by Tawna Fenske
“What?”
“I think we both screwed up. But that’s the beauty of being human—we can learn from it and move on to become smarter and stronger and better partners for each other.”
“God.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “So you’ll give me another chance?”
“I’ll give us another chance.” She smiles at Soph. “How’d we do with the apologies?”
“Good.” My daughter grins up at us. “You can send me to get a cupcake if you want to be alone.”
With a laugh, I snake out an arm and drag her into our hug. As Mari wraps an arm around her, the three of us rock together like some strange, three-headed beast.
I don’t know how long we embrace like that before applause erupts behind us. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Lana and Gabe and Lauren clapping like lunatics with the cameras rolling.
Mari’s door is still open behind her, and Leonard chooses that moment to interject himself.
“Love you!” he shouts. “Sexytimes!”
“Exactly,” I say, and press my lips to Mari’s.
Epilogue
CONFESSIONAL 741
Judson, Marilyn, PsyD (Psychologist: Juniper Ridge)
Love is such a peculiar emotion. It can bring out your very best self, and your very worst self. According to research conducted by Doctors John and Julie Gottman—
You know what?
Never mind. Love is a goddamn marvel. Let’s leave it at that.
“All right, everyone.” I step out of the kitchen with a serving bowl of pasta suitable for a small army. Fitting, since that’s the size of the group at my dining room table. “Caramelized brussels sprouts with tagliatelle and toasted chickpeas.”
There’s crispy crumbled bacon already on the table for family members who aren’t my vegetarian brother. Also garlic bread—for which I used mitts when retrieving it from the oven—and a big Caesar salad.
Coop grins as I set the pasta in the center of the table. “This looks amazing.” He touches the crocheted trivet peeking out from under the bowl. “This is pretty cool, too. Same colored yarn as my alligator.”
“Good eye.”
It turns out my sisters weren’t the only ones who kept the crocheted creatures I made when we were kids. Who knew I had a creative, whimsical domestic goddess hiding inside, or that my family spotted her before I did?
“Nice work.” Griffin squeezes my hand under the table as I take my seat. Soph’s on his other side, skeptically eyeing the brussels sprouts. “That’ll pair perfectly with the apricot ale I brought,” he adds.
On the other side of the table, Lana taps the growler between her and Soph. “There’s a soda version, too. I got to taste test it yesterday.”
I hold out my glass so Griff can fill it with the hard stuff. I sampled this batch a few weeks ago, so he already knows I like it. As the pasta gets passed around, my heart swells with love for everyone here. Gabe and Gretchen have their heads together at one end of the table, murmuring about a camping trip they’re planning. Dean and Vanessa are on their other side, explaining something to Coop about advertising revenue.
My sisters sit side by side, squabbling good-naturedly over the parmesan. Listening to their banter, I no longer feel left out. These past couple months, I’ve made an effort to let myself be included. Apparently, it was that simple? There was always room for me at the table if I’d bothered to take my seat.
Lauren looks up like she’s just read my mind. “Are we allowed to drink yet, or are we toasting first?”
“A toast.” Dean takes charge by lifting his glass. “To Mari’s published piece in the Journal of Experimental Psychology.”
“Cheers!” Lauren smiles and bangs her glass against mine. “I’ve had friends emailing me all day saying what a great article it is.”
I stare at her over our sea of clinking glasses. “You have friends who read the Journal of Experimental Psychology?”
She shrugs and draws her drink back to sip it. “I might have sent copies to everyone I know.”
“Same.” Lana grins and tucks a shock of blond hair behind one ear. “I pitched National Geographic this morning about doing a spotlight on what we’re doing out here from a psychology standpoint. They’re really into it.”
“As they should be.” Coop clinks his soda glass with Soph’s and takes a sip. “Mari deserves to be bloody well chuffed.”
Soph laughs, delighted to be his cursing mentor. “Brill.”
Seeing their pride has me so filled with joy that I’m bursting. Or maybe that’s the feel of Griff’s hand on my knee beneath the table. He leans close, breath tickling my ear. “Have I mentioned how hot it is that you got your research published?”
