Epilogue
Candi
One Year Later
I adjusted the deep red velvet dress one more time, checking my reflection in our bedroom mirror. Our bedroom. A year later, those two words never failed to make my heart race. Funny how a possessive pronoun could feel like magic.
Through the window, snow fell softly over the Hope Peak mountains, dusting the pine trees in fresh white. The view never got old. Neither did waking up next to Bart every single morning.
"You look beautiful," Bart said from the doorway, and I caught his reflection in the mirror—silver hair slightly damp from his shower, charcoal suit that made his steel-blue eyes even more striking. Heat flashed through me whenever I looked at him.
"You clean up pretty well yourself, Silver Fox." I turned to face him. "Though I still prefer you in flannel."
"Liar. You love me in a suit."
"Fine. I love you in a suit. I also love you in flannel. And jeans. And—"
"If you finish that sentence, we're never making it to dinner." But he was grinning as he crossed the room and pulled me close, pressing a kiss to my temple. "Ready?"
"Almost." I grabbed my phone from the dresser out of habit, then paused.
The notification badge showed 39 unread messages—probably holiday greetings, partnership inquiries, comments on yesterday's post about this year's Christmas Wishes success.
Maybe even Drew, though I honestly wouldn't know.
I'd unfollowed him months ago and never looked back.
A year ago, I would have checked immediately. Now? They could wait.
I set the phone face-down and smiled at Bart. "Okay. Now I'm ready."
His expression softened in that way that made my knees weak. "I love watching you do that."
"Do what?"
"Choose to be present. Choose us over the noise."
"Always." And I meant it.
THE DRIVE INTO HOPE Peak took twenty minutes through the fresh snowfall.
Bart's truck was familiar now—I'd long since stopped bringing my beat-up Honda everywhere, and we'd donated it to a single mom through one of our programs. She needed reliable transportation more than I needed a backup vehicle.
Main Street was magical, just like last year. The forty-foot Christmas tree sparkled in the town square, lights reflecting off the snow. But this year was different. This year, I wasn't performing for the camera. I was just living here. Home.
"Remember last Christmas Eve?" I asked as we passed the church. "Drew showing up drunk, trying to pitch me like a business deal in front of the entire congregation?"
Bart's hand found mine. "Hard to forget. Also hard to believe that was only a year ago."
"Right? It feels like a lifetime." I squeezed his fingers. "A really good lifetime."
We pulled up to Mountainside Bistro—the nicest restaurant in Hope Peak, though calling it fancy was generous.
The converted historic building had exposed brick walls, a stone fireplace crackling with warmth, and white Christmas lights twinkling along the old timber rafters.
The scent of pine and woodsmoke mixed with something delicious from the kitchen. Ideal for us.
Inside, the hostess—Maggie, who'd volunteered for Christmas Wishes both years—greeted us with a warm smile. "Mr. Kane, Ms. Reed! Your table's ready. We have the private corner set up just like you requested."
Bart had requested a specific table? That was new.
He guided me through the restaurant with his hand on my lower back, and I caught familiar faces waving hello. Gerald and Laurel Thompson from Peak Provisions. Felicia Townsend, who managed my old cottage rental. Pastor Marty Williams and his wife. People who'd become friends over the past year.
Our table was tucked in a corner near the fireplace, intimate and romantic. White tablecloth, candles, a single red rose in a vase. Very un-Bart-like, this level of planning.
"What's the occasion?" I asked as he pulled out my chair. "Besides Christmas Eve?"
"Do I need an occasion to take my girlfriend to a nice dinner?"
"No, but you usually let me plan these things." I studied him as he settled across from me. "You're up to something."
"Maybe I'm just celebrating how amazing this year has been." But there was something in his eyes—nervous energy beneath his usual confidence.
The waiter appeared with champagne—Dom Pérignon, which definitely wasn't on the regular menu. Bart must have arranged this in advance.
"Champagne?" I raised an eyebrow. "Definitely up to something."
"Can't I spoil you a little?"
"You spoil me every day." But I accepted the glass, watching bubbles rise to the surface. "Though I'm not complaining about champagne."
Bart lifted his glass. "To us. To this year. To everything we've built together."
"To us," I echoed, and we clinked glasses.
I took a sip, savoring the crisp, expensive taste. This was really good champagne. Like, really good. Bart definitely had something planned.
