This is it, folks! I guess this is the epilogue or last chapter or... I dunno. I don't like labels. I did write some stuff after this, but it's not complete yet. Would y'all rather have one longer futuretake or mini chapters as I write them? You can also tell me to lay off these twoI think my next plan is to try to finish Anyone Else But You. Hadleyyou're stuck with me, girl.

Thank you for reading and for all the lovely thoughts about this story!


After surprising Edward in Chicago, I stay with him for two weeks. When he's working during the day, I explore the city, even busying myself with a little work for my own job. I attend some conference calls via Skype and do what I can remotely. Guilt nags at me for taking this impromptu vacation, mostly because my plan is to put in my two weeks notice the moment I get back to Seattle.

On my fifth day in town, Edward takes me to his office, which is only blocks from where we're staying. He introduces me to some of his colleagues, and a few of them can't hide their recognition at the mention of my name. Their smug faces give them away—Edward's been talking about me. Later on, he tells me he spent many happy hours with them back in LA, woefully recalling our story. He mumbles that he probably wasn't great company over those three months, but I kiss away his worry and replace it with the reassurance that the past is now behind us.

We wrap up our last weekend as tourists, taking selfies, holding hands, being completely obnoxious with our displays of affection. Edward takes me to all his favorite iconic buildings in Chicago, geeking out over the architecture. He's so fucking cute like this, using words like juxtaposition, dichotomy, and truss. I have no idea what he's actually saying, but I love the way it sounds coming out of his mouth. He gets caught up a lot, talking and pointing, trying his hardest to involve me. I attempt to keep up, but mostly watch him as he takes it all in. The fascination on his face during that time is one of my favorite memories.

We catch a Cubs game and venture to different restaurants. The ones I choose all have hot dogs and deep dish pizza on the menu. Edward chooses more lavish places for us, where the plates have infinitely less food on them and cost twice as much. I call him "Bougie Bitch" for part of the trip, and he merely rolls his eyes in response before admitting that the places I chose were better.

I capture a little content during our time, taking photos of the food, the sights, and some candids of the cutest boyfriend ever. It's not until my last night in town that I post any of it on my personal Instagram, highlighting my favorite spots to eat in Chicago. It's been months since I've updated my Instagram, and it feels good. I get a handful of immediate likes, a few "where ya been," and even a drool emoji, which I assume is for the photo of Edward mid-bite. I only assume it's for him because along with the emoji, the comment says, "what I wouldn't give to be that hot dog."

It's indecent.

And hilarious.

My phone lights up with a notification that ECullen liked my post. Upon further inspection, I notice that he also likes the inappropriate drooler's comment.

"Don't egg them on," I tell him, kicking his shin. We're lying in the hotel bed, and our legs are kinda tangled together, so my kick isn't as hard as I wanted it to be. Which is fine. I don't actually want to hurt him. I just have to give him shit.

"Don't post pictures of me without asking then." He doesn't sound mad, only playful. It spikes something within me, and I fight back. We're good at this.

"Well, I thought now that we're together again, I can post whatever I want of you."

"Why would that ever be a rule?" he asks rhetorically. "So I can post whatever photo I want of you?"

"That would require you to actually post stuff on your Instagram." I pull up his lonely page, which consists of nine posts total. The last photo was from over two years ago, and it's just the field at a Seahawks game. "Why do you even have an Instagram if you don't post anything?"

"Because I like to follow people," he says, almost convincingly. I give him a look and he admits: "Fine. I like to follow you."

I can't help the smile that takes over my face. "My very own stalker. I love it."

I leave my spot beside him and straddle his waist. He's shirtless, wearing only a pair of black briefs. My fingers play with the hair just above his elastic waistband, and he shivers, his laugh husky and loaded with lust.

"You're one to talk about stalkers," he says, grabbing my wrist to stop me from teasing him. "You found me here, in Chicago."

I scoff. "Hardly any work went into that."

"I wouldn't brag."

"Why not? It's impressive." I sigh, pretending to be annoyed, but we're grinning at each other like idiots. I missed this; I missed him. We eased so seamlessly back into being ourselves, and it feels good. "Don't pretend like you're not glad I found you," I quip, continuing our pseudo-fight.

