Epilogue

If one should stop and think about the nature of spending a little more than forever with the one they love, would they, too, form a contract with terms and conditions that would bind them to this person in which that person too, must willingly sign?

What exactly would marriage mean to a small boy of not more than seven years, passing a humble bakery along the side of the road uphill, cold and alone on his darkest winter night? Could it be—had it crossed his mind—that he would at once, sign a written contract with anyone who had the will to come to his aid at his lowest, bringing with them, warmth and light?

All these questions, simmered down to the very last drop pointed towards an odd and uncomfortable conclusion: that the contract did not matter.

It mattered not more than the eyes of the one who'd held his very last strings together, the warmth of his smile cutting through the wind that was bitter and harsh; it mattered not. It was despite the heavy winds that he found himself wanting to spend the rest of his life with that very person, but doing exactly that did not therefore mean that marriage.

What it all really meant was the turning of lines. For two paths to converge and not just to meet once and go on alone required the maximum sacrifice of agency and change. To come together—to be more than just lines that crossed and would never meet again—was more than just marriage.

You know what it is.

*

But today, the wind is gentle; lacking its usual sting in the eyes and empty howl in the ears. And though no hush cloaked the land and no snow fell and collected on the clothes of the man who was once a boy, there was, in the air, the strangest semblance of that very night in which those at the central park breathed.

Not many wedding receptions were held outdoors, let alone in a casual park nearest to their home and just minutes away from the bakery itself. Though it lacked the mood for fairy tales and happy endings like many weddings seemed to want to have, it was precisely this real, imperfect and everyday view that reminded them of their most humble beginnings.

This, was no tale; no prince on his horse; no rich man, poor partner; no form of perfection in a human being so real and raw. This is a story of bicycles and scarves; grocery carts and strawberries; snowflakes and hot cross buns. Nothing too fantastical. Nothing out of your reach.

And perhaps that is why those attending this wedding were dressed in the most unlikely attire for the typical occasion: shorts and shirts, especially the case for the entire class 3A of Rivendell High School. A group of about thirty teenagers huddled around a sandbox in the park was, indeed, a rare sight to witness.

They were waiting for something to happen.

"We're actually invited," Evans was running his mouth as usual, turning to Finn who was the only one who didn't seem to mind. "Do you think everyone would've turned up if Jaxon hadn't said he'd skip run-time this week if we do?"

Finn had shrugged in return. "He told volleyball that he's signed on as a permanent coach now, so... skipping run-time once is better than never getting to skip for the rest of high school." Beside him, Evans had paled.

"Honestly though, we should be happy for free food," piped Layla who'd overheard their conversation, causing Nguyen behind the tree to groan under her breath.

She wasn't fond of seeing interaction between her ship interrupted by anyone.

"Not for long though," Liz who was in the middle of making flower crowns for herself and Nguyen—the chosen flower girls—when she joined the conversation, Brendon, not far behind, followed with his tail between his legs. "Brendon and I saw his sister arriving with huge batches of pastries and the wedding cake. I'm not eating all that if she's the one who baked it."

Brendon let out an exasperated groan, rolling his eyes as he did so. "I told you—Rachel's somehow got her shit together after the weird week she was missing. I swear, her stuff isn't that bad now. They're actually good."

"Actually, um," Shin raised his hand out of nowhere. "I can vouch for that... she brings her stuff over to Chi—Mr. Honeycutt's bakery sometimes to ask for his opinion. She also likes to criticize my plating," he laughed sheepishly.

The truth was that neither Shin nor Brendon had somehow deluded themselves with imaginary cupcakes and an imaginary Rachel Highland. She had, indeed, been making frequent trips to Baked Love after opening hours and dropping by with rare ingredients she'd had access to since winning the prize and once, a small bible.

