Epilogue
Three months later, Copper Moon had woven itself into her bones.
The first morning chill of late autumn clung to the air, turning her breath into faint clouds as she stepped onto the deck with a mug in each hand.
The lake stretched out below, a vast sheet of glass where the low sun painted the surface in molten gold.
The sound of waves was softer now, muted by the stillness that always seemed to settle over the water in this season.
Somewhere down White Gull Lane, Ruth’s laugh rang out, followed by Bill’s mock protest, the rhythm of a couple who’d spent decades perfecting the art of gentle bickering. The smell of woodsmoke drifted on the breeze from a neighbor’s chimney, blending with the sharp scent of pine.
She paused at the railing, letting the view soak in.
The cottage behind her — their cottage now — still carried the faint smell of the pumpkin bread she’d baked yesterday.
The back fence stood solid, the motion light untouched for weeks.
The man from the pier hadn’t returned. The police had tied him to harassment cases in three other towns.
He was still in custody, awaiting trial.
Without being able to give her too much information and breaking HIPPA laws, they’d only tell her he was a psychologist. Knowing that he was in custody, had quieted something inside her she hadn’t realized was still on edge.
Brian was on the dock, tightening the last of the new planks before winter storms made the lake restless again.
He wore a flannel shirt and an old baseball cap, the bill shadowing his face as he worked.
Watching him, she thought about that first week — the wariness in his eyes, the unspoken rules, the way he’d kept his space.
Somewhere along the way, that space had become theirs, and the rules had softened into routines she didn’t want to give up.
She carried the mugs down to him, the boards cool under her bare feet. “Coffee break,” she said, holding one out.
He glanced up, his eyes lighting in that quiet way she’d come to love. “You’re going to spoil me.”
“Too late,” she teased, brushing her shoulder against his as she handed him the mug.
They stood side by side, looking out at the bay. A pair of sailboats tacked lazily across the open water, their sails glowing in the low light. Gulls circled above them, dipping low before lifting again on the breeze.
“This is better than Chicago,” she said, her voice low.
He glanced down at her. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” She let the calm of the lake sink all the way through her, a steady pulse beneath her ribs. “This feels like… breathing again. Like I’m not just waiting for the next hit.”
His hand found hers, warm and solid, fingers lacing like it was second nature now. “Then I guess we’re doing something right.”
They sipped coffee in silence for a while, the easy kind that didn’t need filling. The dock swayed gently under them. Somewhere in the trees, a crow called once, twice, then fell quiet.
When the mugs were nearly empty, Brian set his down on the rail and turned to her fully. “You know, when you showed up at the cottage, I figured it’d be a week of tripping over each other before we both moved on.”
“And now?” she asked, a smile tugging at her mouth.
“And now I can’t imagine waking up without you in the kitchen, putting the coffee canister in the wrong place.”
She laughed, that sound coming easier these days. “It’s not wrong. It’s just better.”
He shook his head, smiling, but his eyes stayed steady on hers. “I want you to stay, Tessa. Not just through the winter. As long as you want.”
Her chest tightened, but it wasn’t from fear. “I want that too,” she said, her voice sure.
The wind lifted her hair, and he reached up to smooth it back, his palm warm against her cheek. “Good,” he murmured.
She leaned into him, letting the lake, the cottage, and the man beside her anchor her in a way she hadn’t let herself trust in years. Whatever came next — winter storms, busy tourist seasons, the unpredictability of life — she knew they’d meet it together.
Copper Moon Holiday Market – Three Weeks Later
Snow dusted the rooftops and turned Main Street into something out of a snow globe.
Tessa stood at a booth draped with evergreen garlands, a cup of hot cider in her hands, while Brian carried a bag of fresh pastries from Mae’s.
Strings of warm lights looped from building to building, casting a golden glow over the bundled-up crowd.
They’d already been stopped twice — once by Ruth, who pressed a tin of cookies into her hands, and once by Jason from the marina, who teased Brian about being “domesticated now.”
Across the way, a man and woman were hanging a banner for the upcoming New Year’s bonfire. Tessa recognized them from the last town council meeting — John and Callie, she thought — and smiled when Brian suggested they join in this year.
As they turned toward the green, the wind off the lake lifted the scent of pine and fresh bread. The music from the gazebo spilled into the street, and for the first time in months, Tessa didn’t just feel safe. She felt rooted. Part of something bigger than herself.
Brian reached over, squeezed her hand, and murmured, “Home.”
And she knew, without hesitation, he was right.
Bonus Epilogue
The lake was restless that evening, small waves breaking against the rocks with a low, steady rhythm.
Winter had settled in fully now — the kind of cold that bit at exposed skin and made the air taste sharp.
The cottage was warm, the wood stove humming, but Brian had insisted they go for a walk before dinner.
Bundled in her thickest coat and scarf, Tessa followed him down the narrow trail toward the bluff. Snow crunched under their boots, and the pines whispered overhead, their branches heavy with frost.
“Seems like a strange night for a stroll,” she said, pulling her scarf up to cover her nose.
“You’ll see,” he replied, his voice low but carrying that hint of amusement she knew meant he was up to something.
They reached the overlook where the land curved out toward the lake. From here, the view was pure magic — the moon hanging low and full, spilling silver light over the water, the far-off horizon lost in mist.
Brian stepped ahead of her, then turned back, his hands shoved deep in his coat pockets. For a moment, he just looked at her, his breath forming clouds between them. “You remember the first night you stayed here?”
She smiled. “The one where we agreed you’d make coffee and I’d do breakfast?”
“That’s the one.” He took a step closer. “I thought you’d be gone in a week. Thought I’d be glad to have my quiet back. But instead, you… filled it. In ways I didn’t know I needed.”
Her chest tightened, the cold forgotten. “Brian—”
He pulled his hands free from his pockets, and before she could fully process what he was doing, he was down on one knee in the snow. A small black box sat in his palm, the velvet catching the moonlight.
“I don’t want to imagine this place — or my life — without you in it,” he said, his voice steady but thick. “So, Tessa Callahan… will you marry me?”
The world seemed to still — no wind, no waves, just the thud of her heart and the warmth spreading through her chest. She dropped to her knees in front of him, snow soaking her jeans, and cupped his face in her hands.
“Yes,” she said, her breath catching on the word. “Yes, I will.”
His grin broke wide, boyish and unguarded, and then he was sliding the ring onto her finger — a simple, elegant band that caught the moonlight just so. She barely had time to admire it before he kissed her, the kind of kiss that chased away every bit of the cold.
When they finally stood, hand in hand, the ring warm from her skin, he glanced at the lake and said, “You know this means we’re having pumpkin bread at the wedding, right?”
She laughed, leaning into him as they started back toward the cottage. “Deal.”
And under the glow of the winter moon, with the future stretched out before them, she knew they’d just begun the best chapter yet.
Love a hero who’ll fight for what matters?
Meet the men and women of Rolling Thunder—where loyalty runs deep, danger is always around the corner, and love rides shotgun.
Start the journey here: Moving to Love, Rolling Thunder Book One.