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EPILOGUE ONE

VICTORIA

7 months later…

“ O h my god, Declan!” I gasp, my fingers tangling in his hair as he pins me against the wall of our newly renovated kitchen, moving with a rhythm that makes me forget my own name.

My childhood home still has packing boxes everywhere, but I couldn’t care less. My back thumps against the newly tiled wall with each thrust, the counter edge digging into my thighs as he lifts my legs higher.

My sundress bunches around my waist, his hands burning against my skin. He’s relentless and I love it—love how he makes me feel, love how he looks at me like I’m everything.

“I’m so fucking obsessed with you,” he growls, his breath hot against my ear, sending shivers down my spine.

I can barely speak. “Keep... showing... me.”

And he does.

He kisses me hard, our mouths crashing together like we’re starving for each other, though the renovations on my parents’ old house were only completed yesterday. After months of splitting time between two cities, we’re finally here in Peach Springs, a home base. The house—the one I’ve lived in since birth—is new in every way that matters. Fresh paint, gleaming hardwood floors, walls knocked out to make more room. Room for Declan and me and all the love we have to fill it with.

“Oh, Declan. I’m so in love with you,” I whisper against his lips, clutching him like a lifeline as we fall apart together. My body trembles uncontrollably as he surrounds me completely.

Only after I’ve cried out his name loud enough for the neighbors to need earplugs does he follow, his guttural groan triggering one final, delicious shudder through me. When he finally collapses backward, pulling me with him to the floor, we’re a tangle of limbs and heavy breathing.

“I’m never doing yard work again,” he pants, voice dazed. “Almost passed out watching you through the window in that sundress. All I could think about was christening our new kitchen... Dangerous.”

Still giggly from the aftershocks, I nuzzle into his chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

“It’s romantic,” Declan insists, sweeping stray hair from my face.

“It’s committing indecent acts in my family home,” I correct with a grin.

“That’s why we renovated it.” He kisses my engagement ring. “And we should probably continue working our way through every room before everyone arrives.”

I laugh, pushing at his shoulder, though I’m reluctant to move. “We don’t have time, you insatiable man. The junior recital starts in three hours, our friends from Sugar City will be here any minute, and we have a wedding to finalize before hockey season starts.”

With a dramatic sigh worthy of Shakespeare, Declan pulls us both to our feet. “Remind me again why we invited everyone for the Peach Festival on the same weekend we’re officially moving in? We could’ve had the whole house to ourselves.”

“Because you wouldn’t stop bragging about the peaches, and now Natalie ‘needs’ them for her restaurant.” I straighten my yellow sundress, still flushed from our kitchen activities. After a morning of directing movers with where to put our furniture—a mix of new and old pieces I grew up with—I’d barely caught my breath before Declan came barreling in here and swept me into his arms.

“And Calvin wanted to experience famous Peach Springs hospitality,” he adds, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “And Emile hasn’t stopped talking about peach beer since I brought some back.”

“And Sara wanted to experience small town life, and Olivia wanted to see my studio...”

“So basically, it’s our fault for having amazing friends.”

“Exactly.” I reach up to smooth his hair, which stands in all directions thanks to my enthusiastic hands. “Speaking of which, Shelby will murder me if I’m late. She’s been working on recital costumes for months.”

Declan steals one more kiss. “Can’t have that. Shelby’s peach cobbler is a key part of my pre-season nutrition plan, and I will not anger the baker.”

I roll my eyes. “I’m going to shower. Can you make sure the guest rooms are ready? Natalie just texted that they passed the town sign.”

“On it, twinkle toes.”

As I climb the familiar stairs of my childhood home, I glance back to see Declan surveying our half-unpacked kitchen with wonder. Only seven months ago, I’d been ready to flee to Peach Springs alone, determined to protect my studio from the fallout of his impulsive kiss. Now we’ve transformed my parents’ house into our home, blending our worlds instead of choosing between them.

The decision to renovate rather than sell came easily. My studio, community, and history are here, and Declan missed small-town life. During off-season we’ll live here, then shift back to Sugar City when hockey starts after our late-summer wedding. The Nighthawks extended my contract, and with my studio’s growing popularity, I’m hiring more instructors and opening a second location.

I step into the waterfall shower, letting hot water wash away the delicious tension from our kitchen encounter. The renovations took longer than expected, making our timing with Peach Festival weekend uncomfortably tight.

When I emerge, Declan leans against the doorframe, eyes darkening at my towel-wrapped body.

“Don’t even think about it, Mr. O’Rielly,” I warn, failing to hide my smile. “Guests, remember?”

“I wasn’t thinking anything,” he protests with an innocent expression that couldn’t fool a toddler.

“Sure you weren’t.” I laugh, shooing him out.

“Well, you calling me Mr. Riley with that teacher voice of yours isn’t helping any, you know.”

As I dry my hair, I think about the Sugar City dance studio space I’ve found—just blocks from the arena, with high ceilings and gorgeous light.

