“Even at a wedding, Nick Velez has to criticize the music.”

“I’m not criticizing, I’m saying—”

I lean forward and kiss him.

“You can’t do that every time you want me to stop talking about terrible music,” he says.

“Actually.” I smile. “I bet I can.”

He groans. “I bet you can, too.”

I look around us, at Annie with her head on Drew’s chest, her eyes closed. At Uncle Don and Tyler, staring at each other, in their own private world. At Louis, talking to Tobin, probably about skateboarding. At Gary dancing with his wife, Martha, behind the DJ booth. At Shivan and Doug, who’ve taken over the bar. At everyone living their lives, taking chances, getting hurt, and waking up the next day to start all over again. How beautiful it is that no matter how badly things are screwed up, we can always keep dreaming, keep wishing, keep hoping that things will get better.

“What are you thinking about?” Nick asks.

“Wondering if there are any more pigs in a blanket left,” I tell him.

He pulls me closer and I rest my head on his shoulder.

“I’ll make you whatever you want when we get home tonight,” he says.

And sure, maybe if my life were really a romantic comedy, it wouldn’t have ended with me and Nick discussing a tiny hot-dog-based appetizer. But real life is so much better than a movie anyway.

Epilogue

“Order up!”

Nick slides a bowl through the window between the kitchen and the front counter. That window was one of the first changes we made when we converted Nick’s into the Butterfly Café.

I grab the bowl of chicken tortilla soup and carry it through the café, weaving between tables and barely avoiding crashing into the two-year-old who toddles into my path.

“Nora Marie!” Annie hisses, grabbing her arm. “You almost tripped Aunt Chloe.”

Nora (named after Annie’s heroes, Nora Ephron and her mother) frowns and points at me. “Chicken nuggets.”

I bend down, holding on to the bowl of soup. “I’m sorry to be the one to break this to you, Nora, but we don’t serve chicken nuggets and we never will. How about fried avocado?”

She stares at me without saying anything.

“Sorry,” Annie says with a smile. Even when she’s annoyed at her child, she looks overjoyed to be with her. “Come on, baby, let’s go sit down. Mommy’s feet are swollen.”

She eases her very pregnant self into a chair with Drew’s help—maneuvering her around is kind of a two-person job at this point in her pregnancy. They’re back in town because their second child, a boy, is due any day now and she wants to have him here so Don and I can be around for the first few weeks of his life. Not to brag, but I was a pretty great labor coach during Nora’s birth, which might be a calling for me if this restaurant thing doesn’t work out.