EPILOGUE
ROWAN
Fiancées since we last spoke: One.
Pregnant fiancées since we last spoke: One.
Pregnant fiancées who are ravenous for cake: One.
Pregnant fiancées who are ravenous for cake and boaby: One.
I’m feeling like one lucky lad.
“Does this look crooked?”
Bonnie walks into the bathroom of our hotel room, wearing a gold dress that stretches tight around her terrific tits but flows gracefully over her baby bump.
Our baby.
Fucking hell, I still can’t believe it. Da passed away two weeks after Bonnie decided to stay in Corsekelly, but within those two weeks, we were able to bring him into the coffee shop every other day, right up until the last two days of his life. He was able to sit and enjoy the atmosphere, speak with Shona and Hamish and all the rest—and enjoy butteries when his stomach was up for it. He got to know Bonnie as well, and he shared all his baking tricks, ones I already knew, but I let him tell her anyway. And on his deathbed, a day before he passed, he held my hand tight and whispered that I needed to marry her. To never let her out of my sight. She was the one for me. I promised him I wouldn’t let her go.
And I haven’t.
I only wish Da and Callum were here to witness Bonnie’s pregnancy and our nuptials next month. But even though they aren’t here in person, I know they’re here in spirit. At least, they were with me when I proposed to Bonnie in my cottage, with a piece of cake and a ring as the cherry topper—because when she said yes, the clouds broke open and rain pounded against the roof like applause.
“Oh dear God,” Bonnie says, clutching at her heart as she stares at me. “Why did Dakota do this to me?”
“Do what?” I ask, snapping back to the present as I turn and look down at my wedding attire. I’m wearing a MacGregor red-and-green-tartan kilt with a matching green jacket, vest, white shirt, and red tie.
“Make you wear a kilt. She knows it’s my weakness. Does she want me palming your balls during her ceremony?”
“You will keep your hands away from my baws while I perform my duties. Do you hear me, lass?”
“You know, I hear you talking, but I’m not quite understanding.”
I’ll be honest—Dakota knew exactly what she was doing when she picked out my outfit for the wedding. Dakota and Isla, for that matter. They asked me to officiate the ceremony, and there was no way in hell I was turning down the opportunity. The moment Isla told me she was going to propose to Dakota, I knew I wanted to be part of the celebration. I didn’t care how—I just needed to be involved. And they gave me the highest honor.
The wedding will be small, intimate, with just a few locals and Dakota’s parents, who are quite thrilled for the happy couple. They’ve been in town for a week and have done all the touristy things, which include visiting the Boaby Stone and stopping into the Hairy Coo for a coffee and buttery. Dakota’s parents also fawned over the shop’s merchandise and snapped up a few of my mugs, which seem to sell out every week. We can barely keep up with the demand, especially since I started making boaby-like handles for the mugs. Everyone wants to be the Serpent Queen and claim that boaby. Can you tell it was Bonnie’s idea? When she first proposed it, the last thing I wanted to do was carve penises every day, but I’ve become pretty good at it now, and I have to admit: it’s kind of funny.
What I don’t think is funny is when Bonnie pretends to stroke the mugs while making a horrible snog face. Let’s just say her maturity level is diminishing the further she gets into her pregnancy.
“What are you two doing?” Maw asks, coming into the room. “Dakota is looking for you, Bonnie.”
“Tell her to keep it in her pants. I need to stare at my fiancé for a few more seconds.” Maw laughs and takes off toward the ceremony space.
I spin Bonnie around and lead her out the door. “You keep it in your pants,” I whisper in her ear. “Behave, lass, you hear me? No lifting up my kilt.”
“Are you wearing underwear?”
“Aye.”
“Then I can’t be held responsible for what I do.”
We step outside and turn the corner of the hotel, where we find Dakota and Isla. They’re standing together on the patio that overlooks the ceremony space, which rests right in front of the vast blue loch that stretches for miles. They’re holding hands and looking gorgeous in their white gowns. Dakota’s has more of a gold tone to go with Bonnie’s dress, while Isla’s features a tartan sash that cinches her waist and cascades down the back.
“Are you two ready? We would really like to get married,” Dakota says.
“You’re the one who put him in a kilt.” Bonnie goes up to her best friend and places a soft kiss on her cheek. I hear her say, “I’m so happy for you. You deserve all of this and so much more.”
“Don’t make me cry.” Dakota waves her hand in front of her face, making Bonnie laugh.
“And that’s what you get for putting my fiancé in a kilt. You know how horny I am.”
“Such a beautiful moment,” I deadpan.
Isla takes my hand, which is my cue to start the ceremony. Together, we walk down the aisle, smiling at the friends and family grouped on either side, and stop at the edge of the water—a place where Dakota and Isla find peace, a place they frequent often, and where they will forever return, knowing this was the spot that jump-started their life together.
I gaze down the aisle as Bonnie and Dakota walk down it together, holding hands. Bonnie meets my eyes and smiles, and happiness floods my whole body.
It was kind of mad of my maw to put out an advert, looking for two friends to run the coffee shop, but to this day, it was the most life-changing thing she’s ever done.
Not only did the idea give the coffee shop a future no one could’ve believed possible, but it also brought Isla love. And it brought me a whole new perspective on life.
I made peace with my da.
I’m in love.
I’m engaged.
I have a baby on the way.
Bonnie will say she came here on a whim, but I felt the weather shift the day she arrived in town. I think it was more than just a whim. If I have to admit it—I glance up at the sky as clouds overhead start rolling in—I think Callum had a small part to play as well.