The Hot Mess and the Heartthrob(93)

Pretty sure if Levi wasn’t a pop star, he’d be giving Cinnabon a run for their money.

But he is a pop star.

He’s my pop star.

And he doesn’t bat an eye when my babies demand to crawl up under the blanket with us, and then order us to turn on The Grinch.

I catch Donna’s eye as she’s trying to quietly sneak out.

Thank you, I mouth.

Her eyes go a little shiny, but she blinks quickly, and smiles right back at me. No, thank you.

I think this is what love is supposed to be.

When we all feel like we’re getting the best part of the bargain.

I know Levi will have to go away sometimes.

But I also know he’ll always come back home.





Epilogue





Levi



One year after I got lost in Copper Valley but found my way to Ingrid, I’m in my second-favorite spot in the entire city, content in knowing that I can come visit here any evening I want for as far out as my calendar goes.

Probably any day, at this point too.

Ingrid’s customers have gotten used to me popping through the store, which is happening more often now that the tour is over. I’m even getting to know a few of the regulars, and Giselle’s even more popular than I am around here.

But tonight, Piper’s in my lap, working on getting her finger positioning right for a C major chord on my guitar. My laptop’s closed on the end table next to us, because songwriting can wait. Below us, the store is closed for the evening, with the only light coming from a single lamp lit near the stairs.

Ingrid has three more staff starting tomorrow, since the store has continued growing by leaps and bounds this past year. She says it’s because of the Levi factor.

I remind her that I can get them in the door, but she and her staff are why customers come back.

And it’s true.

This is the best little bookstore in all of Copper Valley.

And the owner is buying herself some extra time off to be with her family. She started this summer, when she and the kids took a few trips to be with me when I was in the busier parts of the tour, and now, we’re making it more official.

Ingrid is officially a forty-hour-a-week employee at her own shop who has help getting the kids to all of their activities, instead of a workaholic running everything.

There’s a house down the street from Tripp that I bought a couple months back when it came on the market, ready for us to move into whenever we’re ready to move into it. I have a ring back in the condo I’m rarely at, waiting for our first date anniversary in a couple weeks.

And my love is upstairs in the apartment that’s too small for five of us, but still home because it’s where the people I love most are, helping Zoe with homework while Hudson takes a shower on his own.

Ah, correction.

Hudson was taking a shower on his own.

Now, he’s sneaking up the stairs into the loft with us, his hair dripping down on his axolotl pajamas.

It’s grown out since last year’s second round of lice went through his preschool. And since Mrs. Ryder mentioned some special oils she used to put in Ellie’s shampoo to deter the lice, we’ve gotten through the fall unscathed.

With Hudson, anyway.

Piper’s caught a few colds that have had Ingrid worried about her ears, but so far, she’s come through each of them without issue. And I survived the panic at being in Canada during the worst of it.

That. Fucking. Sucked.

It’s so damn good to be home. I’m looking forward to a year or two off.

And then?

We’ll figure it out when we need to.

“When I grow up, I’m gonna play the harpsichord and dance a booty dance for all the ladies,” Hudson informs us.

Oh, yeah.

He’s been spending a lot of time with my Bro Code buddies too.

And picking up all the good things that make Ingrid cringe when he says them.

She laughs herself silly over all of it once he’s tucked in bed for the night though.

And there’s no music better than Ingrid laughing.

Except maybe Ingrid coming.

“Are you hiding from bedtime again?” I ask Hudson.

He climbs onto my lap too, knocking Piper off-balance, who glares at him. “Go away, Hudson.”

“I want a story.”

“You have to be in bed for a bedtime story.”

“I don’t want a bedtime story. I want a regular story.”

“Okay, enough, both of you.” I sound just like my mother, and I’m okay with that. “Hudson, Piper’s practicing. Gotta wait your turn, bud. And your turn’s tomorrow.”

“I got a stick.” He reaches into his pajama bottoms, and sure enough, there’s a stick.

“Hudson Andrew Scott, I told you to stay in the apartment.”

“Busted,” I whisper to him as Ingrid comes into view on the stairwell too.

She’s exasperated, but she’s nowhere near the level of wound tight she was a year ago. You can see it in the way there’s always a smile teasing the corner of her lips, and the way her shoulders aren’t bunched so tight, and the way she’s not constantly checking her phone anymore when Mom takes the kids for a night.

Considering how much publicity she’s had to adjust to, along with constant security, and explaining at the beginning of every new activity to the other parents that yes, I’m that Levi Wilson, but please just treat me like any other parent, it’s a testament to something that she’s not completely flipping her lid every day.