Epilogue
Reese
I’m snuggled up in my favorite spot in the house, staring through the window, just like I’ve done since I bought it two years ago.
The view still gets me every time, but today, it’s not just the evidence of the best season of the year strewn all over the neighborhood that has me in this spot.
It’s the anticipation of one specific car I’m waiting for.
I shift my legs under the blanket, and a flash of orange catches my eye near my feet.
It’s my own sock—an offensively bright orange background with Reese’s Pieces printed all over.
Cole gave them to me for my birthday as a gag, but I actually kind of love them because now they remind me of him. Of us.
My phone buzzes with a FaceTime call. I hold it up, then swipe to answer. “Hey, Mom!”
Her smiling face comes through the camera, her chin massively distorted from the awkward angle of her phone. “Hey, sweetie!”
Dad’s face pops into frame behind her. “Hi, Reesey!”
I wave at him with a smile of my own.
“Is Cole there?” Mom asks.
I stifle a chuckle and glance outside, but there’s no sign of him.
Mom is a very big Cole fan, and he’s settled into his son-in-law role with an ease that warms my heart every time I hear him call her ‘Mom.’ He deserves a good mother figure, and he appreciates the heck out of mine.
“Not yet. He should be here soon, though. We’re leaving for the cabin as soon as he gets back. ”
“You’ll be back to pick us up from the airport on Monday, though?” she asks. “Or we could get an Uber.”
“We’ll be back,” I reassure her.
They’re coming to spend Christmas with us, which is a pretty big deal, when you think about it. They’ve chosen to come to gray Seattle and hang out with Cole and me when they could be enjoying the sunshine and Christmas morning joy with their grandkids in Florida. And it was their idea.
After everything that happened with Cole and Megan two Christmases ago, I got up the courage to talk to my parents about how I was feeling.
They were both horrified they’d made me feel like they didn’t want to see me or spend time with me.
They’d assumed I didn’t care to have them come since I’d never offered.
Yet another plug for clear communication over assumptions.
My heart skips at the sight of Cole’s car coming down the street as Mom tells me about one of the Christmas gifts she got him––a Martha Stewart bobblehead.
I check out my husband unabashedly as he gets out of the car and sheds his usual button-down for the white undershirt that’s a wardrobe staple for him. He walks up the sidewalk, and his gaze catches mine through the window.
His mouth stretches into the one smile in the world I still can’t resist. Whenever I get home before he does––which is most days––I hang out here to wait for him.
A little like a puppy, honestly. I’m obsessed with my husband, and I’ve accepted that because—guess what?
He’s also obsessed with me, and mutual obsession is acceptable. I hope.
When he gets inside, he comes straight over, and I do what I always do––make room for him to sit behind me. I loved this spot from the second I saw it at the showing. Little did I know the guy who built it was the best thing about it.
Fifteen minutes later, I have to confiscate the phone that, at some point, ended up in Cole’s hands, and put an end to his cozy chit-chat with Mom so we can get on the road.
The drive is the same one we took two years ago, but it feels completely different.
“I still can’t believe I got in a car with a stranger and let you drive me into the mountains,” I say, wondering for the hundredth time at my total naivety.
He grins. “You couldn’t resist me. No one would ever fault you for that.”
“Joke’s on you,” I retort. “I got the two-date wonder to commit for life.”
“Nah,” he says, grabbing my hand and bringing it to his lips. “Forever.”
“You’re such a cheeseball,” I say as my heart explodes into a million heart-eye emojis.
It’s snowier this year, but not frigid. Yet, at least. This time, I wasn’t so caught up in conjuring a fake relationship that I forgot to check the forecast for Snoqualmie instead of just Seattle.
Once again, we’re the last to arrive. It’s the same set of cars from two years ago.
Same set of faces, but there are five new rings on fingers since our first year as a full group.
Tess and Dylan tied the knot just before the New Year, while Cole and I got married in the summer.
Megan has the fifth ring, but she and Brady haven’t set a date yet, so the sixth will follow soon.
Seeing them doesn’t even faze me now. I’m actually grateful for all of it because it’s what brought Cole and me together.
“Finally!” Tess says as she shuts the door behind us. “Do you guys have to be last every year?”
“Take it up with Cole and my mom,” I say, waving a dismissive hand.
“I will,” Tess says. “But we have a lot to get done, so that’ll have to wait.
You guys have approximately”—she looks at her watch—“seven minutes to get into your swimsuits for the hot tub/snow angel competition. Then it’s dinner.
Then gingerbread house making.” She looks at Cole. “Did you bring the blueprints?”
“Absolutely,” he says, holding up a big roll of paper.
“He’s been slacking on his actual work thanks to the time he’s spent on those,” I say, “so y’all better follow them down to the millimeter.”
This year, we’re trying something new with the gingerbread competition. Cole came up with an entire small gingerbread city, and each couple will be responsible for two buildings.
“I also brought some tools,” he says, setting down the blueprints and picking up an unzipped tool bag. “We’ve got levels, chalk lines, safety goggles, a miter saw–”
“Also known as pizza cutter,” I clarify.
“—and some clamps.”
“City hall is gonna be epic,” Tyler says to Hannah.
“It’ll have to compete with the post office,” Megan says.
“We have six minutes, people,” Tess says, tapping her watch.
The hot tub/snow angel competition was born last year—Cole’s suggestion, of course—and everyone’s taken to it with verve. We all get in the hot tub for ten minutes, then see who can last the longest making a snow angel before hightailing back to the warm water.
Cole and I head to our room—the same one from our first year here—and he peeks in first.
His mouth stretches into a grin. “They did it.” He opens the door wider for me to pass through.
“Did what?” I ask warily as I step inside.
But he doesn’t need to answer.
Every few feet, sprigs of mistletoe hang from the ceiling. On the bed, Biscuit the reindeer holds one in her lap.
I shoot Cole a look.
He points to the spot above my head where yet another mistletoe hangs. “Rules are rules.” He steps over to me and swipes a hand around my waist, looking far too pleased with himself.
“You know mistletoe isn’t a prerequisite for me to kiss you, right?” I say.
“It sure can’t hurt, though,” he says, covering my lips with his.
Our six minutes evaporates like it’s six seconds, but keeping track of time when we’re kissing has never been a strength.
Thankfully, that’s a flaw I can happily live with.
If you enjoyed Cole and Reese, you’ll love the Sheppards siblings in my closed-door romcom series Sheppards in Love