"Of course I am," he says, softer now. "So does the offer still stand? I can post whatever photo I want of you?" he asks, not letting the subject go.

"Fine. If you're so annoyed by me posting photos of you on my Instagram, then sure. Post whatever you want of me."

He grabs his phone and sticks it under my shirt.

"Hey!" I reach for his phone, but he's faster than I am, pulling it out of reach.

"Oh, simmer down. I didn't actually take a photo." I pinch his nipple as payback, but he only grunts in response, saying, "Harder."

I try not to let on how that simple groan and rough voice turns me on.

"You're an idiot," I say instead.

"Uh-huh." His phone is back and pointed to my face.

I cover the lens with my hand. "Don't. I'm not camera-ready."

"So?"

"So… like. No. You can't post a photo of me in your shirt, with no make-up, a zit on my chin and… and wet hair. Ew. No filter can make that pretty."

"Bella?"

"What?" I deadpan, half expecting him to counter my claims, tell me I'm beautiful and that he can hardly see my zit.

Instead he says, "Shut up."

I start laughing, and his phone is there again as I'm mid-laugh, mouth open and eyes likely narrowed so tightly, they're almost closed.

"Hey!" I blurt because he's so infuriating it makes me happy and bothered and so, so heated. In the best way.

"Ah. There we go." He grins at his screen, happy with whatever he was able to capture.

I shove at his chest. "Well? Show me."

He locks his phone and slides it under his pillow. "Not a chance. I didn't get to see the photos of me before you posted them."

"Newsflash, fucker—you always look good."

He merely laughs, but he must know it's true. "Let it go."

"I could." I look up at the ceiling. "But I won't."

"Well, you're gonna have to. It's not like I'm gonna post it right now. I'm gonna take my sweet time… wait for the perfect moment when you're really caught off guard."

"Ominous…" I trail off. "Exactly something a stalker would say."

"I'm not the stalker," he counters.

"I have it in writing that you drove past our old house in your mom's car," I say flatly, furthering my point. "Don't make me whip out that sucker as evidence."

His eyes light up, the corner of his mouth tugging just a bit. "You kept my letter?"

"What, you thought I was heartless enough to get rid of it?" I ask quietly.

"No. I don't know."

I lean forward a bit, so our chests are flush together. "I'm keeping that thing forever."

"Good." His hands run down my back, cupping my ass. "Damn, I don't want you to leave tomorrow. What am I gonna do without you for two weeks?"

"Use your hand?" I quip, and he leans his head back against the pillow, groaning. I kiss his neck and stubbled chin.

The plan is for me to go back home and finish out my two weeks at work while he wraps up his project in Chicago. Then he'll fly straight to Seattle to help me pack up and get things squared away before I officially become a resident of Los Angeles.

"I don't want to go either," I murmur, and he lifts his head again to look at me. "This bubble has been very, very nice."

"As nice as it's been, I'm looking forward to leaving the bubble."

My eyes narrow playfully. "Watch it, buddy."

"Not in a bad way. I just mean I'm excited to start our life in LA."

I die a little. "I am too. I'm excited to see your place."

"Our place," he corrects.

"Right." I smile.

Our place. Our life. Our new beginning.

XXX

"You know, being a stalker and a hoarder doesn't really work in your favor. You gotta pick one, Bell."

Edward's commentary as we pack my belongings to move has been nonstop. He keeps making little remarks, riling me up, trying to start something he'll likely finish by tossing me on my unmade bed and kissing his way down my body.

"Ha, ha," I say dryly. I don't actually have that much stuff, but he has zero hoarder in him, so he thinks this is funny. He's neat, organized. Every item he owns serves a purpose. I'm… a muddled mess. "You know, it's pretty offensive to throw around the H word when we both know that I'm not that."

"Offensive to whom?" he deadpans, brows raising in challenge as he digs through a small storage container he found that contains every birthday card, Valentine, and letter I've received over my twenty-seven years.

"Offensive to people who actually suffer from hoarderism."

He barks a laugh. "Not a real word."

"What—you know every single word in the English dictionary?"

