Page 127 of Clinically Awkward

“We all did,” Fitz said, clapping me on the back. “But instead, you got his blessing. Congratulations, mate. You’re dating the boss’ sister and you didn’t die.”

“I’m still processing,” I admitted.

“Process later,” Nathan said. “Right now, we need to figure out how to pay for the property damage at The Rusty Nail.”

“And cover weekend shifts for the next three months,” Hayden added grimly.

“And avoid any more front-page news stories,” Gabriel said.

“So basically,” Fitz said cheerfully, “we’re screwed.”

“Yep,” I said.

“But at least you got the girl,” Fitz pointed out.

I thought about Vivian. About her laugh, her smile, the way she looked at me like I was the only person in the room. “Yeah,” I said, grinning. “I got the girl.”

“And you didn’t die,” Nathan added.

“Also a plus.”

“And Julien’s apparently fine with it,” Gabriel said.

“Miracles do happen,” Hayden muttered.

Fitz raised an imaginary glass. “To Quinton. Who punched a jackass, got arrested, made front-page news, and somehow still came out on top.”

“Hear, hear,” Gabriel said.

“I hate all of you,” I said.

“No, you don’t,” Fitz said cheerfully.

He was right. I really didn’t because despite the arrests, the newspaper, the property damage, and the month of weekend shifts, I had Vivian.

And that made everything—everything—worth it.

Even if Julien had temporarily lost his mind.

Probably.

EPILOGUE

Quinton

Six months later, I was standing on a golf course in the middle of Connecticut, watching Nathan Carter line up what was possibly the worst golf swing I had ever witnessed in my life.

“You’re holding it wrong,” Hayden said from behind his sunglasses.

“I’m not holding it wrong,” Nathan insisted, adjusting his grip for the third time.

“You’re absolutely holding it wrong,” Fitz added helpfully. “Your stance is atrocious. Your grip is worse. And I’m fairly certain you’re about to dislocate your shoulder.”

“I’ve been golfing for years,” Nathan said defensively.

“That’s the saddest part,” Hayden muttered.

Nathan swung, and the ball sailed approximately fifteen feet to the left, bounced off a tree, and landed in the rough. “GODDAMMIT.”