Epilogue
BECKETT
ONE YEAR LATER CHRISTMAS EVE
“‘The stockings were hung by the chimney with care . . .’” Willa stops reading, her glasses sliding down her nose. Her gaze swings to our fireplace, back to me, back to the fireplace. “Next year, we need matching stockings.” She readjusts her glasses, getting back to the book.
She’s reading me ’Twas the Night Before Christmas , stopping at certain points to share her thoughts about the story or as it relates to our life. So far, she’s mentioned the stockings and the not-so-stirring mouse. Or in our case, mice. Willa’s not a fan. It’s a cabin in the woods. She’s lucky we don’t have larger rodent guests.
A fire roars in the fireplace, and the Christmas tree illuminates the corner of the room. When it was time to decorate the cabin for the holiday, it was Willa who broached the subject, letting me know she’d be in charge of interior decorations and I would do the yard. Letting her have this, I was amazed at the lengths she went to, making sure to put her stamp on it. It’s perfectly imperfect, and I couldn’t love it more.
Before she can start again, I ask, “Will we need three matching stockings next year? ”
“As of this moment, no,” she’s quick to reply, “but with the way you can’t keep your hands off me, it’s not out of the question.”
“I’ll see what I can do later tonight.”
I watched my sister struggle with a baby at twenty and knew I never wanted that for myself. As Shania grew and she wasn’t so fragile and scary as a toddler and then a kid, my desire for having kids in the future expanded. With the birth of Isla and having Willa in my life, I’ve become a little obsessed. We’re not getting younger, and she wants kids, too. As much as I’m enjoying her and our relationship, I want to be a dad.
“Don’t forget our deal.”
“Our deal?”
She peers over her glasses at me. “This cabin isn’t made for three. The bedroom will be too crowded for even a cradle.”
I love this cabin and am not prepared to give it up, but she’s not wrong. It’s too small for the two of us, let alone a kid. It just so happens I have an investment property willing and waiting for us, along with a surprise for Willa tomorrow.
“Even if you get pregnant tonight, we have nine months to figure out a new living situation.”
“Just so long as you’re aware. I’m also okay with us living in a bigger place just the two of us. If you catch my drift. In case your plan of getting me pregnant takes longer than tonight.”
“Loud and clear, Bundy. Get back to the story because we still have to watch a movie before bed.”
She wanted to recreate our first Christmas Eve together, complete with a meal at the B and B. And because my family is all about traditions, Heidi was on board immediately, right down to the beef Wellington, which may have been better this year than last.
Once we were home, Willa informed me of a new tradition she wanted to start, and being so in love with her and her embracing my favorite holiday, I couldn’t deny her request. Hence, the reading of the book. I could listen to her read all day long, so it’s not quite a hardship.
What is hard is my cock. It’s willing and waiting to get inside her. I’m hoping she’ll agree to my plan of during the movie instead of after.
I’m betting it won’t be a problem.
CHRISTMAS MORNING
Gotta love the power of persuasion.
Or in my case, letting her think it was her idea to have sex while we watched the Hallmark movie of my choosing. I didn’t even have to plant the seed. She’s the one who stuck her hand down my pants. With the fire roaring and the movie playing low in the background, we made love on the couch.
And then again in the bedroom before we fell asleep.
And once more this morning before we had to get ready for brunch at my parents’ house.
Surely one of those times got her pregnant.
With the addition of Isla, Christmas brunch looks a little different this year. Unlike last year, Willa’s a permanent addition to our table.
Excited to attend this year’s brunch, Shania wowed her with a hand-drawn picture of the bookshop in Willa’s books. My girl cried. Hard. Which led to all the women crying about the sweet gift.
I only wasn’t jealous because I have my own sweet surprise planned for her later.
Mom outdid herself today with the meal comprising of eggs Florentine, eggnog bread pudding, and a tater tot breakfast casserole. I offered multiple times to come early and help, all of which she refused, telling me to enjoy Christmas morning with Willa .
