Epilogue
Michelle
Two weeks later
I t’s true what they say. Having a newborn is exhausting. But it’s also exhilarating, life changing, terrifying, and fulfilling. See, exhausted and full of conflicting emotions.
As my brain comes online on Christmas morning, I see Hunter pulled the curtains open when he got up. Rolling to my right, I see the bassinet on my side of the bed is empty. Hunter must have grabbed Hope when he got up, wanting to let me sleep in a bit.
The cloudy skies make it hard for me to tell what time it is. A light snow is falling, and I hear faint sounds of Christmas carols coming from the kitchen. The reports don’t call for a repeat of the snowstorm like the weekend of Hope’s birth, thank goodness. Though, we don’t plan to go anywhere—Hunter’s family is all at his Dad and Margaret’s place in Holly Ridge for the week. We’re scheduled to do a video call with them later in the day.
I roll out of bed, making a quick pit stop in the bathroom to brush my teeth and throw my hair up in some semblance of a contained bun. The smells of breakfast wafting in from the kitchen make my stomach growl. Suddenly I can’t wait to get out to my little family, to kick off this new kind of Christmas Day.
My quick steps are halted when I take in the scene in the kitchen. Hunter has on the same red and green plaid pj pants as the set I’m wearing. But instead of the button-down shirt on top, he has on a white tank top, tattoos on full display. Hope is plastered on his chest in the carrier, and as he turns to grab something from the fridge, I see she’s wearing a bright pink body suit instead of her matching onesie. My heart warms as he moves around the kitchen as effortlessly as before, but now he’s constantly aware of where Hope is and cautious he doesn’t get her close to the hot surfaces.
“What happened out here?” I say, crossing to them and leaning up to accept a kiss from Hunter’s lips before bending to place one on Hope’s head.
“I’m worried your daughter isn’t a fan of Christmas,” he says, his eyes sparkling. “She did an exorcist impression all over my flannel top and her matching onesie.”
“My daughter isn’t a fan of Christmas?” I tease, walking into the living room to grab a small, wrapped package from under the tree, setting it on the coffee table. “I seem to remember several favors being promised to coerce you into putting on your matching pj’s.”
He removes a pan from the stovetop and turns to smirk at me. “You’re the one who went to sexual favors immediately upon presenting them to me last night. I would have worn them because you asked, but if you were going to sweeten the pot, who am I to say no?”
I smack him on the ass before grabbing Hope out of the carrier and carrying her to the couch so I can feed her. “Butthead.”
“Christmas-themed butthead,” he calls back. “Do you want to eat in the living room when you’re finished up?”
I unbutton my top and arrange Hope, who latches on almost immediately. “Yes, please,” I say while gazing down at her adorable face. I’m not producing as much milk as we’d like, so we’re supplementing with formula too. She’s gaining weight at a good pace, and it means we can share the nighttime feeding duty, which I know Hunter is thankful for. He loves middle of the night bonding sessions, resting Hope on his bare chest in the nursery’s rocking chair Margaret got us.
For the next few moments, the only sounds are Hunter serving breakfast, the Christmas carols playing on the smart speaker, and Hope suckling on breakfast of her own. Contentment spreads through my veins. Me from a year ago would never have predicted this is how I’d be spending Christmas this year.
Hunter comes in from the kitchen, plates in hand, and stops next to the coffee table, gazing down at us with a proud smile on his face. “Every time I watch you feed our daughter, I can’t believe this is my life.” Apparently, I’m not the only one being sentimental this morning.
He sets the plates down on the coffee table and heads back for another trip. Hope’s drinking slows and I bring her up to my shoulder to burp her. Seamlessly, Hunter lays a cloth under her head, so my pajamas have a chance of surviving the morning.
I nod to the plates on the coffee table. “Am I completely sleep deprived, or are those waffles shaped like Christmas trees?”
He brings the plate closer for me to examine and I see they are, in fact, Christmas tree waffles. “Found the iron on a middle of the night scroll about a week ago. We better hope this one’s getting a scholarship, because I’m not sure how much college fund will exist by the time she starts sleeping through the night.” His grin lets me know he’s joking—I know for a fact Duncan opened a 529 plan for her the day Hope was born.
“Well, what a festive and fun addition to breakfast,” I say, satisfied Hope’s expelled as much gas as she’s going to. I prop her in the pillow sitting on the couch between us, putting a Christmas waffle on the plate next to the omelet Hunter made, stuffed full of all my favorite things .
I moan around a fork full of eggs, cheese, bacon, and vegetables. “You know, I wasn’t ready for how hungry breastfeeding would make me.”