It wasn't that she had changed, per se. After all, there was no stopping her advances and never-ending determination to share her beliefs with Chip Honeycutt-Jaxon no matter how Xander tried to get off work early and stand guard outside the bakery. While flavour profiles and going to church would often make up the most of conversations between Rachel and Chip, she would sometimes comment on the icing of a cupcake or the arrangement of mango slices on the new mango cream cake. To have a perfectionist of appearance around wasn't necessarily a downside, at least to Chip, it wasn't, since he did, after all, have the power to translate almost everything into something ultimately positive.

Inspired by her comments and corrections, Chip was on his way to perfecting the art of desserts; the other half of pastry-making that he'd yet to master and both him and Baked Love found pleasure in the growth they sought. To say that the display window was now Instagram-worthy would be an understatement. He'd consulted Rachel on tiered stands to be placed at the display window of the bakery—the kind that would draw one's attention to it and stop in their tracks to look and appreciate the cakes and pastries on it—and they had been a featured part of the bakery ever since.

In fact, the very same collection of tiered stands chosen by Rachel now stood in the reception area: a large white pavilion in the middle of the park, decorations courtesy of herself. And no, they were not pink. Thank goodness they weren't.

"Shift the princess cakes to the other side of the table. It's blocking the fruit tarts here," she instructed Loki, who'd definitely dressed for the occasion and not for moving food and tables around. "Oh—and who put the sandwiches on the highest tier? They were obviously not thinking. Chip wouldn't even be able to reach that."

Poor Loki was trying his best not to let out his renowned groan of despair. "Hey. Can't you get someone else to do all this? Mother's flight arrives in thirty minutes and I'm supposed to be picking her up. Plus, I don't even know which ones are the princess cakes, dumbass."

Rachel let her jaw drop. "What? How could you not know what princess cakes are? The ones topped by marzipan, over to the left. Yes, the white ones. Are you even Chip's brother?"

"Me being his brother doesn't make me an expert at pastries, okay?" Loki snapped back. "I, for one, didn't like baking like he ended up doing. Okay? And so I've been hopping from job to job, trying to find one I like and settle down, but—"

"Alright, alright I'll pray for you to get one now move the princess cakes now or we won't have enough time to decorate the tables," Rachel rolled her eyes, transferring the bread rolls into a fancy basket. "The guests will be arriving in twenty minutes. We can't afford to waste any time and ruin plans."

She was wondering why Loki had, all of a sudden, stopped groaning and moping around when she noticed his attention turned elsewhere. To a man holding the hand of a small boy in glasses and suspenders. And a bow tie.

"Excuse me, we'd like to know where—oh," Alfred Dempsey did a double take as soon as his gaze rested on her. "The owner of ARCD. It... has been quite some time. Chip did not say anything about this."

"You are Dempsey," Rachel blinked, unsure whether she should acknowledge the presence of the boy beside him. "Yes... it has been some time. He probably didn't mention because I'm more of the organizing party than a guest. The reception begins at eleven, so maybe you'd like to take a seat first."

"Oh, driving me away already, aren't you," Alfred snorted, harbouring a grudge he never could get over. "Just like always. Now if you would excuse us..."

"What? No," snapped Rachel at once. "Are you blind? I'm telling you to sit down because you have a child with you and it's painfully obvious that running about while we're setting up the place could lead to accidents."

Alfred, slightly startled by her outburst and odd way of expressing concern, cleared his throat, nodding quietly before asking where he could find Chip.

"Second floor of the bakery, dressing up and all. I suggest you give him a call before you arrive—the front door would be locked," Rachel returned to the table of food and pastries, arranging every plate and platter down to the very last centimetre of perfection. "If he can't be reached, call one of his sisters."

Vanilla stared up at the lady in the pink dress, watching as she handled the cakes and desserts with care. His uncle had nodded in thanks as he was doing so, tugging on the little boy's hand as he turned to leave.

"Um," said Rachel after he'd taken several steps. "I trust you're... doing well?"

