Page 95 of Blame it on the Bet
“I’m sorry, did you just quote the book of Ruth to me?” “Uhh… Leonard Cohen, actually. But he probably borrowed it from Ruth.” He smirks, and I roll over on top of him, digging my fingers into his sides to tickle him until he’s begging for mercy and the tears running down his face are tears of joy.
It feels so good to be home at last.
Epilogue
BRYAN
Truittism No.1: The thing about always getting what you want is that you don’t always know what you want…until you get it.
“Can’t you drive any faster? We’re going to be late,” she whines from the passenger seat.
“We won’t be late,” I assure her, grinning like an idiot.
I do a lot of that lately. The fact is, I just can’t stop smiling. For the last two weeks I’ve gone to sleep with this woman and woken up with her. She’s been by my side almost every moment of every day. I even paid to have Walker’s Jeep shipped back up to Mayhem so that we could make the drive up from St. Paul together in her car.
Spring seems to have finally arrived in Mayhem, melting away all but the most stubborn clumps of snow, and I’m shocked to see how different the town looks as we roll down Main Street. There’s a line out the door of the Little Slice of Heaven Pie Shop, and I spot a shadowy figure in long skirts and wild hair in a scarf flitting around inside. A few doors down, three cats are basking in the sun of Kelly’s Books, and if my eyes aren’t deceiving me, they’re wearing matching yellow sweaters.
As we pull up to O’Halloran’s Pub, a sign posted in the window reads:
CLOSED FOR PRIVATE PARTY
I park around the corner and we walk to the front, hand in hand. When she pulls the door open, the bell jingles, and a long tableful of friendly faces looks up, shock and delight filling their expressions.
Jameson jumps up and rushes to embrace first Hennessy, then me.
“We were beginning to think you’d absconded back to L.A. with Henny!” she chastises me, giving me a playful smack on the chest.
“Well, I’ve brought her back to you now,” I say, kissing her on the cheek.
We repeat the process with Bailey. Even the dark and brooding Walker O’Halloran deigns to give me a fast, noncommittal embrace.
“Glad you came back. And thanks for getting all that stuff fixed on my car,” she mutters and slips away before I can even offer a “You’re welcome.”
Hennessy grabs a couple of glasses of wine and pulls us closer to the crowd. I realize that someone has pushed several smaller tables together to make one long one, and it’s overflowing with food from end to end. I spot Father Romance, who gives me a discreet nod and a thumbs-up.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting your office back then?” King Colby calls out.
“I would. And I’ll need a space for Helen.”
“Who on God’s green earth is Helen?” he asks.
“Our new office manager, King. She arrives in two weeks, and you’d better get ready, man, ’cause she’s gonna kick your backside into the twenty-first century, whether you like it or not!”
King scowls. Or maybe it’s a smile. It’s hard to tell with him.
Sitting quietly at the farthest end of the table is Big Win. He’s cutting a piece of ham for Jackson, who’s seated in a high chair next to him happily singing bits and pieces of the alphabet song. Until he catches sight of me, that is. The little guy’s green eyes grow huge, and he gives me a gummy, slobbery grin, pointing at me with one chubby finger.
“Brybry dooooooooosh!” he yells so loudly and so clearly that everyone stops and looks at us.
Suddenly the room erupts with laughter.
“Okay, okay, listen up, please,” Hennessy says, trying to get everyone’s attention.
When Walker grabs a spoon and starts to tap on a wineglass, the room quiets again, and Hennessy takes over.
“Well, clearly Bryan was successful in his search and recovery mission,” she jokes, looping her arm through mine. “And I’m thrilled to report that Mr. Bryan Truitt…and I… are both returning to Mayhem. Permanently.”
The applause that follows this statement is much louder than I’d have thought possible from a small crowd like this one. As they show their enthusiasm, I feel a wave of well-being wash over me.