“You moaning makes me hungry for something else,” Hunter says, and I meet his eyes, dark with want. “I’m still convinced Hope was conceived after I heard you make that noise over my eggs for the first time. Feeding you does something to me.”
“Add it to the tab,” I say, adding a little extra smolder to my gaze as I hold his. We both know he’s all talk. He’d never dream of pushing me for sex before both the doctor and I say I’m ready, but damn if it’s not going to be weeks of foreplay. When we’re cognizant enough to recognize anything other than exhaustion, of course.
He exhales and shakes his head, cutting his waffle with a bit more force than necessary. The next time he looks at me, his eyes are simply full of adoration. “So, after breakfast, presents? Or should we save them to open on Zoom with everyone later?”
“Presents?” I ask. “I thought we said no presents given we had a baby two weeks ago.”
Hunter looks with meaning at the packages under the tree and to the one I put on the coffee table earlier.
“Okay, the one on the coffee table is an extra onesie for Hope in the PJ pattern. I figured having a backup wouldn’t be the worst idea. And most of those are for Hope from everyone, like we didn’t have a baby shower a month ago.”
He sets his empty plate on the table, talking as he moves to the tree. “Thank goodness she was born early and there’s some space between her birthday and Christmas. No shared presents for our angel.”
I laugh, knowing this girl will be spoiled rotten.
“But,” he continues. “I did notice a few packages labeled ‘To Dad, From Mom.’ First, please always label my packages this way from now on. I had to sit down when I first read it. Second, you thought you’d be the only one to break the present rule and have something for me under the tree? ”
I can’t stop my smile from growing. “You’re not the only one doing middle of the night shopping, I guess.”
He shakes his head at me in mock scolding. “Well, you’ve been caught, Lewis. We’ll save the rest to open with everyone else later, but I wanted to give you this while it’s just us.” He kneels on the floor in front of me and hands me an envelope with a bow attached. His chin rests on my leg, looking at me expectantly.
I slide my finger under the sealed edge and rip it along the fold. A gift certificate waits inside.
“A gift certificate for a tattoo?” I ask, after examining it for a moment. “That’s really sweet.” I say, meaning it, but confused why he couldn’t give this to me in front of everyone else.
My expression must not do a good job of hiding my internal thoughts, because he chuckles. “I know. It doesn’t seem like something private. You’ve mentioned you might want to get one someday, so I grabbed the certificate while I was in the salon for this.” He leans up and pulls his tank top over his head, revealing a white patch taped over his left pec.
“That’s why you’ve been wearing a shirt constantly the past few days,” I say, my eyes bouncing between the square of white and his eyes. My emotions are still on a hair trigger, and tears well in anticipation.
“I may have been counting on exhaustion to keep you from asking. The artist I wanted left town for the holidays a few days ago. I got one of his last appointments for the year.” His eyes lock with mine as he starts to peel away the tape.
My breath catches as the ink on his skin is revealed. Two line tattoos of flowers are centered, their stems intersecting with a jagged line representing the pattern of a heartbeat on a heart monitor.
“Are those ...” my voice trails off.
“A violet for you, and a narcissus for Hope. Yes. Maybe a bit redundant to ink my heartbeat on top of my literal heart, but loving you, loving Hope . . . it feels like my heart beats on the outside of my body, because my chest can’t contain all the love I have.”
I lean down and press my lips to his, too overcome to form words. Instead, I push my gratitude, my love, through our kiss. The salt from my tears mixes in with the taste of Hunter.
“So, you like it then?” he teases once we break apart.
“I love it. I love you.” I brush my hand through his hair, unable to stop touching him in this emotional moment.
“I love you too, Mich. Merry Christmas.” He leans into me, his arms going around my waist, his head on my thigh. I wrap one arm around his shoulder, the other reaching to Hope. Not wanting to be left out of the moment, she wraps her little hand around my finger.
Soon, it’ll be time to break the moment and connect with the rest of our family and friends. To celebrate the holiday with everyone who’s come to mean so much over the past several months.
For now, I have everything I never knew I needed wrapped around me.
Will Spencer ever find someone to bring to Thanksgiving? Find out in Capitally Yours , coming Winter 2026!
Want to read more about Holly Ridge? Check out Carry Me Through Christmas , out now, and Make You Mine This Christmas , coming Fall 2025.
Thank you so much for reading Capitally Unexpected! Reviews are so valuable, especially to indie authors like myself. I would be so grateful if you’d consider leaving a review and letting other readers know what you though of Michelle and Hunter’s story.