Alfred was beginning to wonder if this had been the very same Rachel Highland, owner of ARCD, who'd told him off for criticising her desserts. He slowly began to lay out his current situation, alleviated by the help of Mr. Yamazaki and some of his ex-co-workers. "Occasionally, I'm invited to write for columns in baking magazines. My work has now shifted primarily to digital platforms instead of print... but, well. Thank you for asking."

He excused himself soon after, unable to comprehend the mood and the odd fact that he was having a decent conversation with someone he could never bring himself to forgive. Fortunately, Julie had been waving from afar as well, coming only after she'd managed to find a parking spot under a tree. "You know, a wedding in a park sounds very cute as well. I wouldn't mind if it wasn't held at some five-star-hotel's ballroom or banquet hall," she hinted the moment they re-joined and headed for the bakery.

Alfred refused to give in. "No! I promised what I promised. Though it might take a while for things to settle and sort out, you have my word that ours will be held in less than... say, four months."

"You're speaking weird, Alfred. You're doing it again," Julie warned with a laugh as they started up the hill together, the bakery already in sight.

Vanilla could only think about the pretty princess cakes he'd seen on the tiered stands, smooth, fluffy little things he could imagine cutting into with a dessert fork and watching it sink beautifully past the marzipan and taste the tangy jam on his tongue melded with the lightest cream that would fill his mouth—what was going on? He'd known how it would taste like without ever tasting it in the first place.

The boy thought nothing of this odd and jarring sensation in his mouth, unable to piece things together just yet and the semblance of an uncanny ability in its stage of growth. It would soon become his greatest weapon in every future endeavour but alas, a double-edged sword.

"Alfred!" Rose's husband had been the one to receive the family of three upon their arrival at the bakery, opening the door with a smile. "I've been kicked out of the room for being a useless old man. They're doing Chip's hair at the moment. He's only just got into his suit."

"What colour is it?"

Joe ushered them inside, locking the door behind him before taking them up the stairs to the second floor. "Beige. But Rose insists it is 'cream-coloured' so we best be careful not to bring up a sensitive topic like this. I don't even know what is the difference."

He led them to a closed door in which laughter and noise could be heard from behind the wood, knocking twice. "Can we come in?"

There was shuffling and a bit of a scuffle followed by silence before the door creaked open to reveal a frowning Coco peeking out from the gap. She relaxed upon the sight of Julie and Vanilla, opening the door wide enough for all of them to enter.

"Sorry, um. The room's in a mess at the moment but we're in the middle of cleaning, so," she laughed sheepishly.

At the back of the room, furthest away from the door, sat Chip Honeycutt-Jaxon on a chair beside the window, the light of the day filtering into the room and casting a gentle glow on his face. He wore a cream-coloured vest above a white dress shirt and cloud-grey tie, a rare addition to his usual dressing on formal occasions. Vanilla could not help but feel as though he was looking at an entirely different person.

"Mr. Chocolate Chip," he said in awe, tiny mouth agape and unable to close as he ran up to the bridegroom. "You... you look so handsome."

"Uwa," blushed Chip in embarrassment before leaning down to give the boy a hug. It was then that Vanilla could confirm that this was, indeed, the same person he'd always looked up to. "No one's ever said that to me before. Thank you, Vanilla. I'm so nervous though."

"Like... when you're about to present something in front of the entire class?" He peered up at him, tip-toeing to return the hug. Chip had laughed.

"I guess you can say that. I mean, I've always been bad with doing anything in front of a lot of people," Chip admitted, nodding as the image of a stammering him surfaced at the back of his mind. It wasn't hard to imagine. "But really, I'm so glad all of you can make it!"

It was Julie's turn to give the strawberry a hug, producing a poorly-knitted sweater from her gigantic tote bag and handing it to him with an embarrassed laugh. "I've gotten into knitting quite recently. Um, it's my first try. I think I'd better stick to teaching math and English."

No one could hold in a laugh as Chip held the bright red sweater up to the light and revealed the asymmetrical sleeves—one longer than the other—and the oddly large hole at the top, supposedly where a single head would go through. This one could fit at least three.