His eyes light up with amusement. "You're crazy."

"Again, that's offensive to actual crazy people."

"You are an actual crazy person," he counters. "But I love you. Why did you keep all this stuff anyway?" He picks up a participation ribbon from field day… in the fifth grade.

"It's sentimental."

He grabs one of the cards from my grandma, reading aloud, "Bells, congrats on making the second grade A-Honor Roll." He snaps it closed. "Do tell me how there is a single ounce of sentiment attached to this?"

"You wouldn't get it." I groan out loud, grabbing the container and taking it away from his judgy eyes. "Go, make yourself useful in the kitchen."

He lingers, falling quiet, eyes worried that he pissed me off. I don't actually know why I kept all of that shit. Sure, some of it is sentimental—birthday cards from Charlie, my grandparents. Back in the day Emmett used to hand-draw me birthday cards, so those are in there too, along with Edward's perfect letter to me. All the other stuff is actual crap.

"Maybe I just… liked seeing evidence that I'm loved," I say, vulnerable. "Okay?"

"Shit," he sighs, sitting on the edge of my bed, pulling me to stand between his thighs. "Baby, I'm sorry."

I smile, meaning it, shrugging it off. "It's okay. It is weird. Kind of like the way you have to clean the entire kitchen after cooking."

"That's not weird."

"Before you eat," I add. "The food is cold! Why not clean after you enjoy your meal?"

"We're not talking about my quirks," he counters. "But I am sorry for messing with you about the cards. I actually think it's cute you kept Valentines from elementary school. I'm just jealous of whoever that Mike kid is… he drew way too many hearts on the Valentine he gave you."

"With good reason," I quip. "He was my first boyfriend, after all."

Edward breathes a laugh through his nose. "If I went to elementary school with you, I'd beat every kid's ass who looked at you."

I laugh a little too hard, stepping back from him. "And you think I'm the crazy one?"

"I can't let it all be you. Where's the fun in that?" he retorts, tugging the belt loop on my shorts, keeping me in place.

When he's sitting and I'm standing, we're almost the same height. I kiss him chastely, but he deepens it, his fingers inching their way under the frayed hem of my jean shorts. "No," I groan into his mouth. "We can't." Even though I really, really want to. He's been teasing me all day, pulling his shirt up to wipe sweat from his forehead, slapping my ass as I walk by. "The ferry leaves at noon, and we can't miss it 'cause I told Charlie we'd be there by 3."

"Shit. Okay." He hides his face in the nook of my neck, and I feel him kiss a trail from my ear to my collarbone.

"Edward," I warn, and I feel his smile against my skin.

"Fine." He sits straight, holding his hands up in surrender. "No more touching." But he still keeps me trapped between his thighs.

"You're still touching," I laugh.

"Not with my hands." He says it kind of gruffly, eyes darkening.

I glance down at his lap, growing warm myself. I lift my knee a little, gently rubbing it against the bulge in his jeans.

"Bella, if you don't want me to throw you on the bed and take you right the fuck now, you gotta stop."

I smile. He swallows. And just as I suspected, it ends with him tossing me on the bed, crawling between my legs, making me cry out his name over and over again.

XXX

"So you're leaving," Charlie says, face unreadable.

"Yes."

"When?"

"The end of this week."

"And you'll be shacking up with him," he says, pointing to Edward who's sitting across from him.

"Shacking up?" I echo, pulling a face. "We'll be living together, yes."

"What are his intentions?" Charlie asks me.

"Don't be so old-fashioned," I laugh, shaking my head. "Why does that matter?" My mind flashes back to lying in bed with Edward, both of us expressing what we want and see for our lives. And what he wants is me. Forever. When he said it so simply, he made me cry. So Charlie doesn't have to worry, because Edward has the best intentions.

I'm about to say this when Edward speaks up.

"This isn't a casual thing, Mr. Swan," he says, reaching for my hand. My smile softens when I see the way he's staring at me, eyes determined, smile confident. "I'm very serious about her. And I don't see it as shacking up," he adds. "We'll be living together… starting our lives."

"Since when do you call me Mr. Swan?"

