open bars. A chandelier made of carnations is hanging over the dance floor, and a disco ball at the arrangement’s center spills light all over the refurbished Georgia barn while scorched cherrywood smoke drifts inside from the bonfire.
“This is different than I was expecting,” Alex admits as I cut into my beef tenderloin, served to me in my seat （fancy） by a waiter with a sparkly bow tie （fancier）。
“What were you expecting?” I ask.
Alex pauses. “That question feels like entrapment, and I’m not going to answer it.”
I smirk. “Well, at least we’re in a barn. And at least there is a dude in a kilt.”
We both look over at the man in full Scottish formal wear: tartan, sporran, black knee socks, and all. One of Jill’s distant cousins, apparently.
“But where are his bagpipes?” Alex grumbles.
“I beg you not to inquire.”
“God, I was starving,” Miriam groans around a mouthful of food.
“Same,” Brijesh says. “A happy hour appetizer would have been nice. Maybe some croquembouche. Or tuna tacos. With microgreens.”
“The nuptials started at seven thirty!” Miguel says. “Happy hour was already over. What we should have done was pregamed the ceremony.”
“That,” Sasha says, “would have been an abominably bad idea.”
I turn to Alex, who’s gone back to glaring at Lance—by far his favorite activity of the evening. We had an awkward introduction earlier （this time, Lance and his girlfriend didn’t bail）， but it’s out of the way now, just like when I met Sonja.
Honestly, I only remember Lance is here every time I catch Alex staring at him like he could erase my ex-boyfriend if he glared hard enough.
“Alex?”
“Hmm?” He turns to look at me, arm coming to rest on the back of my chair.
“There’s no need to feel jealous.”
He doesn’t look the least bit sorry or embarrassed by my chastising. His eyes darken as he looks at me—my eyes, my lips, my body. I feel his hand weave into my hair. “I don’t feel jealous.” His tone is at odds with his expression. “I feel protective.”
“Oh, thank you for clarifying. By all means, glare on.”
Alex bites the inside of his cheek, leaning toward me. “Let me have this,” he says before pressing a kiss to my temple. “It’s a new experience for me.”
I shudder under his touch, annoyingly turned on. “Fine,” I say. He laughs.
When we all get up to dance a few minutes later, Alex leaves his suit jacket on the back of his chair. We top up our drinks and head to the dance floor, getting silly and ridiculous and spilling expensive wine on our less expensive clothes. Eventually, Alex puts our empty glasses on the nearest table and spins me in the makings of a swing dance.
“They teach you this at Harvard?” I shout in his ear.
“Twelve-hour credit!” he shouts back.
“Could you have possibly fathomed that when we fake-kissed in Sleight of Hand, you’d wind up here as my real date?”
“Fathomed it? I made sure of it. Now I can say I’ve seen Atlanta beyond the airport.”
The dance turns slow, and our bodies press in. I rest my head on his shoulder and let him hold me. “Are you having fun?” he asks.
“Of course,” I say. “But I’ll still be ready to go home.”
I don’t clarify which home I mean. Right now, it’s London. But really, it’s him. I trace the rose of Sharon tattoo on his forearm, and when I look back up, his eyes are twinkling.
* * *
Tracy Garcia fills the open CEO role at Little Cooper. Don is promoted to CFO, and Mrs. Cooper steps into the chairperson’s seat.
For one reason or another, Robert Harrison is never named to the board of Strauss Holdings. He’s never named anywhere, in fact, thanks to an SEC investigation suggesting he violated （a） his noncompete, （b） his confidentiality agreement, and （c） his fiduciary duty. But he gets no jail time. Go figure.
Alex puts in his resignation / is simultaneously fired, sells the Pottery Barn couch to Freddy, gives Cleopatra and Calliope to the guy across the hall, and kind of moves to London. （His mailing address is still his aunt’s apartment in Queens, which I don’t press at first because I’m not sure about the legal aspect of Alex living in a country where he’s unemployed and not a citizen.） After three months, he picks up his first freelance job here, and that’s when I ask him to officially move in by hiding his suitcase in the back of the closet and unpacking his things.