His Little Amelia

EPILOGUE | Part 1

"Amelia! You're going to be a wife!"

Kaji's shriek pierced the air, followed by the rhythmic thump-thump of her boots against the pavement as she bounced excitedly in place. Her neatly twisted dreads danced around her face with every bounce, catching the golden hour sunlight like they were celebrating too. She looked like a kid who'd just been told Christmas came twice in one week.

I could only giggle, flushed from my cheeks to my chest, my hand instinctively flying up to my face as though trying to hide from her excitement. Her words echoed in my head, slow at first—you're going to be a wife—until they consumed my entire being.

A wife.

I was going to be someone's wife.

But not just anyone's wife—I was going to be the wife of the man who mattered most to me.

Evie's wife.

That last thought hit me, and I felt my heart trip over itself. Everest Simon—my Everest—had knelt on one knee and asked me, with all the seriousness and softness in his
eyes, to be his forever.

Amelia Simon?

I whispered the name internally and nearly lost my footing. His name would soon be mine. My chest swelled with an emotion so strong, I had to let it out the only way I knew how—by squealing just as loud and just as silly as Kaji, grabbing her hand and jumping alongside her like we were back in high school and I'd just told her I kissed my first crush.

She caught my left wrist mid-jump, halting our bouncing as she brought my hand up to inspect the ring once more. Her mouth dropped open in pure awe, her dark eyes wide with reverence.

"Girl," she whispered dramatically, "This man is right out of a dream. A pink diamond ring? With those tiny white diamonds hugging it like baby stars? Who does that? Who even thinks of that?" Her voice was half scandalized, half enchanted. "You know he's got other men out here looking basic, right?"

I laughed, breathless and light-headed, twirling the ring under the dying sunlight. "I feel like I'm on cloud nine," I said, beaming. "No—cloud ten! Maybe even cloud eleven!"

We squealed again, jumping together—caught in a loop of joy, arms flailing like we were in the middle of a sugar rush. A few passersby cast curious glances at us, but neither of us cared. We were in our bubble, and joy was the only language that mattered in that moment.

When I'd called Kaji after the proposal, I barely got the words out before she screamed in my ear and demanded we meet at Soriné Bakery. Of course, I complied. Where else to celebrate than the cozy little pastry shop we'd haunted during the nights we spent studying and sulking—where the dreadful hours were comforted by raspberry croissants and good company?

It had been nearly five minutes since I arrived and we hadn't even gone inside. We were still at the door, gushing, squealing, hearts beating loud and high. I'd never been more grateful to have someone to share this moment with.

"I also called Binta," I told her once we caught our breath, the tips of my ears still pink. "She said she's on her way. I told her she didn't have to rush, but she wouldn't even let me finish the sentence!"

Kaji laughed so hard she nearly doubled over. "Girl, even if she were on another continent, Binta would've booked the next flight and brought a gift basket with her! Don't even play."

I rolled my eyes, still smiling. "Don't be ridiculous."

She bumped her shoulder against mine before pushing open the bakery door, and we were immediately hit with a warm wall of sweet smells—vanilla glaze, melting chocolate, baked peaches, and a hint of cinnamon. The inside of Soriné Bakery was as charming as ever: all warm wood tones, soft lighting, pastel walls, and little potted succulents tucked on each table. It was the kind of place that always felt like a hug.