Epilogue continued . . .
CELESTE
Making up the bed and refreshing the towels in one of the guest rooms, I throw another log on the fire in the room’s hearth.
The fire crackles, warming the space. The couple will be back later today, and I want their stay to be amazing.
I place a tray of Christmas-themed goodies on their bed and swap out the mistletoe for a fresh sprig above the bedroom’s threshold before closing the door.
It’s the little details that make the difference.
Just as true in taking care of people as it is in art.
With each room tended to, I pad downstairs and tidy the sunroom, refreshing the snacks on the buffet before pulling my coat on and heading into the backyard through the double glass doors.
The yard is covered in a thick layer of snow.
Snowmen grace the spans, built by our latest guests.
And the old oak stands proud, sheltering the art studio.
A far cry from the tiny shack my mother had, the new large wooden cabin-like structure was built by hand. Quinton’s heart and soul went into it.
And I’ve never loved a man more.
He owns my heart. He has for a long time now.
I slide the large barn door open and step inside. The two small fireplaces, one either end, are lit.
Industrial lights hang over each workspace, giving off enough light that I can work at night. But I prefer to spend my evenings with my two favorite people.
I sit down on my mother’s old stool, freshly upholstered. That was a project Maise and I undertook. Only having an hour, I make the most of it, putting the finishing touches on an oil landscape. When the last stroke is placed, I sign the corner with a small brush in black paint.
Fitting, since it’s my last name and all . . .
My phone vibrates in my pocket.
Time’s up.
I clean up and wander back to the B&B. Most of the guests are back for lunch. I’m setting the table as a knock rattles the door. The food is here.
I open the door for the caterers, their hands full with Christmas lunch for ten people. “Oh, it all smells wonderful! Come in.”
With the table laid out and looking incredible, I ring the dinner bell.
Couples migrate downstairs, chatting away and laughing among each other as they take their seats. I wish them well and walk out the front door, heading for my own Christmas lunch.
With my two favorite people.