Page 36 of Plot Twist in Pelican Point
I lean in, kiss her bare shoulder.
“Looks like we both got our happy ending after all.”
EPILOGUE
KATE
Fog drifts in off the water like it’s been waiting for its cue—soft and silver, curling through the trees behind the mansion and wrapping everything in a fairytale haze. Or at least the sexy, slightly haunted kind where the heroine saves herself—and still gets the guy.
The kind with a girl who saves herself, a grump who learns to feel, a few near-death disasters, and a well-earned happily ever after.
I sip from my #PlotTwistQueen mug and lean against the wraparound porch railing—which, technically, now belongs to me too. My name’s on the mailbox now. One of the keys on the ring unlocks this place—for both of us.
He hasn’t stopped teasing me about it. He still hands me the key every time we come home, like he wants to see me use it. I haven’t stopped loving every second of it.
Inside, the house is still being renovated—but not the main one. No, Sebastian and I are restoring the west guest wing into a writer’s retreat. My idea. His labor. Our future. We broke ground last week. He already calls it thePlot Twist Pavilion. I’m pretending to hate it. I roll my eyes every time he says it—and secretly love that he made a sign.
Behind me, the screen door squeaks open.
"You’re thinking too hard," Sebastian drawls.
I turn—and there he is. Shirtless. Barefoot. A pencil tucked behind one ear, jeans streaked with sawdust and paint. All mine. I should be used to the sight of him by now. I am not.
"You’re not thinking enough," I counter, flicking my gaze down his chest.
He stalks closer, coffee mug in hand, and kisses the side of my head. "Your book launch is in, what? Three days? You’re allowed to daydream."
"I’m not daydreaming. I’m strategizing."
"Oh?"
“Wondering how to bribe my very hot, very shirtless boyfriend into one more celebratory orgasm before Emma pulls up with muffins and sass.”
He chokes on his coffee.
I grin.
Just then, a Jeep rolls up the drive. Emma hops out, bakery box held aloft like it’s the Holy Grail of carbs. “I come bearing carbs and carefully curated mockery!”
"She’s early," Sebastian mutters.
"She’s punctual. You’re just mad because I’m not climbing you like a tree right now."
Emma arches an eyebrow. “Eww. Friendly reminder I know where you keep your embarrassing bookmarks.”
We move inside, where the air smells like coffee, books, cedar—and the kind of peace you have to fight to earn. Emma plops onto the couch, kicks off her sneakers, and opens the box like she’s unveiling diamonds.
“Also? I finished the ARC. Twice. Annotated. Color-coded. And Sebastian? Your sex scenes are now part of my threat arsenal for future warnings for women who flirt with emotionally constipated carpenters.”
Sebastian grins. "I’m emotionally evolved now."
"You’re shirtless and smug. That’s not evolution. That’s an Instagram thirst trap."
"If I get an Instagram," he deadpans, "it’ll be called @GrumpyWoodWorks."
"Oh my God," I mutter. "Why do I love you?"
"Because I build you furniture and read your books out loud in bed."