Once we’re stuffed and say our goodbyes, I lead Willa to the SUV. It doesn’t get driven much because if we’re going somewhere and not driving the truck, we usually take Willa’s car. It’s newer and nicer than mine, and she even lets me drive it. With the stipulation it’s not allowed to crash again. Once was enough.
“Where are we going? Isn’t the cabin the other way?”
Despite living here for almost a year, she doesn’t get out much except to Main Street and my family’s houses, and she’s bad with directions. Too busy in her head most days, she barely leaves the kitchen table or the couch. Building her an office in the garage is on our list, but once I realized the house was a better option, I pushed it to the bottom.
Maybe one day.
“One last Christmas gift.”
“Beckett. That wasn’t our agreement.”
Her and her “deals” and “agreements” can shove it some days. It makes it hard to spoil her when I have to abide by her wishes, most of which are her putting stipulations on our relationship. In eleven months, I’ve already broken nearly all of them. Wouldn’t you know it, I never hear her complaining.
“Consider it a New Year’s gift then.”
“Yeah, ‘cause those are things.”
“They are if you let them be.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I watch her harrumph and cross her arms across her chest in mock frustration. She has pretty much abandoned all coats and jackets in favor of my fleece hoodies. No matter what she’s wearing—like a festive red and green dress and leggings currently—if the weather calls for something heavier, she usually chooses the one I offered her last year. Thankfully for her, she doesn’t have to brace the elements too often. She’s an indoor girl.
Or as I like to refer to her, my indoor black cat.
I love riling her up, pushing her to the limit, finding new ways for her “grumpy” side to appear. It’s the side I first fell in love with last year before I knew who else was hiding under the facade.
She doesn’t know I’ve had a construction team working on the house. She doesn’t ask about it, so I don’t tell her the details. I’m prepared to have her tell me she hates everything and have to start again. Everyone told me I should let her make some decisions if this is our home, but I didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Besides, I’ve subtly been asking her questions for months, gauging what she likes and doesn’t like. I think she’ll be okay with the eventual design.
And if not, the ring box burning a hole in my pocket will smooth things over.
I turn down the street—Reindeer Road—and drive to the house at the end of the block, the one that years ago belonged to my grandparents on my mother’s side. I only ended up with it because none of my other siblings wanted it after Nana died. As much as I didn’t have use for it then, I’m hella glad I didn’t sell it.
The former house has been torn down and the one currently standing in its place is brand-new. Bigger than its replacement, but with elements the original contained. Like the front porch, black shutters, and two fireplaces.
“Wait. I know this location,” Willa admits as I park the car in front of the two-car garage. Like at the cabin, the plan is to build a three-car garage behind it, which will become my new workshop. There are some nights I wake up with too much on my mind and need the outlet, but I’m not prepared to drive to the cabin when the urge hits. Besides, I have ideas for the garage at the cabin. “This is your investment property?”
“Yes.”
It’s not so much an “investment” now as “home.” Instead, the cabin will become the investment property, one I have no intention of renting out. It’s already paid off, so I don’t need the income from it. I can’t say what will happen in the future to the cabin, if we’ll use it as much as I hope we will, but the option will always be there.
“Wow. I didn’t realize you’d been working on it. It looks almost completed.”
“A few finishing touches and it’ll be ready for occupancy. Want to see it?”
“Yep.”
I unbuckle and climb out of the car, rounding the hood to stand next to her as she takes it all in.
Instead of the white of the original house, I chose gray clapboard siding, hoping it will stand out more when it’s decorated for the holidays. The front boasts five windows lining the top floor. Below, the porch wraps around to the left, and the black front door welcomes visitors.
Or in our case, welcoming us home.
I’m still waiting for the driveway to be paved, but part of me is digging the dirt pathway. Though it might be a pain to plow with bigger storms.
“It’s gorgeous, Beckett. Almost too good for an Airbnb rental.”
I’m glad she thinks so.
Latching on to her wrist, I tug her behind me. “Come on. Let me show you the inside.”
We start downstairs, with the living room and half bathroom, making our way to the kitchen.
