The Waitress

Epilogue

She needed to write, to reconnect to the written word before she went mad. It had been so long since she'd opened her laptop and just let the words flow that she thought she might explode. Six months was a long time for a writer to go – too long. But she was ready now, settled and bursting with ideas and words – she just had to start.

All her major commitments, the wedding and move, were over, her book was out and doing moderately well and she was happy, really happy. Happier than she'd ever expected to be.

Even after two years with Tom, being happy still felt foreign but she could definitely get used to it especially now they were out of London, out of the spotlight and in their house. Their new old house. Out where there were fewer triggers for Tom and he could truly be at peace – she'd love any Tom but that Tom, the happy and relaxed one was her favourite. She was seeing him more and more each day now.

She sat in their cosy front room – a front room she had always loved, the fire burning brightly in the hearth, her laptop balanced on her knee and her tea and Jammy Dodgers beside her. Next to the fire was their dog, brown and beautiful loyal and loving and currently doing that doggy twitchy thing like he was chasing something in his sleep. Across from her sleeping hound was her man. He was home. And for the first time in a few weeks, she felt totally relaxed and content, ready to start writing again. She needed too – not just because of the advance she had burning a hole in her pocket but because that's who she was – Melody Taylor Author.

She must have said the Melody Taylor Author out-loud because Tom looked up from his book, peering over his glasses with an amused look on his face.

"To be an author one first needs to write," he quipped.

"Blow it out your arse Hiddles," she countered smiling at him. "I have one book selling nicely thanks and anyway its been hard to find time to write – especially with you galavanting all over the place and the business to watch over."

"And settling into the house," he added like he'd heard it all before.

She sighed.

He had.

She had been procrastinating.

"You can't put it off forever -we have two days before we have to be over at the coast for the opening, best to get a start now," he said looking back down at his own book, a novel he was looking to adapt for the screen.

He was right. She knew it, but starting was always daunting and anxiety had been getting the better of her. She knew what she wanted to write, she always had a million stories in her head but it was finding the time and the right one to tell.

Maybe she could tell the story of a young woman who fell in love with a handsome actor and had moved to the UK to be with him, her favourite aunt and to get to know the family she hadn't realised existed. A young couple who had put up with the crap the press had dealt out to them, the stories and half-truths of how she had been his obvious rebound girl – a long, blonde, Taylor to replace the one he'd lost. It would never last they'd said. But what did the press know is she had been the first Taylor, they both knew that now.

It was mostly behind them now, they had come out the other end stronger, wiser and more in love than ever – living in a beautiful old home in Essex while renting out her house on the Tweed.

Or maybe of the actor who fought the battle against depression and anxiety thanks to the help of a strong-willed independent young woman. A man who, now his commitment to a major studio was finished, was rebuilding his life as a director and screenwriter as well as taking on more stage and independent movies close to home. And now was hoping to make an honest woman of the love of his life – if he ever got around to dragging the emerald ring out of his undies drawer upstairs and actually proposing.

Then there was the older Australian woman who finally married the postman of her dreams and moved into a little cottage in town, letting her niece/daughter buy the big old rambling house (and the big field adjacent) they had both always loved so much with the proceeds of a couple of Gold Coast houses.

Maybe it could be the story of a chef and his husband who decided, after lifesaving heart-surgery, that it was time for a quieter life. So they had sold up their Gold Coast café, cashed in investments and in partnership with their former waitress, had bought a little bistro in town with a little cottage nearby. Quieter than the Gold Coast with much more downtime. Though it had been such a success they were opening a second one down by the sea to be managed by the actor's brother-in-law. Down where they could all go for long walks on the beach together just like they use to, just like they missed.

But her favourite story was that of the teen who met her big sister for the first time just a year or two back and was now working as a waitress at the New Wave here in Saffron Walden and living in the attic room of the house her big sister shared with her favourite actor (and future brother-in-law if he ever actually got the ring out of his drawers and put it on her finger).

Lyrica had been a revelation. While Mels' relationship with Liz was still strained, a work in progress with neither really warming to the other and too much baggage for a quick-fix, and Allegra seemed indifferent even a little insolent at being replaced as the oldest, she had found a kindred spirit in Lyrica. Her sister wanted to be an artist but was taking a year off university just to draw and paint and really get to know the family she had never had a chance to be with before. They were even talking about doing a children's book together now Aunty Morag was married, The Actor was climbing the best sellers list and her photobook with Johnny was in its second edition!

Yeah, Mels needed to write and soon and not just because it soothed her soul but because Diana Hiddleston wanted oodles of grandchildren and now they were settled in a house with plenty of rooms she was dropping hints. And who was Mels to argue with Tom's mum?

She'd learned early it was pretty pointless really and she really didn't mind.

She put her fingers on the keys of her computer then and Tom put his hand in his pocket to grab out the emerald ring he'd bought in London two Christmases ago along with the long blue coat he'd given her at their impromptu Christmas at her house in Tweed that year.

He was ready to embrace his future now and had long decided how and where he would propose.

Yeah, he knew she needed to write – and he was just as certain he needed to marry her.

AND THAT IS THE END OF THEIR JOURNEY FOR NOW

THANK YOU SO MUCH TO THE AMAZINGLY LOYAL READERS WHO FOLLOWED THIS STORY AND ENCOURAGED ME WHEN MY CONFIDENCE WAS AT ITS LOWEST EBB.

THANK YOU TO THE AMAZING TRIO WHO READ THIS WHEN IT WAS JUST A PRIVATE LITTLE STORY AND ENCOURAGED ME TO PUT IT OUT THERE FOR YOU!!!

T