Epilogue #2
Jake clears his throat. "My sister really does know that land better than anyone. She could show you things I wouldn't even think to point out."
Emma shoots him a look of pure betrayal before turning back to Trent with a sigh.
"I'll bring the coffee," she says finally, and there's a challenge in her voice. "Good coffee. Not the tourist stuff."
Trent's smile widens. "I look forward to it."
"Early start. Seven AM. The light on the north ridge is best in the morning, and if you want to see the property properly, we'll need the whole day."
"I'll be ready."
They hold each other's gaze for a moment. I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face.
"Well then," Emma says briskly. "I should get back to my booth. Harper's probably given away half my inventory by now." She nods to Trent. "I'll pick you up at seven. You staying at the Inn?"
"Yes, thank you. I'll be waiting."
She turns and walks away, her stride purposeful, not looking back.
Trent watches her go.
"Your sister," he says to Jake, "is quite something."
"She certainly is."
Trent huffs a quiet laugh, then excuses himself to explore more of the festival. He shakes Jake's hand, compliments my sticky buns one more time, and disappears into the crowd.
The moment he's out of earshot, Jake turns to me.
"What was that about?"
"What was what about?"
"The kicking. The thing we supposedly have tomorrow. The sudden matchmaking."
I shrug innocently. "Did you see the way they looked at each other?"
"I saw two people making polite conversation."
"Jake." I take his hands. "There was nothing polite about it. There was... tension. The good kind."
He considers this. "You think Emma's interested in him?"
"I think Emma doesn't know what she's feeling yet. But yes. There was something there. On both sides."
Jake looks in the direction his sister disappeared, his expression thoughtful. "She hasn't dated anyone seriously since—" He stops. "It's been a while."
"Then maybe this is good timing. A handsome stranger, a remote mountain property, a whole day alone together..."
"You're enjoying this entirely too much."
"I really am."
He laughs and pulls me close. Around us, the festival continues—children laughing, music playing, the smell of cinnamon and apple and woodsmoke drifting on the cold breeze. Overhead, the clouds are thickening, promising the first real snow of the season.
"Speaking of tomorrow," I say, "what are we actually doing?"
"Funny you should ask." His voice changes slightly. Softer. More serious. "I actually did have something planned."
"Oh?"
"Walk with me?"
He takes my hand and leads me through the crowd, past the booths and the hay bales and the children playing in fallen leaves. We walk until the noise of the festival fades, until we're standing at the edge of town where the pavement gives way to a dirt path lined with aspens.
The trees are gold and orange, their leaves catching the late afternoon light like flames. In the distance, the mountains rise against a sky thick with clouds, and the first snowflakes have started to fall, drifting down like whispered secrets.
"Jake?" I ask. "What are we doing out here?"
He stops walking. Turns to face me. His expression is soft in a way I've never seen before, and there's something in his eyes that makes my heart stutter.
"Six months ago," he says, "you drove into my life during a snowstorm."
"Jake—"
"Let me finish." He takes both my hands. "You built something incredible, and you’ve made me the happiest man in the entire world."
My eyes are stinging. The snowflakes are falling faster now, catching in his dark hair, melting on his shoulders.
"I love you, Madison. I love your sass and your wit and your perfect cinnamon rolls and the way you sing off-key when you think no one's listening.
I love how you make everyone around you feel lighter.
I love that you chose this town, and I love that you chose me, and I want to spend the rest of my life being worthy of that choice. "
He reaches into his coat pocket.
My heart stops.
"I was going to wait until Christmas," he says, pulling out a small velvet box. "But then I thought about standing in this spot with you, with the snow falling and the aspens turning gold, and I realized I didn't want to wait another second."
He opens the box.
Inside is a ring. Simple and elegant, a large oval-shaped solitaire diamond set in gold that catches the light like sparks.
"Madison Tate," he says, and his voice is steady even as his hands tremble slightly. "Will you marry me?"
For a moment, I can't speak. Can't breathe. Can't do anything but stare at the man in front of me. This impossible, infuriating, wonderful man.
The snow falls around us, soft as a blessing.
"Yes," I whisper. Then, louder: "Yes. Yes, of course, yes."
His face breaks into the most radiant smile I've ever seen. He slides the ring onto my finger—it fits perfectly, because of course it does—and then he's pulling me into his arms and kissing me like I'm oxygen, like I'm home, like I'm everything he's ever wanted.
I kiss him back with everything I have.
When we finally break apart, we're both laughing, both covered in snowflakes that melt the moment they touch our skin.
"I can't believe you proposed in a snowstorm," I manage.
"I thought it was fitting. Given our history."
"We're going to freeze to death out here."
"Worth it."
I laugh and press my forehead to his. The ring glitters on my finger, foreign and perfect and exactly right.
"I—" I shake my head. "I love you," I tell him softly. "I love you so much."
"I love you too." He kisses me again, soft and sweet. "Future wife."