Page 78 of Heart Checked By the Hockey Heartthrob

I glance at her, barefoot in the doorway, her hair still tousled from sea breezes and BBQ hugs.

“Home?” I ask.

She smiles, eyes shining. “Perfect.”

Epilogue – Quinn

Some months later, life in Sunset Cove has slipped into a rhythm so comforting I barely notice how different it all is from just a year ago. The clinic is thriving. We’ve added a part-time pediatrician, Savannah’s been promoted to head nurse, and our funding grants were not only renewed—they were doubled, thanks to Wes’s quiet behind-the-scenes efforts. The new wing opens next month, and I’ve already been asked to lead the expansion task force. It’s busy, challenging, sometimes chaotic... and I wouldn’t trade a minute of it.

Wes is part of everything now. He still coaches at the youth program, and when he’s not on the ice, he’s tinkering with gear donations, mentoring kids, or planning the next clinic fundraiser.

There’s a kind of grounded peace in him these days. He still grumbles about paperwork and burns toast with alarming frequency, but he’s also the guy who hands out team snacks andfixes leaky faucets at the rink like he owns the place. Which, technically, he kind of does now.

At home, we’ve built something neither of us ever really had before: steadiness. A rhythm of shared grocery lists, mismatched mugs, and early morning beach walks. The beach house—his, then ours—has changed too. What was once a guy’s mansion with gray furniture and zero personality is now full of color, cozy throws, local art, and plants I mostly keep alive.

The animals? Well, they rule the roost. Wag, the black fluffball from our bridal shower, has grown into a diva with her own Instagram account (Abby's doing, not mine). Wes brought home a senior rescue husky who sleeps by the front door like he’s guarding a castle. And we somehow ended up with two rescue cats from the hardware store alley—Duke and Noodle—who act like they own the kitchen.

Our latest addition? A three-legged terrier named Maple, who follows Wes like a fuzzy shadow. He claims he only went to the shelter to "drop off a check." I rolled my eyes, then promptly knitted Maple a sweater.

I think about the next knitting project I’m about to begin. Too early to speak it out loud, but very soon my sweet Wes will find the newest joy in his life. And me too.

There are paw prints on the deck, fur in the laundry, and chewed slippers in the entryway. And it’s perfect.

Tonight, we’re hosting a small dinner on the porch with Beckett, Abby, Griff, Liz, and baby Weston Griffin. Jake’s running up and down the stairs with Wag at his heels, trying to teach her how to not flop all the way down. Violet is sound asleep in her porta crib. Wes is flipping burgers while Liz rocks the baby in a hammock, humming a lullaby I haven’t heard since we were kids.

And I stand in the doorway for a moment, just soaking it in.

This life. This love.

I think back to the young girl I was when I met Wes. Determined, guarded, always trying to be strong. And then I remember the woman I became after he left. Wiser. Bruised. But not broken. And now? I’m both. I’m whole. Because of what we built, and what we chose to fight for.

Wes walks over and wraps an arm around me, pressing a kiss to my temple. "You okay?"

"I’m more than okay," I whisper.

He grins. "Then come eat before Jake tries to feed Wag another hot dog."

I laugh and follow him back out into the golden light of the evening.

This isn’t a fairytale.

It’s better.

Because we found our forever—and we’re living it every single day.

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