Page 110 of The Escape Plan

She swallows thickly, and when she tilts her head so her eyes can meet mine, they’re shining with tears. “All I want is to be yours, Beckett… wherever this life takes us, wherever we might end up, I’m all yours.” She smiles. “And I know you’re mine.”

And if that isn’t the sweetest, most magical music to my ears.

Epilogue

Keeley

One Year Later…

The rooftop gardenof The Serendipity is beautiful in July. It’s blooming with a million fiery, bright colors and sweet floral smells that carry on the gentle breeze, mingling with the chatter and laughter that fill the summer air.

And I meanfill. This place is bursting to capacity, which briefly makes me think about fire code, which makes me smile as I remember all of my nights on the fire escape with Beckett last summer.

I smooth down my favorite ripped jeans as I look at the huge crowd that has gathered to celebrate the amazing talent that is Beckett McCarthy.

My heart couldn’t be more full.

Beckett’s entire rowdy family are front and center, happily (and loudly) excited to be on their first trip to America, although Niamh is still coming to terms with the fact that she may not meet Oprah. Aoife bounces baby Keira on her knee as she talks to Mr. Prenchenko, who appears to be asking her a million questions. Mr. P is quite the self-proclaimed Hibernophile these days.

Hibernophilemeaning person obsessed with Irish culture, for the record. I had to Google it after Mr. Prenchenko used it in conversation a few times and I finally caught on to the fact that he wasn’t talking about herbs.

Now, the word “faerie tree” gets thrown into the conversation, and I smile at the now-familiar lore. When Beckett and I went to Mayo for a very chaotic Christmas last year, we did a driving tour of the country’s top sights, navigating a million twisty-turny backroads lined with stone wall fences as he took me to see a famous faerie tree in Cork.

I wanted to go and kiss the Blarney stone, but Beckett said that it was a germ-infested tourist trap and that he would kiss me instead. Which, of course, I readily agreed to.

So, instead of lining up to kiss a rock, we went to see the Cliffs of Moher and the Ring of Kerry and drove all the way to the North of the island to take in the Giant’s Causeway. We went to Irish bars to drink pints of fresh Guinness—which Becks claimed again was superior to the canned variety we can buy in the States, but honestly I still couldn’t tolerate the stuff. We also checked out Irish trad music performances in Temple Bar and Galway town.

On all these outings, Beckett wore a baseball cap to hide his face from the ever-growing crowd of people who recognize him since “Love and Serendipity” went viral on SoundCloud.

Now, several months later, we’re gathered in Serendipity Springs—where it all started—for the launch party of bestselling international artist Beckett McCarthy’s debut album. Made up of a collection of songs he wrote back in Ireland, mixed with several tracks about falling in love when he least expected it, and even a country-esque song—“Riot Grrrl”—that he wrote just to make me smile.

Because if there’s one thing Beckett never fails to do, it’s make me smile.

“Isn’t this amazing?” Nori asks as we watch Cash, Ezra, and Becks set up the equipment.

“Unreal,” I agree with a grin. Becks and I often hang out with Cash and Nori, who both still live in the building. Serendipi-Tea continues to grow and flourish under Nori’s ownership, and we visit the shop often—especially now that she is importing and stocking Becks’s beloved Irish Barry’s tea. He may have shed a tear when he drank his first cup.

Cash and Nori are also engaged now and make for super fun couple friends. We’ve even formed a beer league baseball team.

We’re terrible.

Cash can barely play due to his injury, Nori shrieks and closes her eyes every time the ball comes near her, and Beckett can never remember any of the rules. Or which way to run when he hits the ball.

It’s chaotic and hilarious and a totally perfect pastime for us.

“I don’t think I’ve ever even met a celebrity, nevermind known one,” breathes Mae from my other side, her hand cradling the belly that currently holds Everett’s little-sister-to-be.

Everett is dancing and putting on quite the performance for the Hathaways, who are sitting on a bench near the back, holding hands and as in love as ever. They’re the original elevator meet-cute of the building, and I’m happy Beckett and I share a similar origin story as a couple.

If I have one wish, it’s that we’re as happy and content and as in love as they are in generations to come.

Somehow, I have no doubt that that will be the case.

“Don’t catch Becks hearing you call him that. He hates that word,” I tell Mae with a smile. And it’s true. My boyfriend, forever humble and gracious, seems a bit baffled with his success, but I like that he’s the sort of guy who will never let it go to his head.

All he wants is to live the small-town life here in Serendipity Springs, and make music in Ezra’s studio in his spare time between teaching kiddos guitar. He’s made enough money from signing with a label to teach all of his lessons on a purely volunteer basis. He even utilizes the local community center—and occasionally one of the quiet rooms in the library (with Sissy’s lavish blessing)—to reach more kids.

I glance at Sissy through the crowd. With her hair a foot high and her smile a foot wide, she’s earning a lot of surreptitious, confused glances from Beckett’s younger brothers.

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