"Since it seems I need your approval to take Bella with me to LA."

Charlie likes this answer. "You've always had my approval. I just like to make her sweat a little."

"How kind of you," I deadpan, brushing my thumb over Edward's, offering a smile to let him know he did good. Real good.

"Well, what?" Charlie stands from the table, moving toward the fridge. "I just wanna make sure you're taken care of, that's all."

"Bella can take care of herself," Edward says for me. "But I promise she'll be in good hands."

God, again with the swoon. And again, Charlie likes this answer.

Dad grills us some steak, and we celebrate with Rainier's finest lager. When we're done eating and the sun starts to dip a little lower in the sky, I stand and clear the patio table of our plates.

Edward stands to help me, and I pause, curiosity nagging at me.

"Is she still here?" I ask evenly.

Charlie looks up at me, taking a long pull from his can. "She left a month ago."

I can feel Edward's eyes on me, but I don't look over at him, merely nodding. Hearing that Renee left shouldn't surprise me. And it doesn't. It also doesn't throw me off kilter like it would've in the past. I'm almost stoic, like I've separated anything having to do with Renee from how it makes me feel. There's no anger, no sadness. Nothing.

"Did she say why?" I ask, and Edward takes the stack of plates from my hands before moving inside, giving us a minute alone.

"Just that Forks didn't feel like home. She was gonna go somewhere warmer. Arizona?"

"Is she sober?"

"Think so."

"Good."

Charlie watches me for a second. "You doing okay?" I nod. "Therapy and… all that has been okay?"

"Yeah. I'm actually gonna continue my sessions with Emily after I move. Apparently we can Skype or whatever, so. Yeah."

I see the faintest smile peeking out from under his mustache. "Glad to hear it." I'm about to walk inside when he says, "Sorry I put you through all that, kiddo. I didn't… well." He pauses, and I watch him swallow back emotion. "I was just going through the motions. I never really knew if what I did for you was right or wrong. Now I know. And I'm sorry."

I can't tell if he's talking about my childhood or letting Renee blindside me months ago. I decide it doesn't matter, though. The past is the past. He's sorry. He's trying. And I forgive him.

XXX

The night before Edward and I fly out, Em and Rose join us at the Chinese restaurant for one last hoorah.

We drink way too much, sing really bad renditions of our favorite karaoke songs, even indulge in the disgusting Jell-O shots that the bar offers. It feels a little bittersweet, but I'm so fucking excited for what's to come.

Edward's being handsy, pulling me into corners of the bar, making out like a teenager. Rose gives him shit every time he pulls me away because she wants to hang out and can't do that with him all over me.

I love it though. I love that he can't get enough. What Rose doesn't get is that we're making up for lost time. And not for the time that we were broken up… I mean for the last five years we weren't together romantically. Every moment, kiss, and touch with him is heightened. It feels different now, and I chalk it up to the fact that we're fully in this together. We're not worried, untrusting, or doubtful of each other. We know where we stand, and it's a good fucking feeling.

When it's nearing eleven, Edward wants to head home. I whine a little, but he has those eyes, the ones where he's silently telling me that he wants me. Now. In bed. Or rather, on the air mattress that's in my living room because I sold my bed yesterday, and we had to borrow an air mattress from Rose.

"Half an hour longer," I negotiate with him. "They haven't even played the duet Em and I are gonna sing!"

"Fine," he pouts, but I see the corner of his mouth tugging into a tiny smile. He heads to the bar and takes the stool next to Rose, leaving Em and I alone. Edward turns back, pointing toward the longneck in his hand, and I nod that I want one, too.

"So how does it feel?"

"What?" I ask, quirking a brow at Em.

"To have your shit together?"

I sputter a laugh, some beer dribbling down my chin. "Fuck you." Em merely smiles at my response. "It feels pretty good, though," I say eventually. I shouldn't be reluctant to admit that my shit definitely wasn't together until recently. "And for you? You're like a whole new man!"

Em quit his gig as a bartender and started working as the full-time mixologist at his friend's new, hip restaurant. His hair is still a dark, curly mess, but it's shorter on the sides, a little more professional. His wardrobe has also changed significantly since he met Rose. And he's happy. I can tell it's genuine.