"What a coincidence! I have something for Vanilla as well," Rose drew towards her bag hung on an old-fashioned hook behind the door, pulling out a velvet box. "Come, let me put it on for you."

Curious and with his eyes brimming with excitement, the boy was by her side in a second, peering into the box that contained a baby blue bow tie of exquisite material, lying on top of a black velvet pillow. Coco and Julie had unconsciously moved away from the window and towards the pair for a closer look, leaving Alfred to privately slip the bridegroom a letter from Mr. Yamazaki.

____________________

Dear Chip,

          You have my heartfelt congratulations. I apologize for not being able to attend your wedding reception. I had intended to ask for Shin's help in this letter but he has been busy with registration matters and so I had to use something this girl Nguyen introduced to me called Grammarly. That aside, I am currently overseas, visiting my alma mater (ah! New word) and speaking with the board about Shin's transfer. Yes, I have agreed to send him to culinary school.

          I would like to take this opportunity to thank you and your husband for being a role model and good mentor to my son, and for teaching him things that I have never thought I needed to teach him as a parent. I now see why I have been wrong. I may not have been the most encouraging father to him, so I believe he must have relied on you many times. I am sorry to have caused you any trouble. I have learned a lot.

         Thank you.

Warm Regards,

Yamazaki Ryo

P.S. Does this Grammarly thing really make my writing better? Do tell me.

_____________________

Alfred did not hesitate in expressing his sentiments once he'd managed to pull Chip aside, away from Rose, Julie and Coco gushing over Vanilla's new look and taking turns for a selfie with said center of attention. He presented his request in the most straightforward manner; like he always did with everything else.

"Chip. I've been thinking about this for some time, and while you may be startled by this, I assure you that I have never made a decision I know I would come to regret—well, save this new book I got Vanille last week and now he's been reading even in the dark—so," he cleared his throat. "I would like you, Chip, to, well... take up the role as Vanille's godfather."

The statement had ended there, or at least Alfred had intended for it to; leaving the request hanging and waiting for a response without the courage to look Chip in the eye for too long. Even a critic can be embarrassed. At times.

But upon the absence of a response, he hurriedly added additional 'if's and 'but's, as though anxious that he'd perhaps come across too aggressive.

"Oh but that is if you'd like to, of course. Completely free of obligations, Chip, I assur—" he looked up to see tears streaming down the latter's face.

Naturally, the room was in an uproar. Everyone panicked once Alfred began frantically searching for tissue, forgetting that his handy handkerchief was stuffed in his back pocket, mumbling something about a 'hopeless man' but completely apologetic all the same while Chip continued to sob, hands over his chest as though something inside was much too big for him to house.

"This is a disaster," Coco concluded. "No bridegroom should ever cry before he's walking down the aisle! Chip, hold yourself together."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

It must be noted that while one half of the married couple resided in the bakery, the other had been placed in a clubhouse near the park with his sister and categorical 'others', or so he'd considered as a joke between him and his best friend, Blake Mason.

'Others' consisted of best man Blake, his boyfriend Ace, and a quiet observing neutral party—Janna Tallis, Blake's previous secretary who'd transferred to Xander's department while he had been working at his father's company. Together with Giselle, they were battling over the colour of Xander's boutonnière; a floral decoration worn on the lapel of a suit jacket.

More specifically, neither seemed to be able to decide on a single flower among the seven others that Gretel had picked out from the wedding planner's catalogue. While his sister had been jabbing her finger at the leftmost bundle, a classic Annabelle cream rose that would have matched Chip's suit, Blake insisted on the hydrangea. Meanwhile, Ace had voted for the succulent.

The succulent.

"What? It's soft and cute, like Chip," he reasoned in his banana-brain, wondering why everyone, including Giselle, was staring blankly at him.

Xander shrugged off the jacket of his suit—a mid-grey with charcoal hues—revealing a pale grey vest underneath whilst skilfully flipping everyone off (including his sister) for not cooperating despite the urgency of the situation at hand.

