Epilogue
Willa
Three years later, the inn smells like cinnamon and pine.
Snow falls in slow spirals outside the frosted windows. The fire crackles in the hearth. Laughter echoes from the dining room, where guests linger over coffee and second helpings of Sebastian’s famous cinnamon-spiced French toast.
Evelyn hums as she wipes down the counter. Loretta is trying to convince someone’s grandpa to join the afternoon karaoke session.
My mom is in the corner, cradling a mug of tea and chatting with a newlywed couple about the best sledding spots in town.
It’s Christmas morning in Hope Peak, and for the first time in years, my heart is quiet. Still. Full.
I step around a tower of wrapped presents near the fireplace, a sippy cup in one hand and a cookie in the other.
“Maeve,” I call, scanning the chaos of wrapping paper, half-eaten candy canes, and tiny socks. “Where did you go, baby?”
A giggle erupts from beneath the tree skirt. I crouch down and lift the edge.
Two enormous blue eyes peer back at me. Her curls are sticking out in every direction, and her cheeks are dusted with glitter. Again.
“Are you hiding from Mama?” I ask.
She nods solemnly.
“Well, I have a cookie.”
She pops out like a jack-in-the-box. I laugh and scoop her up. “That’s what I thought.”
Behind me, Thea toddles across the rug, dragging Sebastian’s flannel behind her like a security blanket. She’s dressed in a red onesie with a reindeer on the butt and one sock.
Sebastian appears from the kitchen with powdered sugar on his jaw and two steaming mugs in his hands. His gaze finds me instantly. It always does.
“You found the glitter monster,” he says, handing me a mug.
“She was nesting under the tree like a gremlin. Thea’s about to eat a pinecone, by the way.”
He swoops in, scoops Thea up, and snatches the pinecone out of her hand. She squeals and grabs his beard instead.
“Ow,” he says, chuckling. “She’s got your grip.”
“She has your attitude.”
We swap girls. I pass Maeve to her daddy and accept Thea in return. She tucks her face into my neck and sighs like she’s been working a double shift.
“How are you holding up?” he asks, his voice low.
“Good.” I lean into his side. “Really good.”
Three years ago, I stood in the parking lot and said yes to forever. Since then, we’ve renovated the bakehouse, built a new patio, hired help for both the inn and the kitchen.
Loretta runs the counter like a caffeine-fueled general. My mom, who moved back to Hope Peak, handles events. Sebastian does everything from repairs to hosting veteran meetups in the lounge.
And me? I bake. I hold my twin girls. I kiss my husband. I live.
We head into the dining room where a stack of presents still waits for tiny hands. Maeve wiggles in Sebastian’s arms and dives into the pile with a war cry.
Thea stays on my hip, watching with that quiet intensity that’s always been hers. She rests her cheek against my shoulder and hums something tuneless while I sip my cocoa.
My mom joins us, brushing a kiss over Thea’s curls. “They’re getting so big.”
“Don’t remind me.”
She smiles at me. “I’m proud of you, Willa. Your grandmother would be too.”
My throat tightens. I blink fast and look at the twinkle lights instead.
Sebastian throws a wrapping paper ball at me. I stick my tongue out at him.
He grins and mouths, “Later,” with a heat that still hits me square in the chest.
Loretta plops down beside me, fanning herself. “One of the guests just asked if I was single. I told him I have standards.”
“Do you?” Sebastian teases.
“Rude.” She grabs a candy cane and waves it at him like a sword. “Watch it, or I’ll unleash the twins on you.”
“Please,” he mutters. “They already run the house.”
He’s not wrong.
I sit back and watch the chaos. Wrapping paper everywhere. Cocoa stains. Family tucked into every corner of the room.
The fire pops.
Snow keeps falling.
And somewhere in the middle of it all, I realize I don’t miss the girl I was three years ago. I don’t wish I could warn her, or speed her up, or slow her down.
She got here.
She made it.
Sebastian catches my eye. Raises his brows.
I nod, smiling softly.
We’re good.
We’re home.
We’re exactly where we’re supposed to be.
The inn is quiet, the kind of quiet that only follows a day full of laughter, too many cookies, and the chaos of twin toddlers overdosing on holiday magic.
Snow taps gently at the windows. The glow from the tree downstairs flickers soft and warm, casting lazy shadows across the hallway as we tiptoe toward our room.
Sebastian’s hand slides into mine as we pass the girls’ door.
He glances in, checking one more time. Two identical tufts of curls poke out from matching quilts. He exhales, shoulders relaxing.
“They’re out cold,” he whispers.
“Christmas miracles are real,” I whisper back.
His lips claim mine as soon as we close the door of our room. Slow at first, then deeper. His hand tangles in my hair, the other sliding under the hem of my sweater. My skin prickles beneath his touch. Our clothes dissapear.
I guide him backward toward the bed. He follows without breaking the kiss. The back of his knees hit the mattress, and he goes down, pulling me with him. I land straddling him, my thighs pressed to either side of his hips.
I pull back, my breath coming fast. I look down at him. His dark hair messy on the pillows, his pupils blown wide, a flush creeping up his neck. He’s beautiful. He’s mine.
I lean down, my hair falling around us like a curtain. “I’m starving too.”
