Page 148 of In Case You Didn't Know

I pick up my phone and before I can second-guess myself I open our message thread. The one I haven’t touched since I got back to Liberty.

And I send him a message.

What if it takes a few days for me to finish this book? Are you going to sit out there forever? – Francie

For a moment there’s no reply. Then the typing icon appears.

Then I’ll bring more coffee tomorrow. And the day after that. And if you still need time, I’ll open my own coffee shop. Can’t promise I’ll make them as good as Mylene does. – Asher

A small helpless laugh bubbles up inside me.

That’s dedication. How about showers – are you just going to stink? What if you need to pee? – Francie

You’re a romance writer. You know the hero never needs the bathroom. – Asher

I roll my eyes even as my throat tightens. Then I put my phone down and turn my gaze to my laptop screen. We’re at the darkest moment. Just before the dawn. Everything is lost and yet… there’s still hope.

Maybe that’s what love is. Not a perfect arc or fairy-tale ending. But the grit to keep showing up when things get hard. To wait outside in the cold, to bring coffee and cinnamon muffins, because you have to believe the story isn’t over yet.

I take a long sip of the drink he left. It’s warm and sweet. Then I turn to the keyboard.

One more chapter to go. My fingers tap on the keys, so ready to write.

Because the real happy ending isn’t going to be in this book. It’s waiting in the SUV parked at the end of the driveway.

ASHER

It feels like forever since I pulled up outside the lighthouse. It’s been at least nine hours, long enough for the sun to arc across the horizon and dip low toward the ocean behind the lighthouse, leaving the sky inky black. My back aches from this stupid seat, and I’m pretty sure I’ve read the same line of this email from Brad five times without actually taking any of it in.

But I don’t move. I don’t check the cameras. I don’t message her. I don’t knock on the door again. Because this time, I’m not here to fix things on my terms.

I’m here to wait. For as long as it takes.

I ate my last muffin hours ago. My stomach is growling when the soft creak of a door opening breaks the silence. I lift my eyes from the phone and there she is.

Francie.

Her hair is tied up. She’s barefoot in a pair of yoga pants with a sweater hanging off her shoulder like she doesn’t even realize how heartbreakingly beautiful she looks.

I open the car door and climb out, sliding my phone into my pocket, striding toward the lighthouse, my shoes crunching on the gravel.

And when I get close, she takes a few steps toward me, only stopping when the concrete meets the gravel and she remembers she’s barefoot.

The porch light behind her casts a halo around her head. And even though I’m cold and aching and nervous as hell, I swear to God I’ve never felt warmer.

“I’m finished,” she says softly when only a few feet from her.

My chest tightens. “Yeah?”

She nods. “It’s messy. And raw. And might get me disowned by my editor. But it’s done.”

“It sounds perfect,” I murmur. “And we need to celebrate. I brought champagne.” I look back at the SUV, remembering the bottle I brought with me. “I’ll go and get it.”

She shivers.

“Meet me inside,” I tell her. “That’s if it’s okay for me to come in.”

She nods and I go back to the SUV, pulling out the bottle from the cooler. She left the door to the lighthouse open for me, and I walk in, finding her in the kitchen, pulling out two champagne flutes.