“Maybe once or twice,” I murmur. Soph makes a show of rolling her eyes like she does when we kiss. She’s smiling, so I know she’s not truly bothered. “I never get tired of hearing it, though.”
“Good,” he says. “Because I plan to say it every day.”
“It’s a cool article.” Soph grabs a crouton off her salad. “I showed it to my humanities teacher. She said anyone who does a report on it gets extra credit.”
“Score.” Gabe grins. “Clan Judson—inspiring young minds and influencing the next generation.”
Lauren’s eye-roll puts Soph’s to shame. “Nice try. We don’t get credit for Mari’s brilliance.”
“I know, I know.” Gabe grins and twists a noodle around his fork. “Seriously, though—all the buzz around your research is giving us a whole new rep. We’re way more than just a reality show now.”
I fight to keep my smile humble, even though I want to jump up on the table and dance. “It’s nice when a plan comes together.”
Soph sets down her apricot soda, watching us with a wise look. “Joel says, goal setting is important. Now that you hit that one, you’ve gotta think of more.”
“I might have one or two.” I deliberately do not glance at Griff. We’ve talked plenty about a future together, but we’re trying to be smart about it. We flew to Seattle last week for a couples’ communication workshop, and we work every day to make sure our foundation is rock solid.
“Joel’s a smart guy.” Griff gives his daughter’s shoulder a squeeze, and I’m grateful for how thoroughly this whole family has embraced the concept of therapy. There’s no shame, no stigma, no “what the hell is wrong with you?” that happens in some families.
“Joel’s great,” Soph says with a sly grin. “But he’s got this one twelve-year-old patient who’s really wise.”
Griff laughs. “So I’ve heard.”
“Seriously though, Mari.” Dean looks at me with his stern CEO face. “We’re all really proud of you.”
Across the room, Leonard calls out from his perch. “Proud Mary!” he shouts. “Proud Mary!”
Dean’s brow furrows. “Did he forget your name?”
Griff and I exchange a look. We’ve heard this line a lot lately. “We introduced him to Tina Turner.” I pause to pile bacon on my own pasta. “He likes her almost as much as Lynyrd Skynyrd.”
Soph gets up and grabs a peanut from the dish on the counter, presenting it to Leonard so he’s part of family dinner. “There you go.” She grins as he grabs it with one gnarled claw and starts to munch. “Want to toast, birdie boy?”
She holds up a second nut and Leonard squawks and bangs his against it. She laughs, pleased the trick stuck. They’ve worked on it all week since we’ve had lots to celebrate.
The first season of Fresh Start at Juniper Ridge was a smash hit. Our ratings rose steadily through the twelve-episode arc, following cops and medics, bakers and bankers as they’ve settled in and formed friendships and community. We’re already at work on season two with plans to bring on more members in the coming months.
Coop clears his throat beside me. “When’s Nick breaking ground on the new cabins?”
I glance at Lauren in time to see something flash in her eyes. She covers it quickly, but not before Lana and I notic
e.
“Soon,” I tell him. “I just uploaded all his non-disclosure docs. We’re free to include him in filming as soon as he gets settled.”
Lauren chugs the last of her beer and reaches for the bacon. I watch as she piles a tablespoon, then two, then three on her pasta. The rest of us might favor baked goods to soothe our emotions, but Lauren’s all about the salt.
“Anyone else see Nick’s picture in the new issue of GQ?” Lana smiles, enjoying the reaction she’s getting from Lauren. “‘America’s sexiest entrepreneurs.’ They showed him shirtless on a construction site with—”
“More parmesan, anyone?” Lauren forces the words out through gritted teeth and glares at our baby sister. “Maybe enough to glue your teeth together?”
As my siblings’ conversation flows from construction to pop culture to which community members should go next for spotlights on the show, Griffin squeezes my knee.
“This is really good.” He forks up another bite of pasta. “Is this another Patti and Colleen creation?”