"It's not our fault you were born indecisive, dumbass," said Blake with a roll of his eyes.

Xander clicked his tongue. "You say that now but really," he jerked a thumb in Ace's direction. "It'll fuck you up when it's your turn."

As we all know with the evidence of three whole books, Xander Jaxon-Honeycutt possessed an uncanny ability to either turn up the heat with hellish numbers or drop it all to the freezing negatives in a mere sentence.

This was evident in the form of a frozen Ace, eyes darting left and right—the only part of his body that moved. Naturally, best friend Blake had developed certain immunity to the powers of the devil himself, directing his middle finger upwards in Xander's full view.

Janna looked quite as though she was in her natural habitat; laughing. "I think you should choose something that goes well with your tie." Alas, the perfect example of all-work-no-play. Janna did not hesitate to demonstrate this amidst the air of humour.

She'd directed everyone's attention to Xander's tie—sky blue and pale.

"Oh. Yeah, actually," Blake raised a brow. "I didn't think you'd choose a colour like that... but now that you're wearing it. You don't look too bad."

"Did someone else choose that for you?" Janna was curious, and this was the cue for a victorious Giselle to make her debut.

"You'll know when you see the colour of Chocolate Chip's."

There was an air of pride around her as she stood up to say, folding her arms across her chest as her brother reached over to mess with her hair. This was not well received.

"Mr. Jaxon?" A voice came through the door, knocking as it did before opening slightly to reveal Nguyen's eyes. "Hi. Um, sorry to interrupt but it's five minutes to show time, sir. Miss Gretel wants you at the pavilion."

The groom nodded in thanks, rising and turning towards the table of boutonnières, slipping on the jacket of his suit as he did so. It was a peculiar sight to witness, for Nguyen. The look on his face was something she'd never before seen or, at the very least, thought possible on her gym instructor's face. She couldn't get it out of her head; the way his eyes had softened and almost changed in colour—as though there was a parting of clouds inside.

It was all that she could think of whilst descending the stairs in a flurry, rushing off and out of the clubhouse and back to the pavilion where Gretel, the main person-in-charge of overall organization. After all, sealing the description in her head was all she needed to write a fiction so close to the heart that it could feel the beat of another.

At the pavilion, Gretel and Rachel were doing last minute re-arrangements to the tables to fit one more, having miscalculated the turn-out and everyone arriving earlier than they'd expected.

"Hi Miss Gretel! I'm back. Mr. Jaxon's on his way with the best bois—I mean, his people—and his sister. What else do you need me to do?"

Gretel could hardly keep her eyes off the tables and chairs, counting and recounting after checking her list of guests on a clipboard. "Thanks Nguyen. Xander must have made you guys run all the time. You're very fast."

Nguyen could hardly believe her ears. She was being complimented on her running. Her running.

"Uhmm—do you think you could tell Shea and Hansel to get ready? Emcees need to test the mics first. Then, it's getting them to settle everyone into their seats."

"Got it," Nguyen was a girl on a mission. Nguyen was on the roll. Nguyen was fast and furious and ran like the win—

"Nguyen!" She bumped into Liz just outside the pavilion as she was just about to take off. Her best friend handed her a matching flower crown and smoothing out her hair. "Oh my god, your hair. I'll fix it when you get back.

"By the way, I prepared the rose petals. They're by the stage on the floor. The brown basket's yours, okay? Throw those petals like they're the GAY. You got that? The higher, the better," she held her friend by her shoulders before leaving her to search for Shea and Hansel. "See you in a bit."

Okay. Okay, she got this. Nguyen had drilled the information into her head and was back to the fast and furious, girl on a mission, speedy cactus—

"Nguyen?" Shin was panting. He appeared to have searched the entire park for the girl before him and was about to collapse. It all sounded pretty dramatic.

It is.

