Epilogue – Miranda
Two Years Later
I'm curled up in the oversized armchair by our fireplace, laptop balanced on my knees, finishing the final quarterly assessment for my biggest client when I hear the familiar sound of Corey muttering creative curse words at the kitchen.
"You're supposed to stir it gently," I call out, not looking up from the spreadsheet I'm reviewing. "Like you're coaxing it, not threatening it into submission."
"I am being gentle," comes his voice from around the corner, followed by the distinct sound of a wooden spoon being aggressively wielded against the sides of a saucepan.
"That's not gentle. That's what you do to suspects who won't cooperate."
A pause. Then: "How do you know what I do to suspects?"
"Lucky guess." I save the document and close my laptop, stretching muscles that have been hunched over financial projections for the better part of three hours. "Need backup in there?"
"I've got it under control, thank you very much. I'll have you know I've successfully made hot cocoa seventeen times without incident since we moved in together."
"I'm keeping count too, and it's actually fourteen times. Three of those involved minor disasters that we agreed not to discuss."
"Details."
I grin and tuck my feet under me. Through the window, snow falls in the same gentle, persistent way it did that first night at the Snowcap Inn, fat flakes that catch the porch light and make the whole world look soft and forgiving.
This house fits us in ways I never expected a place could. It's not fancy—two bedrooms, one and a half baths, hardwood floors that creak in all the right places, and a kitchen that's seen better decades. But it's ours in a way that hotel rooms never were, never could be.
Every room holds memories now: the living room where we spent our first Christmas morning together, the kitchen where Corey taught me to make his grandmother's sugar cookies without burning them, the bedroom where we learned each other's rhythms and settled into the quiet intimacy of shared space.
My consulting work has evolved too. Instead of traveling constantly, taking any client who could pay my rates, I've become more selective.
I work with three major companies now, all remotely, all relationships I've built over years of proving that I can deliver results from anywhere.
The irony isn't lost on me, it took finding a place I wanted to stay to realize I could work from home all along.
"Crisis averted," Corey announces, appearing in the doorway with two steaming mugs topped with whipped cream and a sprinkle of cinnamon. "No fire department required."
"Look at you, being all domestic and competent."
"I have my moments." He settles onto the couch next to my chair, close enough that I can smell the lingering scent of winter air on his sweater. He must have just gotten home from his shift. "How was the review?"
"Finished. Finally. Their third-quarter numbers were a disaster, but I think I've found a way to restructure their supply chain that'll save them about twelve percent on operational costs."
"My brilliant girlfriend, solving corporate America's problems one spreadsheet at a time."
I reach over and steal his mug, taking a sip of cocoa that's actually perfect, rich and sweet and exactly the right temperature. "How was your day? Any exciting rescues?"
"Cat got stuck in a tree again. Whiskers has made this a monthly tradition, I swear."
"Whiskers knows a good thing when he sees it. Gets to spend an afternoon being rescued by Hope Peak's finest."
"Either that, or he's plotting to get me injured so he can take over my territory." Corey grins and reclaims his mug. "Speaking of territory, I have news."
"Good news or the kind of news that requires more cocoa?"
"Good news. Great news, actually." He shifts to face me more fully, and I can see excitement dancing in his green eyes. "Remember that application I submitted to the state fire academy? For the instructor position?"
My heart does a little skip. "The one you said was a long shot?"
"That's the one. They called today. I got it, Miranda. They want me to teach advanced rescue techniques to new recruits."
I nearly spill cocoa in my excitement, setting the mug down quickly before launching myself at him. He catches me easily, laughing as I wrap my arms around his neck and press kisses all over his face.
"Corey, that's incredible! I'm so proud of you!"
"It means traveling to Billings two weeks out of every month," he says, his arms tightening around me. "Teaching classes, working with their training scenarios. But it's exactly what I've been wanting, a chance to do more than just respond to emergencies."
"You'll be amazing at it. Those recruits have no idea how lucky they are."
"You don't mind? The travel, I mean. I know we've gotten used to both of us being home most nights."
I pull back to look at him properly, taking in the mix of excitement and concern in his expression. Even now, even after all this time and all the ways we've proven to each other that we're not going anywhere, he still worries about disrupting what we've built.
