P.S. It’s Always Been You: A Second Chance Romance Page 25
So many of the knickknacks we discovered in the house hearkened back to the Valentinas’ days in the circus, but they also symbolized the adventures Edward later went on. Pretty cool, in a way, that the antiques often had a double meaning. That enabled me to write up the details for the auction without giving away the private love story. The circus connection was simply attributed to the couple’s closeness with the Caribaldis, while the adventure angle was for the world to see.
Part of me longed to write their love story, to let the tale unfold in a book. After all, I was looking for inspiration and I absolutely found it. But their story is personal and private. Instead, I wrote a proposal for a book of a different nature, and a new publisher accepted it. I don’t think it’ll be a best seller, but I don’t need it to be, because this job feeds that part of my soul. Besides, the book I’m working on in my spare time feeds it too. I’m crafting a collection of private love letters, and my publisher and I have invited people to send me their personal correspondence, letters they find in the attic, swoony text messages, scintillating emails, and so on. Let me say—there are some words that’ll make readers melt.
After I set the chocolate pot down, I tell Hunter I have a gift for him.
He arches a curious brow.
I reach into my purse and hand him a sheet of paper.
“What’s this?”
“Open it.”
I grin as he unfolds the letter from the Exploration Society then reads it aloud.
* * *
In light of your accomplishments crossing the Bering Sea in an inflatable raft, cresting the Seven Summits many times over, and especially showcasing history, adventure, and exploration for millions, we are delighted to invite you to become a member of the Exploration Society.
* * *
“You petitioned for me?” he asks.
“You bet I did.”
He gathers me in for a hug. “Look at you. Making my dreams come true.”
A little later, we head out into the bite of the Chicago winter evening.
Hunter takes my hand, warming it between his as we walk to the car we rented.
“You’re leaving soon for your next special?” I ask as I settle into the passenger seat.
“Sri Lanka awaits. But then I’ll be back following you around. Like a dog.” He lets his tongue loll out, panting.
He’s been true to his word, hosting specials, writing books, filming intros for Trevor, but that’s all. The episode covering the Valentina house was a hit, especially since Hunter changed his approach to it. He used that episode and the treasures in the house as a prism to dive into Edward’s explorations, with Trevor recreating some of the expeditions that Edward embarked on. Viewers loved it, leading Hunter to do more features on famous explorers. Still, I’d say he’s dialed down his work by 60 percent, and I love getting that much of him. I love, too, that he kept the apartment in New York that his cousin found for him—kept it because we moved into it together. We’re not there often, but when we are, we make the best of the city where we met, where we fell in love the first time, and where we fell in love all over again.
I pat his head. “Such a good dog.” I draw a deep breath as he turns the engine. “Are you ever bored?”
He shakes his head. “I am ridiculously fulfilled. Now let me show you something I found.”
We go for a drive, and thirty minutes later, we’re pulling up at an abandoned train station. It’s old, a tiny little depot overlooking an empty field.
“What’s this?”
He gets out of the car and takes my hand, and we walk up the steps and stand at the edge of the abandoned tracks.
And it hits me. I clasp my hand to my mouth, speaking in a whisper. “This is where they took the Folklore Ride. On Valentine’s night.”
When I turn around, Hunter’s already down on one knee.
It’s cold, but I’m warm all over when he looks in my eyes, flips open a jewelry box, and says, “You know that letter I carried around with me for years?”
“Yes. Yes, I do.”
“And my father’s words to me: There are some chances that only pass your way once, and you have to grab them. Seize them, clutch them, and hold them tenaciously with all your might.”
I nod, my heart flooding with love as he continues.
“I’ve taken a lot of chances in my life, and with you, I finally learned that taking a chance on love is just as important, if not more so, than taking a chance on anything else. I choose love. And I hope you’ll choose us for the rest of our lives. Will you be my wife?”
I bend down, throw my arms around him, and kiss my yes to his lips as tears rain down on Valentine’s night at an old train depot, where another couple opened a new chapter in their love story years ago.
Tonight, we start the next chapter in ours.
Another Epilogue
Hunter
* * *
Five years later
* * *
Some people don’t always see what’s in front of them. I didn’t. It took a near-death experience, a wise friend, my mom, and some good old-fashioned luck and coincidence for me to reconnect with the woman who makes my heart sing and my skin sizzle.
But I’m damn glad I had that crew.
Now it’s my turn to give back, and I’m good and ready. One snowy evening, five years after Presley and I got married, I call a meeting at my mother’s house.
We gather round her kitchen table.
Vik; Melody; my mother; Corinne; Joseph; Presley; our baby girl, Gretchen, and our infant son, Eddie; and Pat’s son, James. The old man passed on a few years ago, the day after his wife died. He had a good, long life.
But his son took over for him at the shop and here with us, and it’s good to have the connection to the original families, especially since the younger man has the same salt and wit as his pop.
Jesse, my stepdad, is here too. My mom married him a few years ago, and she’s as happy as she’s ever been.
“So, it seems someone is in need of a little assistance,” I begin.
Presley smiles as she bounces Eddie. “A lot of assistance. He’s pigheaded. Like his mentor.”
“Gee, I wonder what that’s like,” Vik deadpans.
“No idea,” I say, and then we roll up our sleeves, because it’s time to help my buddy Trevor along in the greatest adventure of all: love.
I’d thought for the longest time he’d go for the Sports Illustrated swimsuit model. But it turns out he’s been in love with my assistant, Cammi, and she has a thing for him too.
Here we go.
Sometimes a man needs a little help from his friends.
Or help from the Secret Society of the Valentine’s Night Love Letters.
“So this is the plan . . .”
* * *
THE END
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