I wink at Soph as I twist a pile of noodles around my fork. “I had a different cooking coach this time. One who wasn’t so sure about the brussels sprouts.”
Soph grins around a mouthful of food. “They’re kinda good,” she says. “Not little green balls of death like when dad makes them.”
“Hey.” Griffin reaches over to ruffle her hair, but Soph giggles and ducks back. “I’ll challenge you to a brussels sprout bakeoff any day of the week.”
Gabe piles his plate with another helping. “That’ll make for riveting television.”
Lauren agrees. “Stranger things have made for blockbuster TV.”
Sadly, that wasn’t the case for Elle’s show, Hustlers and Housewives. Widely panned by critics, it was cancelled midway through the season. But the upside is that Elle got a small part in a sitcom filming in Portland. Now that she lives three hours away, she’s rebuilding a relationship with Soph. It’s slow going, and Griff’s cautious. But Soph seems happy to have monthly visits with her mom.
Griff squeezes my knee again, then picks up his spoon and clangs it against the side of his pint glass. “I have an announcement.” He smiles at me, and I catch something unexpected in his eye. Joy, yes, but also anxiousness. “Actually, something I want to ask.”
My sisters’ eyes widen. They glance at each other, then at me as Griff slides from his chair and drops to one knee beside me.
“Mari Judson—you are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my life.” His smile widens as he slips a hand in his pocket. “You are my rock. My mentor. My partner and helpmate. My friend and my favorite person to fall asleep with at night and wake up with in the morning.” He uncurls his fingers, revealing a sparkling diamond ring in his palm. “I’m wondering if you’ll also be my wife.”
Tears prickle my eyes as my siblings ooh and aah and peer at the ring. I know I should hate being the center of attention, but the truth?
I love it.
And I love this man slipping a diamond on my finger as I nod and laugh with tears streaming down my face. “Yes,” I sob, throwing my arms around Griff. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
I hug him hard, then draw back to look at Soph. “Are you okay with this, kiddo?”
“Uh, yeah.” She gives me another eye-roll and points to Leonard’s cage. “They let me push the button on the hidden camera. Also, I helped pick out the ring.”
“With a little help from some other family members.” Griff slides back into his chair and winks at my sisters. I look down at my new bling with renewed appreciation.
It’s a simple gold band with a round stone flecked by a dozen small sapphires. It’s understated and perfect and could only have been chosen by people who know me well.
These people. My people, my family and friends and the man I love.
The man I’m going to marry. Holy cow, I’m engaged.
I pull Griff to me again, arms sliding around his back as I press close enough to whisper in his ear. “Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me.” He moves so our foreheads touch, so he looks right into my eyes. “You’re the one who made me the happiest guy alive.”
“Same.” I never knew I could be this happy. Hell, I never even pictured myself getting married. “Kind of amazing how much things can change.”
He smiles. “A wise therapist once told me change is the first step toward growth.”
“Oh?” I plant a kiss on his temple, fluttering my fingers on his shoulder so I can see the ring sparkle. “She sounds like a very wise therapist.”
“The best.” He kisses me for real, lips claiming mine in a kiss that says forever without needing any words. “The best in the whole world.”
Leonard launches into his rendition of Tina Turner’s “The Best” while my family laughs and sings along.
I’m so happy. How is it possible to spend a whole career counseling people to find this sort of joy without knowing it myself? I’m not sure, but now that I’ve found it, I’m never letting go.
Griff breaks the kiss and smiles. “I love you, Mari.”
“I love you, too. So much.”
Leonard squawks. “Love you!” he shouts. “Forever!”
“Exactly,” Griff says, and kisses me again.
***
Thank you for reading, friend! I’m hoping you enjoyed Griff and Mari’s story and that you’re looking forward to seeing Lauren and Nick get a second shot at love. That’s coming up next in Show Down.