“It’s like the one at the B and B,” she notes, her eyes lighting up. The woman can’t cook to save her life, but she’s in love with kitchens. Go figure. She trails her hand along the marble island. “One of these days, when I’m on a hiatus from writing books, you’re going to teach me to cook.”
“Yeah, sure.” I’ll believe it when it happens. She says it once a month at minimum, yet when I offer to teach her, she claims she’s too busy. Good thing I love making meals for her.
After the kitchen, we climb the stairs to the second floor. I debated about three or four extra bedrooms beyond the primary, finally settling on three larger ones rather four smaller. Even if we have more kids than bedrooms, they’re big enough to share.
Willa explores the primary bedroom, oohing and aahing as she absorbs it all. “His and her closets. And this bathroom. This bathtub. Oh my gosh.” She peeks her head out the door. “Are you sure you want to rent this place out?”
“What else would I do with it?” I keep my tone neutral, not letting the giddiness out. Mentally, I pat myself on the back for knowing my girl so well.
She joins me in the room. “I could think of one thing.”
I laugh. “Only one?” It’s never “one” thing with her.
“Yes,” she claims, punctuating it with a nod of her head. “One thing.”
“Lay it on me.”
She rubs her ear. It’s only gotten even more adorable the longer I’m with her. “Promise you won’t be mad?”
“Depends.”
“Beckett,” she whines, stomping her foot. “It’s Christmas. We don’t argue on your favorite holiday.”
“I never agreed to that.” The words fall out of my mouth without thinking. After hearing them, she’s right. We haven’t talked about it, but I have no intention of arguing with her on my favorite holiday. “I promise not to be mad.”
Slowly, she spins around the room, her eyes darting around. “What if we lived here?” she murmurs, almost inaudibly, I can barely make it out.
“You haven’t even seen the entire house yet.”
Willa faces me, her expression a mask of indignation. “I’ve seen enough. And there are a plethora of bedrooms for all the kids you’re going to impregnate me with. Plenty of land in the yard for a workshop. A huge front yard for your lights extravaganza. I could even use one room as an office until it’s needed for a bedroom. If it’s needed for a bedroom,” she corrects .
“What about the cabin?”
“Oh, we’re keeping it. Heck, maybe I can use that as my writing studio.” She shrugs. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Before you officially decide, let me show you the rest of the house.”
Not waiting for her answer, I take her hand, letting her poke her head in the bedrooms before leading her back downstairs to the office. The French doors are closed, but I push inside the empty room, having left this room up for her to design since it’ll be the place she’ll spend most of her time.
“This is the last room left to do. Any ideas?”
“It would make the perfect office. A desk there.” She points to a side wall. “A couch or chair there.” She points to the opposite side. “A bookshelf there.” Another wall. “Think of all the books I could write here.”
“So many,” I confirm, happy she’s so ecstatic about it. “What do you say you write the books as a Nicholas instead of a Gibson?”
I drop to one knee, holding out the box with the sparkling diamond.
“Beckett,” she croons, her fingers covering her lips. She steps closer, her eyes trained on the ring. “It’s exquisite, magnificent, radiant.” She raises her sight to meet mine, tears in her eyes. “So pretty.”
“Glad you think so.” I clear my throat. I drafted a proposal, but in the moment, I’m tossing it out the window and speaking from my heart. “Willafred Gibson, we were never supposed to meet, but am I elated that we did. You’re the other half of my heart, the missing piece in my life. When you crashed—literally—into my life last year, I admired your beauty, your quick wit, your grumpiness, but most of all, your abhor of my favorite holiday.” I can’t help the way my body quivers, but Willa’s giggles spur me on. “Being stuck with you that week was torture, in the best and worst ways, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything. I wouldn’t change anything about how we met, how we fell in love, how we got here. I hope you agree our story is one for the books.” I pause long enough for her to nod before I continue. “What do you say we do life together every day from here on out? Be my wife?” I almost forget to add the question mark at the end, though I’m not opposed to telling her what to do.
“Yes.”
“Yeah?”