"So," I said, setting my glass down. "Are you going to tell me what this is really about, or are you going to keep being mysterious?"
"Tell me about your day first. How did the final donation numbers come in?"
I couldn't help grinning. "Extraordinary. We raised forty-three thousand dollars in community donations this year—"
"Which I matched."
"Which you matched, bringing the total to eighty-six thousand for Christmas Wishes." I shook my head, awed by the numbers. "Bart, we helped ninety-two families this year. Ninety-two. That's almost double from last year."
"Because you built a remarkable team. The marketing campaign you ran, the volunteer coordination, the family outreach—all you."
"All us," I corrected. "I couldn't do any of it without your support. And your furniture commissions are funding the new after-school tutoring program."
"Which was your idea."
"But your woodworking pays for it." I reached across the table for his hand. "We make a good team, Kane Holdings."
"The best team." His thumb traced circles on my palm. "Tell me about the photo exhibition next month."
My face heated. "It's just a small showing at the community center—"
"Candi. You sold three prints last week. To actual strangers who wanted to pay actual money for your work."
"I know!" I couldn't contain my excitement. "I can't believe people want my nature photography. Like, it's just pictures of mountains and trees and—"
"It's art. Beautiful art that captures Hope Peak's magic." His expression was so proud, so genuine, that emotion swelled in my chest. "I'm so proud of you."
"I'm proud of us," I said softly. "This year has been extraordinary. Better than I ever imagined."
"Better than viral videos and sponsorship deals?"
"So much better. I'm creating things that matter.
Helping people. Living honestly instead of performing all the time.
" I paused. "Actually, I've been meaning to tell you—I'm thinking about stepping back from social media even more.
Maybe just post once a week about our programs, keep it focused on the work instead of me. "
Bart's eyes widened. "Really?"
"Really. I still love what we do—the marketing, the storytelling, helping families find us. But I don't need the validation anymore. I don't need to check my follower count or obsess over engagement metrics." I squeezed his hand. "You helped me remember who I am beneath all that noise."
"You helped yourself. I just gave you space to figure it out."
"You gave me everything." My voice cracked slightly. "A second chance. A purpose. A home. A family."
"Speaking of family—your parents called earlier. They're confirmed for New Year's."
"I know! I'm so excited. And your mom texted that she and Henry are bringing homemade fudge."
"The good kind?"
"Is there any other kind of Ginny's fudge?"
We both laughed, and the waiter appeared to take our dinner order. After he left, Bart leaned back, studying me with that intense focus that made my pulse skip.
"What?" I asked.
"Just memorizing this moment."
"Why?"
"Because I want to remember exactly how you look right now. Happy. Glowing. Completely yourself."
My cheeks warmed. "You're being weird tonight."
"Maybe." But he was smiling. "Drink your champagne."
I lifted the glass, taking another sip. Something clinked against my teeth—something solid that definitely wasn't a bubble.
I pulled the glass away, confused. At the bottom, through the remaining champagne, something sparkled.
My breath caught.
"Bart—"
He was already moving, coming around the table to kneel beside my chair. My hands started shaking so hard I nearly dropped the glass.
"Is that—is there a—"
"Finish your champagne."
I stared at him, then at the glass, then back at him. "There's a ring in my champagne."
"Observant as always."
"Bart—"
"Drink it, Candi. Or pour it out. Whatever you need to do to get to the ring."
My hands were absolutely trembling as I carefully poured the remaining champagne into the water glass, watching as a gorgeous emerald-cut diamond ring settled at the bottom of my empty champagne flute.
"Oh my god," I whispered.
Bart reached in, plucking the ring out and drying it on his napkin. Then he took my left hand in his.
"Candi Reed," he said, and the entire restaurant had gone quiet. Everyone was watching. "A year ago, you trespassed on my property and filmed me without permission."
Laughter rippled through the restaurant.
"Best worst decision I ever made," I managed through tears that were already falling.
"You turned my life upside down. Made me viral. Forced me to work with someone who checked her phone every five minutes and talked about social media analytics and actually used hashtags in real conversation."
"I don't do that anymore!"
"I know." His voice softened. "You became someone even more remarkable than the woman who stumbled into my life that December. You found your true self. Your purpose. Your joy." He paused. "And somehow, impossibly, you made me fall completely in love with you."
My breath hitched. "Bart—"