Page 139 of Honeymoon Phase
It’s kind of pathetic.
Sure I go to parties, but it’s almost like I’m just checking a box, not genuinely letting myself go.
And even my classes are a struggle. I’m barely scraping by and the coursework is only getting harder. I’m studying, but it’s not sticking. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I just... want to be present in my own damn life.
My phone pings with a text and I swipe the screen to see a message from Luke.
Luke:Don’t forget about what I said.
Everly:What did you say again? Refresh my memory please because it’s been a long flight.
Luke:I said you need to LIVE a little, kid. It’s your turn to experience life for yourself and not worry about anyone else. Be selfish. We’re all good back here. Your masterminding worked and we’re happy and in love. Now you need to go find your own great love story. Even if it’s not the love of your life. It’s time you experience something just for you... and not for all of us. And if you don’t report back with something interesting, your uncles will fly their asses over there and force you into it. Got it?
My lips curl up into a smile as I picture my three uncles in Dublin. Somehow, I think they’d find a way to fit right in.
Everly:Got it.
Luke:Love ya, Evie-bear. Keep me posted, okay?
Everly:Will do. Give a big hug to Addison for me. And go enjoy your honeymoon! Love you both.
I close my phone and sit back in my seat to glance out my window. Ireland is about to get a taste of the real Everly Fletcher.
Epilogue
Fact or Fiction?
Compound living is peak mountain life.
Luke
A Couple Years Later
I stand on the mountain staring at the beautiful image in front of me. It’s summertime on the peak and my wife is sitting on my father’s memorial bench, which is now nestled under the pergola Calder made. There are purple flowers vining up the boards that my mom planted last summer and they’re in full bloom right now. Just like my wife.
She sits there a lot these days, talking to her brother. I surprised Addison on her brother’s birthday last year by adding a memorial plaque to the pergola that says:
Fact or Fiction: Little brothers make the best guardian angels.
And well, there were definite tears.
We put Aaron’s name on it along with his birth and death date, and while I know my wife still goes to the cemetery for her runs, these past few weeks, the bench has been a better place for her.
I make my way over to join her at the bench, glancing down the hill at the goings-on. Fletcher Mountain is bustling with life this Saturday summer afternoon. Wyatt and Trista are down by the barn with Stevie prancing around in her little cowboyboots that match her mother’s. Calder’s saw can be heard echoing down the canyon as he works on furniture in his shop, and Dakota appears to be reading a book on their front porch with their new cat curled up on her lap. They just got back from their honeymoon and their cats missed them something fierce. I know because we had to take care of them while they were gone.
Down the mountain a ways Trista has a couple of employees busy at her new rescue center that creates more traffic than this mountain has ever seen. We’re working on developing another drive to give it its own entrance. Opening her rescue center to visitors creates more opportunity for donations. So while a few years ago, Fletcher Mountain was a sleepy little peak consisting of a few bachelors who caused ruckus in town every once in a while, it’s now a fully functioning, sustainable compound.
Hell, even Max’s new house is in the process of going up. We forced him to scale it back to half its original size because Wyatt refused to let his brother build something obnoxious up here, but it’s coming along. Even includes a mother-in-law suite for our mom that we’re all excited about. Her and Max and his family up here will make Fletcher Mountain feel fully complete. No more new construction projects.
Unless my wife decides we need to add on more space for our very near future.
I smile when I see the side view of her and make my way over to the bench to sit next to her. I can’t help but stretch my hand out and rest it on her belly.
“Doing okay, babe?” I ask as I rake my eyes over her face.
She clutches my hand to her round bump that’s the size of a basketball. “He’s kicking like crazy in there, which is wild because there’s not much room left so I don’t know how he’s moving at all.”
I press my lips to her shoulder and murmur, “Any day now.”