By the time I slip into my favorite blue maxi dress, Declan has prepared the guest rooms. I check the mirror, smoothing fabric over my hips. His constant appreciation has healed wounds I hadn’t realized were still raw.

“I think we should call the realtor about that Sugar City space,” I say, unable to contain my excitement. “I don’t want to miss out on such a perfect location.”

Declan’s face lights up. “So the second studio is officially happening?”

“I think so, yeah.”

“That’s amazing, twinkle toes!”

“The Sugar City Fletcher Dance Academy,” I say, practically bouncing. “I never imagined having two locations, but enrollment has skyrocketed since the Nighthawks program went public.”

The press coverage following our engagement was surprisingly positive. Briar Knightley’s article started a movement, with #RealHockeyLove trending and celebrating relationships that defied stereotypes.

Car doors slam outside, pulling me from my thoughts.

“They’re here!” I hurry to the door, genuinely excited to see the people who’ve become my family.

From the first SUV emerges Luc and Natalie, with Calvin helping Olivia from the passenger seat, her engagement ring catching sunlight. Emile and Sara climb from the second vehicle, Sara radiant in a flowing dress.

“Welcome to Peach Springs!” I call from the porch. “And welcome to the Fletcher-O’Rielly homestead.”

After hugs and greetings, everyone admires the house with its wide porch and blue shutters.

“That porch swing was Declan’s must-have,” I say with an affectionate glance his way. “He plans to watch sunsets from it when he’s eighty.”

“With you beside me,” he adds, slipping an arm around my waist.

Luc rolls his eyes. “Still disgustingly in love. I hoped the honeymoon phase would have worn off by now.”

“Not a chance,” Declan replies, pulling me closer. “I plan to be disgustingly in love with my future wife for at least seventy years.”

We gather around the kitchen island where I’ve arranged cheeses, fruits, and crackers. Luc pours wine, pausing at Sara.

“For the lady with the discerning palate?”

“Just water, thanks,” Sara says.

Natalie freezes mid-sip, eyes narrowing. Olivia’s head spins so fast I’m surprised she doesn’t get whiplash. Having witnessed this exact scene play out countless times at my studio when dancers try to keep secrets, I immediately know what’s happening.

“Sara Jean Belanger,” Natalie says slowly, “are you?—”

“Shh!” Sara glances at Emile, deep in conversation with Calvin. “It’s really early. We haven’t even told my dad.”

I join the women huddle, whispering, “How far along?”

“Six weeks,” Sara whispers, eyes shining with excitement and nerves. “We weren’t exactly planning it...”

“The best things often aren’t planned,” I assure her, thinking of how a certain hockey player’s impulsive kiss changed my entire life.

Across the room, I catch Declan’s eye and nod, confirming his suspicion. His smile makes my heart flip. A Nighthawk baby on the way—our team family growing again.

“I still can’t believe Declan O’Rielly will be sitting through a children’s dance recital,” Calvin remarks with a grin.

“And loving every minute,” Declan adds. “Especially the part where the hockey team does a special number.”

Everyone turns to him in shock, except me. I cover my face, unsure whether to laugh or apologize.

“Hockey team?” Luc repeats slowly.

“What’s this now?” Calvin looks horrified.

I peek through my fingers. “I may have mentioned to Teagan that Declan’s teammates would be visiting.”

“And she may have convinced the festival committee that professional hockey players performing would be a huge draw,” Declan adds.

“No way,” Emile shakes his head vehemently. “Absolutely not.”

“Too late,” Declan announces. “You’ve all been volunteered. Costumes await at the studio.”

“Costumes?” Calvin’s voice rises an octave.

Declan’s response is to do an exaggerated plié, grinning like the troublemaker he is.

I finally burst out laughing. “Don’t worry. Declan’s joking. There’s no dance number.” I pause for dramatic effect. “Not this time, anyway.”

“Thank fuck to that.” Luc raises his glass. “And to Victoria’s dance empire, growing families, and definitely to dodging that bullet.”

Glasses clink as laughter fills the room. Declan pulls me close enough to whisper, “Is it just me? Or are you also thinking about how perfect everything is?”

“It’s definitely not just you.” A contented sigh escapes me as I lean against him, surrounded by the vibrant hum of conversation—the sound of family and dreams unfolding.

“We should head to the studio,” I say, checking my watch. “Final rehearsal starts soon.”

As we pile into our vehicles, gratitude overwhelms me. For this house that holds my past and our future. For these friends becoming family. For Declan, who saw past all my walls and loved me anyway.

Seven months ago, I was a ballet teacher terrified of public scrutiny, convinced love wasn’t meant for women outside society’s narrow mold. Now I’m engaged, renovating my childhood home, and director of a thriving inclusive dance studio about to expand. It’s not the life I would have predicted, but watching Declan laugh with his teammates, I know without a doubt it’s the only life I want.