"Are you kidding? I mind that it took them this long to realize they needed you."
His smile is bright enough to rival the Christmas lights that are probably already twinkling all over downtown Hope Peak. "I love you."
"I love you too. When do you start?"
"January. Which gives us a perfect, uninterrupted Christmas together."
"Perfect," I agree, settling back against his side. "Just you, me, and whatever chaos we can manage to create in our own home."
"Hey, I resent that implication. We're getting much better at avoiding domestic disasters."
"Says the man who set off the smoke detector making toast last week."
"Our toaster settings are confusing, and you know it."
We sit in comfortable quiet for a while, watching the snow fall and listening to the fire crackle in the grate.
"Can I tell you something?" I say eventually.
"Always."
"Three years ago, if someone had told me I'd be sitting in my own living room with a man I'm crazy about, watching snow fall and drinking cocoa that didn't come from a packet, I would have laughed at them."
"Would you?"
"I would have told them they had me confused with someone else. Someone who stayed in one place long enough to build a life with another person. Someone who believed in forever."
Corey's hand stills on my arm. "And now?"
"Now I can't imagine being anywhere else. Can't imagine being with anyone else." I tilt my head to look at him. "You changed everything for me, you know that?"
"You changed everything for me too." His voice is soft, serious in the way that always makes my chest tight with emotion.
"Before you, I was just going through the motions.
Work, sleep, repeat. I wasn't really living.
Now I wake up every morning grateful that you decided to stick around.
That you took a chance on a small-town firefighter who burns dinner more often than not. "
"You've gotten much better at not burning dinner."
"Practice makes perfect."
"Speaking of practice," I say, an idea forming that makes me grin. "What are the odds that if we keep practicing domestic bliss, we might get a Christmas miracle out of it?"
Corey raises an eyebrow. "What kind of Christmas miracle?"
"Oh, you know. The kind that comes in small packages and requires a lot of midnight feedings and diaper changes."
His eyes widen as he catches my meaning. "Miranda—"
"I'm not saying now," I say quickly. "I'm just saying maybe. Eventually. When we're ready for the next adventure."
"The next adventure, huh?"
"Well, we've mastered cocoa-making and smoke alarm avoidance. We might be ready for the advanced course."
Corey is quiet for a moment, and I can practically see him turning the idea over in his mind, imagining what that might look like—a baby in this house, small feet on these creaky floors, the sound of laughter echoing off these walls.
"You want kids?" he asks finally.
"With you? Yeah. I really do."
His smile starts slow and builds until it's taking over his whole face. "I love the way your mind works."
"So you're open to the possibility?"
"I'm open to any possibility that involves more of you in my life." He sets his mug down and turns to face me fully, hands cupping my face with the same gentle reverence he showed that first night. "Miranda Bennett, will you have babies with me?"
"That's not quite how the traditional proposal goes."
"Nothing about us has been traditional."
"True." I lean into his touch, feeling the familiar flutter of attraction that hasn't dimmed one bit over the years. "But yes. When we're ready, when the timing feels right, yes. I want to build a family with you."
"Good," he says, leaning down to kiss me softly. "Because I've been thinking about it for months."
"Have you?"
"Mm-hmm. Thinking about a little girl with your eyes and your stubborn streak. Or a little boy who inherited your talent for chaos and my questionable cooking skills."
"God help us all if they get both our talents for disaster."
"We'll manage. We always do."
He kisses me again, deeper this time. When we break apart, we're both breathing a little harder.
"You know," I say, running my fingers through his hair, "we could start practicing now. For the eventual baby-making process."
"That's very responsible of us. Can't be too prepared."
"Exactly what I was thinking."
The space between us disappears as he pulls me closer, and I settle into his lap with the easy familiarity of someone who's done this dance a thousand times before.
His hands slide up my sides, reacquainting themselves with curves they know by heart, and I arch into the touch with a soft sound of appreciation.
"I love you," he murmurs against my neck, pressing kisses along the sensitive skin that still makes me shiver after all this time.
"Show me," I whisper back.
Thank you for reading!