“Duh, Beckett. Yes, of course, I’ll be your wife. Thanks for asking.”
I leap from the ground, enveloping her in my embrace, basking in the joy of her saying yes. I had no doubts she’d turn me down, but it feels damn good to hear her confirm what I’ve known for a while.
Slipping the ring on her finger, I rest my forehead against hers. “I like your idea of living here. I’m not good at sharing my space with strangers.”
“It’s not really my idea, is it?”
“Not even a little, Bundy. But I’ll let you take twenty-five percent of the credit. ‘Cause I’m generous like that.”
“Extremely. You’re the most generous person I’ve ever known. It will be my pleasure to be your wife, but even more to call you my husband. Even at my worst, you saw through to what’s underneath, made me face my demons, and didn’t even balk when I insinuated you might be a serial killer.”
“Not any of the plethora of times you said it,” I interject.
“I love you. For the rest of my life, I will love you every day. Even when you make me crazier than I am.”
“I do no such thing.” She balks at my insinuation, but I can’t blame her. I tend to push her beyond her limits of crazy but in a good way. Because I love her.
She studies the room again, seeing it from a different perspective of making it hers. Her gaze meets mine. “When can we move in?” Her phone rings, interrupting our conversation. “It’s Clem. I’ll call her back.” She returns it to her pocket, but it rings again.
“Answer her. She must need something.”
“Merry Christmas!”
“Where are you?” Clem’s worried voice fills the room.
“Presently standing in my soon-to-be office, ogling my fiancé. You?”
“The cabin.”
“What cabin?”
“Your cabin,” she screeches. “I left Keith. I didn’t know where else to go.” Her voice cracks.
I grab the phone from Willa. “There’s a key under the mat by the side door of the garage. Make yourself comfortable. We might be a little while, but I’ll send Dax over in case you need something. Are you okay?”
“No, not really. Thank you. I’m sorry to ruin your holiday?—”
I cut her off. “Nonsense.” I look over at Willa, a woman who crashed into my life at the most unexpected time, tilting my life on its axis, only righting itself when I realized she’s the one I’m meant to do life with. “It’s not a Christmas holiday if a Gibson doesn’t need my help. We’ll be there soon. Hold tight.”
Her relief is palpable, even over the phone. “Thank you, Beckett.”
Willa stands next to me. “I hope you don’t mind I’m going to revel in my Christmas gifts before we tackle your issues,” she admits with a laugh, the concern for her sister shining through.
“Yeah, sure, Willafred. Go be happy with your man while my life crumbles to shit. Take your time,” she deadpans.
“Love you too, Clementine,” Willa calls out, hanging up the phone before any rebuttal from Clem. “Where were we?”
“You were asking when we can move in,” I remind.
“Oh, right. So, when can we?” Her sister’s issues temporarily forgotten, she hooks her arms around my waist.
“It’s move-in ready. We’ll need to order some furniture and bring over what we’re keeping from the cabin, if anything. ”
“We should start fresh. New everything, so it’s ours instead of mine or yours. Maybe we hit up the stores this week, move in by New Year’s?”
I chuckle. “It might take longer than a week to get everything delivered.”
Her enthusiasm falls. “Hmm, good point. We should still go shopping, see what we can find, and get a better timeline.”
“I thought I’d have a harder time convincing you this was a good idea.”
“No, you didn’t.” She calls me on my bullshit. “But if you’re in the mood to argue . . .”
“What I’m in the mood for is to take you upstairs to our new bedroom and christen it and our upgraded relationship status.”
Willa pushes to her toes, swiping her lips across mine. “That’s a start. While you’re at it, work on putting a baby in me.”
“If you insist . . .”
She finagles out of my grasp, pausing in the doorway to peer at me over her shoulder. “It would be fitting, knocking me up on your favorite holiday.”
“It would be the jingle bells on Santa’s sleigh.”
Cheesy as the line is, Willa smiles brighter than the extravagant holiday display at the cabin.
Perhaps it wasn’t fate that led Willa to crash in Winterberry Junction.
Perhaps it was truly the magic of Christmas.