In the meantime, have you read my Ponderosa Resort rom-com series? It’s heaped with humor, heart, and hilarious family hijinx. There’s even some crossover into the Juniper Ridge world. You can start anywhere, since the books are written as standalones, but here’s a glimpse at one of my personal faves, Hottie Lumberjack (and stick around after, if you’d like an early look at Show Down).
Your exclusive peek at Hottie Lumberjack
Chelsea
“Here you go, Mrs. Sampson.” I slide the pink bakery box across the counter with a smile. “One dozen Guinness chocolate cupcakes with chai spice frosting, and one dozen strawberry with vanilla fondant.”
My retired math teacher pulls the box to her chest like she thinks someone will snatch it. “Did you put the penises on top like I asked?”
Her volume is a good indication she forgot her hearing aid, and the chime of my front door is a good indication of how my week’s going. I order myself to stay focused on the customer in front of me, but from the corner of my eye I see the new arrival flinch in surprise.
“I’ll be with you in just a—oh.”
Holy shit.
The guy in the doorway of my bakery doesn’t look like someone shopping for a dozen vanilla bean cupcakes. He looks like a lumberjack who lost his way to the forest. The scruffy beard, the plaid flannel, and ohmygod is that an axe?
I swallow hard and glance at Mrs. Sampson, reminding myself not to alarm her. If we’re going to die at the hands of an axe murderer, I’d like her to go out knowing she got what she wanted in that bakery box. “The cupcakes are made to order, just like always,” I assure her. “I even slipped in a couple complimentary macarons because I know Mr. Sampson loves them.”
She frowns but doesn’t turn around to notice the hulking figure behind her. “But the penises,” she says. “They’re for a bachelorette party for my grand-niece and—”
“You’ve got your penises.” I wince at the sharpness of my words, wishing desperately we could stop saying that word in front of a guy who presumably has one. I’m trying not to look. “And I’ve got your order for next week’s Welfare Society luncheon. Can I get you anything else, Mrs. Sampson?”
“No, dear,” she says, finally convinced that I successfully piped one dozen flesh-colored phalluses onto her pastries. “You’re a doll, Chelsea. I hope you find a man soon.”
As if that weren’t embarrassing enough, she reaches across the counter and pats my cheek. Then she turns and brushes past the man who’s looking more than a little
regretful about walking in here.
I get a better look at him this time, and nope, I didn’t imagine the axe. Or the fact that he has to be at least six-five, which means he has to duck to get under the doorframe as he holds it open for Mrs. Sampson.
“Ma’am.” His voice is gruff, but his eyes are kind. “You need help getting that into your car?”
“Thank you, Mark,” she says. “I’ve got it. You tell that sister of yours hello.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
Sister? Mark?
I study the guy more closely but see zero resemblance to five-foot-nothing Bree Bracelyn, the marketing VP for Ponderosa Ranch Luxury Resort. But this has to be the brother she’s talked about for months, right?
The door swings shut and Paul Bunyan—er, Mark—turns to face me. He scrubs a hand over his beard as he ambles toward the counter. “I need cupcakes.”
I glance at the axe in his hand and nod. “Uh, you’re in the right place for that.”
Folding my hands on the counter, I meet his eyes. They’re a warm brown like my favorite Guittard chocolate, and I forget for a moment that he could crush my skull with his hands if he wanted to. He doesn’t appear to want to, but I don’t have a history of being a great judge of men.
I push aside dark thoughts about my daughter’s sperm donor and the half-dozen other men in my past who’ve turned out to be real doozies and focus on the more immediate threat. Or is there a threat? Hottie Lumberjack doesn’t look terribly menacing. There’s an odd sort of teddy bear quality to the guy, if teddy bears had massive biceps and broad shoulders and sharp pieces of weaponry in their paws.
He catches me staring and sets the axe down beside my display case, leaning it against his thigh. That’s huge, too. Everything about this guy is enormous, so why do I feel more turned on than terrified?
The guy clears his throat. “I’m supposed to order two dozen cupcakes for a bunch of tour operators from—”
“I’m sorry, why do you have the axe?”
He cocks his head, genuinely perplexed. “For chopping wood.”