He makes a sound, half laugh, half surrender, as my teeth graze the line of his jaw. The stubble there is a delicious rasp against my tongue.
I’m moving down in a exploration over the column of his throat, the hollow of his collarbone. My hands follow my mouth, mapping the shifting topography of muscle and bone.
His hands, which had been resting on my hips, begin their own journey. One slides up my spine, pressing me closer, while the other traces the curve of my ribcage, thumb brushing the sensitive underside of my breast. The touch is electric, sending a jolt of heat straight to my core.
I press a kiss to the center of his chest, directly over the frantic rhythm of his heart.
“I love this,” I whisper, my lips moving against his skin. “I love feeling you get harder just from my touch.”
His breath hitches. “Willa…”
I smile against him. I take my sweet time, savoring every shiver, every gasp.
I want to learn him all over again. I want to memorize the way his stomach muscles tighten when I trace the line of hair below his navel.
The way he fists the sheets when my tongue dips into the groove of his hip.
By the time I reach the hard length of him, he’s trembling. His hands are in my hair now, not guiding, just holding on.
I look up the line of his body, meet his gaze. His eyes are dark, almost black in the firelight, and the need in them is so raw, so open, it makes my own breath catch.
“Please,” he breathes. It’s a broken sound, ragged with want.
I don't make him wait. I take him into my mouth, and the world narrows to this: the salt of his skin, the weight of him on my tongue, the strangled sounds he makes in the back of his throat.
I set a rhythm, slow and deep, building the tension coil by coil.
His hips begin to move, a subtle, unconscious thrust that I meet with every downward stroke.
His fingers tighten in my hair. “Wila. God. I’m… I can’t…”
I hollow my cheeks, taking him deeper still, and that’s it. He comes with a hoarse cry, his body bowing off the bed. I take everything he gives, a wave of salt and heat, a pure, unfiltered expression of his desire.
I stay with him until the tremors subside, then slowly release him. I move back up his body, pressing soft kisses along the way until I’m stretched out beside him. He pulls me in, his arms coming around me like he’s trying to fuse our bodies together.
He’s still breathing hard, his face buried in my neck. For a long moment, the only sound in the room is the crackle of the fire and the pounding of my own heart.
"My turn", he says. "On your back, love!"
I obey, and he kneels between my legs, just looking.
His gaze is a physical thing, a touch that travels over every inch of me. He starts with my feet, strong hands kneading the arches, working their way up my calves. The pressure is firm, almost painful, but it’s a good kind of pain, the kind that melts into a deep, boneless pleasure.
He takes his time, methodical, thorough. When he reaches my thighs, I’m already trembling. He bypasses the place I need him most, moving to my hips, my stomach, the sensitive skin of my sides. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, a bowstring pulled to its limit.
He finally, finally moves lower. He runs a single finger through my folds, and I gasp. I’m soaked. I can feel the wetness on my thighs.
“You’re so beautiful like this,” he murmurs, his voice a low rumble. “All open and wanting.”
He leans down, and the first touch of his tongue on my pussy is a shock of pure sensation.
I cry out, my back arching off the bed.
He doesn't tease.
He doesn't hold back.
He devours me.
His hands grip my thighs, holding me open as he feasts. He’s relentless, finding that swollen bundle of nerves and circling it with devastating precision.
The tension that’s been building inside me snaps. A hot wave of pleasure crashes over me, so intense it borders on pain. I’m lost, drowning in sensation, his name a ragged prayer on my lips.
He doesn’t stop.
He works me through the aftershocks, his tongue gentling, his hands stroking my quivering thighs. When I finally come back to myself, he’s moving up my body, settling his hips between my legs.
He’s hard again, the blunt head of him pressing against my entrance.
He looks down at me, his expression raw and unguarded.
“I need you,” he says, and it’s not a statement of desire, but of fact, as simple and true as the need to breathe.
I reach up, cupping his face in my hands. “Then take me.”
He enters me in one slow, deep stroke.
We both moan at the sheer rightness of it. He fills me completely, stretching me in a way that is both familiar and overwhelmingly new.
For a moment, he just stays there, buried to the hilt, his forehead pressed against mine. We’re breathing the same air, our hearts beating in the same frantic rhythm.
He starts to move, a slow, powerful rhythm that stokes the fire inside me all over again.
"I love you so much, Willa."
"Love you too, Sebastian." I manage, his movements making it hard to speak.
Then he picks up the pace, the careful control shattering.
His thrusts become faster, deeper, more demanding.
The bedframe slaps against the wall, a frantic counterpoint to the sound of our ragged breaths. I wrap my legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper, taking everything he has to give.
The world dissolves.
There’s only him, only this.
The heat of his skin, the strength of his body moving in mine, the sounds he makes as he pushes us both toward the edge. I can feel myself getting close again, that tight, tingling coil of pleasure winding deep in my belly.
He shifts, changing the angle, and the new pressure sends me flying. I come with a silent scream, my body clenching around him, waves of pleasure so intense they steal the very air from my lungs.
He follows me over, burying his face in my neck as he spills into me, a hot, pulsing rush that triggers another, smaller aftershock. He collapses on top of me, his full weight a welcome, grounding pressure.
“Think we’ll always be like this?”
He presses a kiss to my forehead. “As long as you’ll have me.”
I smile into the dark. “Then forever might not be long enough.”
THE END