"Oh. Shin? Is everything okay? You look like Mr. Jaxon had you run ten times around the field." Her companion was shaking his head, raising a hand as though asking for a minute's wait.

She did. Though it involved pulling him along as she crossed the grounds in search of Shea and Hansel. "Okay, so—"

"Do you, ha, have some time, ha, to talk?"

All Nguyen could do then was blink in response. "Are we not talking now? Okay but realistically speaking, you have from this tree," she pointed, "to wherever Shea and Hansel are. Probably rehearing their script under... some tree elsewhere." She pointed to another bunch of trees in the distance. "What is it?"

Japanese boi told himself that he'd prepped the whole night for this moment, including the bags under his eyes and the words stuck at the back of his throat wait no. Those words were not supposed to be stuck. He had to get them out.

"Okay, so, remember I told you about my dad's condition to—never mind that, there's not enough time," he took one deep breath, "I'mgoingtothemostprestigiousculinaryschoolintheworldtostudyforfourfuckingyearsandit'slongasfucksowillyoumissme???"

"Whhhaaaaa?" Nguyen stopped in her tracks to digest the string of bambling words he'd said. "Come again? I only got the first part and—oHMygOD Shin, you're going to culinary school?" Her face lit up like a bulb. "You're going to beat the crap out of everyone there. How? What? When? Is it soon?"

Shin blinked twice, blinded by his companion's smile and raising both his hands as though to surrender. "I, um. Yeah—I mean, no I won't! I'd be a total amateur... everyone would have had so many years of experience more than I did but yeah, I'm going. Semester starts next month but my dad's arranging for accommodation next week. Everything's happening really fast."

All of a sudden, the smile on Nguyen's face seemed to flicker and fade. She averted her gaze, picking up her pace once again and continuing in the direction she'd been heading towards. "Oh. That's fast."

"Yeah." She felt a hand on her arm holding her back and turned at once. Startled. "Wait, Nguyen. You, u-um. You haven't answered my question."

"What question?"

Shin's ears were the shade of beetroot before he knew what was going on. "I... well, I asked if you were going to, um, mi—"

"Of fucking course I'm going to miss you, you little shit!" Nguyen burst into flames herself, cheeks dusted, tinted, painted in embarrassment. "Ohmygod! Who's going to proofread my fanfics and listen to my ship rants and talk to me about gay shit and translate mangas about two Japanese boys in love and... and... and cheer me up when I'm down?"

Both stared at their feet and stood very still in the middle of an open field Nguyen had been trying to cross to get to Shea and Hansel, listening to the wind and the loud, crazy sound of their hearts. Shin was the first to raise his head, taking in his companion who bore a shocking resemblance to the main characters of every Japanese romance he'd read, especially in the scenes of a love confession. He found it all rather absurd for a moment—as though he was in the middle of a very pleasant dream.

"I'll... I'll write you letters," he laughed at last, pulling her into his arms and feeling Nguyen freeze all over before relaxing, sinking into his words. "And send parcels. And call and text. And I'll still proofread your writing if you send it to my email.

"Plus," Shin went on, making sure he had a good view of Nguyen's face as he said the next thing on his mind. "Chip did say that he and Mr. Jaxon started off as home economics partners."

The Vietnamese girl popped her head out of his chest at once, eyes wide. "What? Such a perfect prompt for a fic and you didn't tell me?" Then, buried her face back in his chest. "If that's the case, then I want two dogs and five cats in our future house. Just telling you beforehand."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A bundle of baby's breath, styled imperfectly beautiful, could be found pinned to the suit jacket of the happiest man on earth. A familiar tune—familiar in his head, that is—began to play as the doors to the enclosed pavilion opened and he saw the most incredible smile light up the room, walking down the aisle and he felt something deep inside his chest and almost at once, knew what it was. He'd felt it too long not to know and as petals fell to the ground and people around stood and clapped and said things he could not quite hear except the beat of his heart, Xander could not help but think that maybe, just maybe—

Angels do exist after all.