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Me too. I want every ordinary thing we almost did not get.

Our hands remain linked as the current turns us slowly beneath the open sky. We float beneath the stars and begin choosing tomorrow.

Epilogue—Pepper Vines

Theo’s arms circle my waist while Ezra dazzles half of Sweetheart Haven. I lean back against my alpha and watch our beta sign a print for Mrs. Delaney beneath the warm lights of Heritage Hall.

She says something that makes him laugh. Ezra throws his head back, bright and easy, then bends to add a tiny sketch beside his name. Mrs. Delaney presses one hand to her chest as if he has personally gifted her the moon.

“He’s good,” I say.

Theo’s chin settles near my temple. “I know.”

Across the room, Ezra hands Mrs. Delaney her print. She turns to show it to three women standing behind her.

Theo’s arms tighten. “They know now too.”

Pride warms his voice.

The new bond carries a little of Ezra’s delight toward us. They tell me it feels different from the old connection between them. I can only imagine what the pain was like before, but now there is just Ezra, nervous and pleased.

Heritage Hall has never looked this warm.

Ezra’s paintings line the gallery walls between strings of golden lights and arrangements Honey and I made from rosemary and swamp lilies. Prints and postcards fill the display tables Theo built in the caretaker-house workshop. Darwin sits beneath the sales table holding cold drinks for the artist, the artist’s nervous pack, and anyone Honey decides looks underfed.

The opening crowd has already emptied two postcard racks. I predicted this. Ezra didn’t order enough. I have chosen not to say I told him so more than four times.

The paintings move through the room like pieces of the life we nearly lost. The caretaker house glows from one canvas, every window lit against a blue-black sky. Another shows the cemetery dock beneath morning mist. Water lines, roots, and old survey marks twist through several pieces in layers of green, silver, and deep brown.

Near the end of the gallery, three reflections float beneath a sky crowded with stars. There are no faces, only joined hands and rippling water. I know us anyway.

The largest painting hangs alone on the far wall. The Deacon rises from dark water in the foreground, his ridged head reflecting a thin line of moonlight. His gaze is on the graves beyond the old channel.

The painting makes the back of my neck prickle with recognition. The land is still cursed. But we’re here.

Honey appears beside me and pushes a miniature quiche into my hand. “You haven’t eaten enough.”

“I had two already.”

“You had one and gave half of it to Theo.”

Theo makes no attempt to defend me. Traitor.

Scarlet joins us carrying two glasses of sparkling cider. “Ezra sold the fog painting.”

My head snaps toward the empty hook near the entrance. “He did?”

“To the mayor’s wife.”

Theo hums against my back. “She has taste.”

Scarlet hands me a glass. “She also bought six postcards and asked if Ezra does commissions.”

Pride lifts so fast through our bond that I feel Ezra’s responding joy before I spot him across the gallery. He looks toward us. I raise my glass. He grins.

School started a month ago. My students learned I live in the cemetery caretaker house by the end of the first day. Half of them think this makes me a swamp witch. The other half think it explains everything.

My remaining boxes are unpacked. Mostly. Theo says a box doesn’t count as unpacked if it still contains items. I say it does if I know what is inside. We have agreed to remain in conflict.