"I am a new man. I started buying groceries at the store instead of 7-11," he brags.

"Wow, Em." I slow clap. "One step at a time."

He flips me off. "Being an adult isn't as scary as I thought it would be, I guess."

"Most things aren't as scary as they seem," I muse, staring at the back of Edward's head from across the room.

"I bought a ring," Em admits quietly, and I snap my head in his direction.

"No shit?" I breathe out, grinning so wide.

"It's nothing fancy, but… yeah."

"Dude, that's… big. Talk about being a real adult." I don't know what else to say. I'm equal parts excited and nervous for him. "Do you think she'll say yes?"

"Well, fuck, Bella. I thought so, but now I'm not sure if that's your reaction."

"Sorry," I drawl sarcastically. "I've never had anyone tell me they're gonna propose. I don't know the protocol or what to say."

He shakes his head, grumbling a laugh. "I think she'll say yes."

"Me too. When are you gonna do it?"

"Still trying to work that out. Maybe in like a month… her birthday's coming up, so I have this whole thing planned."

I smile. "Who else knows?"

"No one? I guess the dude at the jewelry store. But no one else."

I'm touched that Emmett wanted to tell me first. I clap him on the back, offering encouragement. "Well… don't fuck it up."

He shakes with laughter, knocking his beer into mine. "Thanks. I knew I could count on you for the pep talk."

Edward and Rose join us again, and I'm buzzing with excitement. Edward gives me a look—he can tell something's up, but I keep my lips sealed. I'll keep it that way until we're alone later. There's zero way I'll be able to keep this news from him.

Eventually the night comes to an end. We all take turns hugging, and when my goodbye turns a little weepy, I chalk it up to having drank a little too much. We already came up with a tentative plan for Em and Rose to visit us in two months, and I very nearly blurt that we can celebrate their engagement. I stop myself though, and silently curse Em for offering this news while drunk.

Their Uber arrives first, and Edward and I linger on the sidewalk, waiting for ours.

"Em's gonna propose," I blurt once their car drives out of sight.

Edward's brows raise into his hairline. "Em moves fast. But good for him."

"God, I've been holding onto that information for far too long."

"How long have you known?"

"Half an hour."

The corners of Edward's eyes crinkle, and he pulls me to him. "How stressful for you."

"It was," I reply seriously. "I almost blew the whole surprise."

Edward just grins, arms wrapped tightly around my waist. "Speaking of weddings…" he trails off, eyes gleaming.

"What about them?" I ask, heart stuttering as I search his beautiful face.

"My mom is losing her shit," he says, shaking his head, smiling down at the ground.

"How?"

"When I was helping her clean up after dinner the other night, she was going on and on about wedding stuff. She already has some ideas for venues. She said she'd email them over to us. Bell," he murmurs, and my stomach flutters with anticipation. "She already has a spreadsheet," he finally says.

I gasp in mock horror, shoving his chest. "Not a spreadsheet!"

He laughs, tugging me back to him, kissing my cheek. "You think it's funny now. Just wait. You know how she is with parties and planning an event."

I sigh, staring up at him. "It doesn't sound so bad. Having someone who knows what they're doing will be nice… for… when that time comes." Edward just smirks. "Which can be whenever. I'm not in a rush. But you also know I want to be with you forever, so…" I stop my rambling. "Anyway."

"Anyway," he echoes, still grinning. "You know the minute we get married, she's gonna be talking babies. So… don't say I didn't warn you."

My cheeks grow warm, and I soften up to the idea so fast. I want this life with him, the commitment, the babies. The overbearing grandparents who spoil the shit out of their grandkids. We'll take it slow, though. For now. That doesn't mean all of this doesn't linger on the horizon.

"I don't mind the sound of that."

"Which part?" he asks, staring down at me in the most adoring way.

"All of it," I murmur, fingers playing with the back of his hair. "You're gonna be such a DILF, though. I'm already annoyed by how many people you're going to turn on by wearing a baby wrap."

Edward laughs at the thought, merely shaking his head. "Kiss me, you idiot."

And that's exactly what I do.