Total pages in book: 51
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 263(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
I roll my eyes.
As sunset spills amber light across the gallery, the crowd thins. Cole slides his hand into mine, fingers lacing like he never plans to let go.
“Ready to leave them wondering?” he asks.
“Always.”
We step outside into the breeze, the ocean rising to meet us.
And for the first time in a long time, I’m not running from anything.
I’m walking toward something that’s ours.
Something lasting.
Something true.
EPILOGUE 2
EMILY
It took countless late nights, more tears than I’d like to admit, and hours of brutal rewrites—but my first official song collection is finally finished.
And today… it’s published.
Morning light spills through our kitchen windows, warm and golden. I’m barefoot on the tile floor, coffee in one hand, phone in the other, refreshing the link again and again just to make sure it’s real.
It is.
My name—Emily O’Hara—is right there beneath the title in bold serif font. I scroll slowly, heart pounding, until I reach the cover.
It stops me cold.
It’s a painting Cole did years ago—me on a hotel balcony, hair wild in the wind, notebook clutched to my chest, the Gulf of Mexico behind me like a promise. He’s softened it into dusky purples and twilight blues. Around the edges, faint music notes swirl like smoke.
I didn’t even know he remembered that moment.
Tears prick my eyes. I press a hand to my mouth.
Behind me, I hear his footsteps. He wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me close.
“You kept that painting,” I whisper.
“I never stopped looking at it,” he says into my hair. “You said you didn’t want to see the cover until today, so I picked the moment I knew was your beginning.”
I turn to face him, hands on his chest. He looks nervous. Hopeful.
“I love you, Emily,” he says, cupping my face. “Will you marry me?”
My breath catches. The tears spill anyway.
“Yes,” I whisper. “Yes. Always.”
He kisses me slow—like we have all the time in the world.
Like every promise we ever made is already coming true.
—
THE END