Page 50 of Sex, Lies, and Margarita Mixes

“To our life outside of this? Or to the way things were before?” he asks.

I sigh. “Both, I guess. But we have to leave here eventually. And I have to get back to work. Melody is amazing and fully capable, but it’s my business and Mari Lynn is so busy with Knox and all of their fame.”

He’s quiet. Then, he says, “We do. We have jobs and responsibilities. But we also have each other Rox. I was never going anywhere. I think you get that now.” He kisses my head and hugs me tighter. “Things can be like this when we go back home. As long as we’re together and you trust in my love, we can keep this alive.”

I blink. “Together?”

He smiles, “Always. Let’s rewrite it all, Roxy. Start where the story got good again.”

Just like that… we can start again.

We’re leaving tomorrow. Everyone else is about to head out after brunch.

For once, I don’t feel like running. I feel… settled. Happy, content, and stupidly in love… with my husband.

It’s weird.

This is me.

And I don’t settle—I explode.

But here I am, barefoot on the deck, wearing his hoodie and sipping coconut coffee while palming an affirmation crystal Sasha passed out at first light.

Chase walks out of the house, shirtless, of course. The sun is hitting him like a spotlight and his art-covered muscles are on display like he’s a gallery piece.

Mine… that is all mine.

How the hell did I get so lucky?

Standing, I set my coffee down and trail my fingers up his abs. He smiles as I lean up on my tip-toes and kiss him.

A bit later, he makes fried chicken and waffles and dribbles syrup on my shoulder before licking it off.

We do a final trust exercise and don’t even cheat.

Growth.

After brunch, everyone’s crying.

Bree reads a poem about love and saltwater.

Miguel announces he and Sasha are starting a couples’ podcast called “Make Out or Move On.”

Trent and Whitney hug us for too long and whisper things like “Thank you for being horny and vulnerable,” and, “You inspired us to let out our inner freaks.”

Uh… weird.

Chase thanks them for the sentiments.

I absolutely do not.

Because what the actual fuck?

The van arrives.

The other couples all toss their bags in the back.

Sasha gives everyone one last gift—some moonstone bullshit and a handwritten card that says, “You are the storm and the calm.”

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