Epilogue
Rebecca
Juniper Falls, three months later...
Watercolor paint blooms across the recipe card, soft pinks and greens framing the elegant border. I add one final flourish before setting it aside to dry with the others. Tessa Arden has been watching the process from across my work desk, her eyes wide with appreciation.
"They're perfect," she breathes. "Aunt Mae would have loved these."
"Tell me about her," I say, cleaning my brush. Spring sunshine streams through the shop windows, catching on displays of pastel stationery and newly arrived fountain pens.
"She won the Harvest Festival Pie Contest." Tessa twists her hands in her lap. "Her pies were legendary. I thought entering this year might be a way to honor her memory. Even though I can barely boil water."
I set down my brush, recognizing the self-doubt in her voice. "You know what I've learned about recipes?"
"What's that?"
"They're really just love letters in disguise. Instructions passed down through generations, little notes in margins about what works and what doesn't." I gesture to the drying cards. "That's why we made these special. They are not just for the recipes, but for the stories behind them."
"I just wish..." Tessa trails off, touching one of the cards gently. "I wish I had her talent. Her confidence."
"Start with the love," I tell her. "The rest will follow. Mae's recipe is a good foundation, but make it your own. The judges care more about heart than perfection."
"You sound like you speak from experience."
I laugh. "Oh no, I'm terrible at baking. But I know something about finding your own way to honor traditions." My hand drifts to the drawer where I keep Cole's letters, now joined by dozens of new ones we've exchanged over the past three months.
The shop bell chimes, and speaking of love letters...
Cole ducks through the door, carrying a bouquet of wild violets and Queen Anne's lace. His work boots track a little mud on my clean floors, but his smile makes it hard to mind.
"Special delivery for the proprietor," he announces, setting the flowers beside my work station. "Picked these up by the creek while I was checking fence lines."
"You mean while you were procrastinating on your novel revisions?" I tease.
His mock offense makes Tessa giggle. "I'll have you know I wrote three whole pages this morning."
I make introductions, watching as Cole's expression shifts when I mention the recipe cards. "Special order for Tessa Arden," he says carefully. "She's new in town, just moved into Mae's old cabin."
"Tessa Arden?" I ask, remembering the quiet strength in the young woman's eyes. "Mae's niece?"
"She's entering the Harvest Festival pie contest," Cole offers. "Though from what I hear, she might need a miracle. Or a really good teacher."
After Tessa leaves, clutching her recipe cards and looking determined despite her obvious uncertainty, I raise an eyebrow at Cole. "You know something."
He just smiles, that knowing look in his eyes that tells me he's already figured something out. "Let's just say Juniper Falls has a way of bringing the right people together at the right time."
"Speaking from experience?" I tease.
Through the front windows, I can see Tessa pausing outside Brooks General Store, and something tells me her story is just beginning.
"Just doing my civic duty." He leans against my work desk, careful not to disturb the drying cards. "This town has a pretty good track record with bringing people together."
"Is that so?" I step closer, breathing in the wild sweetness of his bouquet.
"Mmm. Sometimes it just takes a while to get the timing right." His fingers find mine, ink-stained meeting callused. "And maybe a few letters."
Through the front windows, I can see Tessa pausing outside Novel Sips, where Hale often stops in for a quick break. Some stories, it seems, are just waiting for their first page.
"Speaking of letters," Cole pulls an envelope from his jacket pocket. "Found this while clearing out the attic. It's from the first week I was deployed."
I take it carefully, recognizing my own younger handwriting. "We were so young."
"Young enough to believe love conquered everything." He tucks a stray curl behind my ear. "Old enough now to know it takes work too."
"And honesty," I add softly.
"And really good stationery."
I laugh, leaning into him as spring sunshine warms the shop. We're writing our story differently this time, with eyes wide open and hearts brave enough to try again. One letter, one day, one truth at a time.
And maybe that's the best kind of love story—not the one where everything's perfect, but the one where you choose each other anyway, over and over again.
The evening air is crisp with early spring as Cole leads me up Miller's Ridge. Town lights twinkle below like earthbound stars, and the mountains rise dark against the twilight sky. A pair of cardinals calls from nearby pines, their song carrying on the gentle breeze.
"Close your eyes," Cole says, his hand warm in mine.
I do, letting him guide me forward a few steps. When he tells me to look, I find he's laid out a blanket in our old stargazing spot, surrounded by mason jars filled with tiny lights that make the scene glow like fireflies.
"What's all this?" I ask, but my heart is already racing.
"Sit with me?" He helps me settle on the blanket, then reaches into his jacket pocket. "I have something for you."
The small velvet box in his hands makes my breath catch. Inside is a ring that catches the soft light. It’s a delicate vintage piece with tiny sapphires flanking the central diamond.
"It was my grandmother's," Cole says softly. "She gave it to me before she passed, said she was saving it for when I found my way home."
"Cole..." My voice trembles.
"I spent ten years trying to be worthy of you," he continues, taking my hand. "Trying to become someone who could stand beside you without shadows of the past getting in the way. But I finally understand that love isn't about being worthy. It's about choosing each other, every day, through all the hard parts and the beautiful ones."
He shifts to one knee, still holding my hand. In the distance, a train whistle echoes through the valley, familiar and sweet.
"Rebecca Monroe, I love who we were, who we are, and who we're becoming. Will you marry me?"
"Yes," I whisper, then louder, "Yes."
The ring slides onto my finger like it was always meant to be there. When Cole pulls me close, I can feel his heart racing against mine, keeping time with the evening birds and the whisper of wind in the pines.
Below us, Juniper Falls glows with welcome, each light a story waiting to be told. But right now, in this moment, the only story that matters is ours—the one we're writing together, one letter, one promise, one love-filled day at a time.
With love, always.
Thanks so much for reading With Love, Always.