Page 147 of Not Exactly a Small-Town Romance

“Unlike that disastrous sculptor movie,” Mom says. “What was it called, darling?” She turns to Dad. “Terrible Fate?”

“Limited Fate,” Dad says. “What a shame. It had such potential. The couple had no chemistry.”

I glance over at Kelsey. She sighs but says nothing. Drake Underwood hired someone else to cast it in the end. Jason went on to make another action movie. Gayle hasn’t appeared in any projects since Netflix.

Desdemona still does her thing, torturing her new staff. But the crossover between Hollywood and Broadway is minimal. We got a new start.

From the back corner, a chorus of singing begins. My stomach tightens. It’s time.

It’s not that I doubt the outcome of what’s about to happen, but I did invite some unexpected people, and I don’t know how that will play out.

The singing gets louder and louder.

Jester stands up on the bar, moving his arms as if he’s conducting them. I didn’t count on that, either.

The bartender nearest to him tugs at his pant leg, but he is undeterred. More people start to realize a song is starting, and the room quiets.

The rest of the cast ofMonday by Moonlightfilters in, stuffing the room even more tightly. The crowd parts as best they can as they make their way to me.

“What’s this?” Kelsey asks, but then she goes still.

I follow her gaze. And there they are. The missing siblings. Sid, Vanessa, Alana, and Cal. Cal’s wife, Katie, stayed behind with Kelsey’s father, who said he didn’t have time for a foolish trip to New York when there were cows to tend.

I hope she doesn’t feel disappointed that he didn’t make it.

Her arm on my waist tightens. “You brought them here?”

I squeeze her back. “This is your success as much as mine.”

Her eyes fill up; then that’s it, she’s gone, rushing to embrace her youngest sister first, then gathering in the others. The oldest, Cal, seems a little abashed at the emotion but allows himself to be brought into their group hug.

The photographer I hired for tonight joins Jester on the bar so he can get shots. The bartender lifts his arms in a “what gives” gesture, but mainly he and the other workers are swamped, so he lets it go.

The sound grows louder as the singers find their way to the center of the room. They’ve started with the opening number, but when it’s time for me to come in, they transition into a song from the middle of the musical that doesn’t require my participation.

It’s a slower, more thoughtful number about nighttime being when the shadows come, bringing doubt about what is true.

The siblings walk Kelsey back to me.

“This is such a surprise,” she whispers in my ear. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Your dad wouldn’t come.”

She shrugs. “He probably would have ruined it anyway. Thank you.”

She kisses my cheek.

Then the song shifts to the finale. Kelsey’s siblings help part the group at the bar so I can lead Kelsey toward it. I climb up on the wood chair, then onto the counter, exasperating the bartender even more.

Cal helps Kelsey follow me up, and when she arrives, I get down on one knee.

The singers shift to a low hum, a buzz of song in the background.

Kelsey’s hands go to her cheeks. “Zachery?”

“Kelsey Whitaker, you hold the supreme gift of pairing a person with their destiny. Sometimes it’s in movies, other times onstage. But on a summer night in Colorado a long time ago, you asked me a questionthat made me realize there was something more to me and you than coworkers.”

Several whoops come from the crowd.

---