Page 85 of P.S. It’s Always Been You

I pat his head. “Such a good dog.” I draw a deep breath as he turns the engine. “Are you ever bored?”

He shakes his head. “I am ridiculously fulfilled. Now let me show you something I found.”

We go for a drive, and thirty minutes later, we’re pulling up at an abandoned train station. It’s old, a tiny little depot overlooking an empty field.

“What’s this?”

He gets out of the car and takes my hand, and we walk up the steps and stand at the edge of the abandoned tracks.

And it hits me. I clasp my hand to my mouth, speaking in a whisper. “This is where they took the Folklore Ride. On Valentine’s night.”

When I turn around, Hunter’s already down on one knee.

It’s cold, but I’m warm all over when he looks in my eyes, flips open a jewelry box, and says, “You know that letter I carried around with me for years?”

“Yes. Yes, I do.”

“And my father’s words to me: There are some chances that only pass your way once, and you have to grab them. Seize them, clutch them, and hold them tenaciously with all your might.”

I nod, my heart flooding with love as he continues.

“I’ve taken a lot of chances in my life, and with you, I finally learned that taking a chance on love is just as important, if not more so, than taking a chance on anything else. I choose love. And I hope you’ll choose us for the rest of our lives. Will you be my wife?”

I bend down, throw my arms around him, and kiss my yes to his lips as tears rain down on Valentine’s night at an old train depot, where another couple opened a new chapter in their love story years ago.

Tonight, we start the next chapter in ours.

Another Epilogue

Hunter

* * *

Five years later

* * *

Some people don’t always see what’s in front of them. I didn’t. It took a near-death experience, a wise friend, my mom, and some good old-fashioned luck and coincidence for me to reconnect with the woman who makes my heart sing and my skin sizzle.

But I’m damn glad I had that crew.

Now it’s my turn to give back, and I’m good and ready. One snowy evening, five years after Presley and I got married, I call a meeting at my mother’s house.

We gather round her kitchen table.

Vik; Melody; my mother; Corinne; Joseph; Presley; our baby girl, Gretchen, and our infant son, Eddie; and Pat’s son, James. The old man passed on a few years ago, the day after his wife died. He had a good, long life.

But his son took over for him at the shop and here with us, and it’s good to have the connection to the original families, especially since the younger man has the same salt and wit as his pop.

Jesse, my stepdad, is here too. My mom married him a few years ago, and she’s as happy as she’s ever been.

“So, it seems someone is in need of a little assistance,” I begin.

Presley smiles as she bounces Eddie. “A lot of assistance. He’s pigheaded. Like his mentor.”

“Gee, I wonder what that’s like,” Vik deadpans.

“No idea,” I say, and then we roll up our sleeves, because it’s time to help my buddy Trevor along in the greatest adventure of all: love.

I’d thought for the longest time he’d go for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. But it turns out he’s been in love with my assistant, Cammi, and she has a thing for him too.

Here we go.

Sometimes a man needs a little help from his friends.

Or help from the Secret Society of the Valentine’s Night Love Letters.

“So this is the plan . . .”

* * *

THE END