Epilogue – Abigail
Three years later
The ancient oak tree in Acorn Circle stands draped in a canopy of twinkling lanterns, their gentle glow turning ordinary evening into enchantment. I pause at the edge of the square, my heart swelling at the sight.
Tonight marks our second wedding anniversary, and as I approach our special spot, I can't help but marvel at how perfectly the setting captures our story… the practical strength of the old oak combined with the whimsical magic of lantern light.
Just like Scott and me.
He stands beneath the branches, his back to me as he adjusts something on a small table.
Even after all this time, the sight of him—broad shoulders, dark hair now touched with the faintest silver at the temples—makes my pulse quicken.
He's traded his usual flannel for a crisp button-down, though I notice he's still wearing his favorite worn jeans.
Some things never change, thank goodness.
My footsteps on the cobblestones alert him to my presence, and he turns, his face softening into that smile he reserves only for me. The one that still makes my knees weak.
"You're early," he says, crossing the distance between us in a few strides.
"Couldn't wait," I admit as his arms enfold me. I breathe in his familiar scent of cedar and clean soap, with hints of sawdust that never quite wash away. "When Meredith said you wanted to meet me in the square, I knew you were up to something."
His lips brush my forehead. "Can't surprise you anymore, can I?"
"I didn't say that." I tilt my face up for a proper kiss, which he delivers with a thoroughness that leaves me slightly breathless. "I love surprises. Especially yours."
He takes my hand, leading me to where he's created an oasis of intimacy in the public square.
A plush blanket covers the ground beneath the oak, surrounded by pillar candles in glass hurricanes.
A bottle of wine chills in an ice bucket beside a picnic basket, and soft music drifts from a small speaker tucked among the roots of the tree.
"Scott," I breathe, taking in the scene. "It's perfect."
His smile holds a hint of pride. "I had help. Jade from The Enchanted Bean handled the food, and the lanterns were all Walt and Meredith."
"Our conspiracy of matchmakers," I laugh, remembering how the entire town seemed determined to push us together from the beginning.
"They were right, weren't they?" He helps me settle on the blanket before pouring two glasses of wine, except I notice mine is actually sparkling cider. He's thought of everything.
"About us being perfect for each other? Absolutely." I accept the glass, clinking it gently against his. "Though I seem to recall someone fighting it every step of the way."
"I was being cautious," he protests, but his eyes crinkle with amusement. "Someone had to consider all the risks before jumping into the most reckless, wonderful idea I've ever agreed to."
"Are you talking about the festival or marrying me?" I tease, leaning into his side as we sit together beneath the canopy of light.
"Both." He presses a kiss to my temple. "Best decisions I never wanted to make."
I laugh, resting my head on his shoulder. The evening air carries the scent of autumn—crisp leaves, distant woodsmoke, the promise of frost by morning.
Above us, the lanterns sway gently in the breeze, casting kaleidoscope patterns across the cobblestones. The same cobblestones where Scott first announced that Martin Construction would support my festival, publicly declaring his feelings for me in the process.
"Remember our first Fall Festival?" I ask, tracing patterns on his palm with my fingertips.
"How could I forget? It poured rain for the first two hours. I thought you were going to cry when the lanterns started drooping."
"But then the sun came out—"
"And we had double the attendance we expected," he finishes. "Because apparently this town loves nothing more than proving me wrong."
I smile against his shoulder. "You're impossible to live with sometimes, you know that?"
"Yet here you are." His tone is light, but when I look up, his eyes hold that intensity that still makes my heart skip. "Two years married, and you haven't run screaming back to Portland yet."
"Not a chance." I set down my glass, turning to face him fully. "Whitetail Falls is home now. You're home."
His expression softens as he reaches out to tuck a curl behind my ear, his fingers lingering against my cheek. "I know I don't say it enough, Abigail, but you coming here, fighting for your festival, fighting for us… it's the best thing that's ever happened to me."
The tenderness in his voice nearly undoes me. For all his gruff exterior, Scott's heart is the softest, most generous I've ever known. I take a deep breath, knowing this is the perfect moment for my own surprise.
"I have something for you," I say, reaching for his hand. "Not exactly a traditional anniversary gift."
His eyebrows lift with curiosity as I guide his palm to rest against my still-flat stomach. For a moment, confusion flickers across his face, then understanding dawns, his eyes widening, lips parting in stunned silence.
"Abigail?" His voice is barely a whisper, rough with emotion. "Are you—?"
"Yes." I can't help the tears that spring to my eyes, happy tears that mirror the moisture suddenly gleaming in his. "In about seven months, there'll be a new Martin in Whitetail Falls."
Scott remains frozen for a heartbeat, his hand warm against my abdomen. Then, with a gentleness that belies his strength, he gathers me into his arms, his face buried in my hair.
I feel a tremor run through him—my steady, practical husband overcome with emotion.
"A baby," he murmurs against my temple, voice thick. "Our baby."
When he pulls back to look at me, the naked wonder on his face is everything I'd hoped for. His hand returns to my stomach, protective and reverent, as if he might already feel the tiny life we've created.
"Are you happy?" I ask, though his reaction leaves little doubt.
"Happy doesn't begin to cover it." He shakes his head, a smile breaking through his amazement. "Terrified, overwhelmed, but mostly..." He takes a shaky breath. "Mostly just grateful. For you. For this life we're building together."
The music changes to something slower, more intimate. Scott stands, pulling me gently to my feet and into his arms. We sway together beneath the lantern light, my head resting against his chest where I can hear the steady rhythm of his heart.
"What do you think?" I ask softly. "Boy or girl?"
"Doesn't matter," he murmurs into my hair. "As long as they have your smile and stubborn determination."
"And your kindness," I add. "Your sense of responsibility."
"Poor kid," Scott chuckles. "Stubborn from both sides."
We dance in comfortable silence, barefoot on the blanket beneath the ancient oak that has witnessed the entire arc of our love story. Around us, Whitetail Falls settles into evening quiet, shops closing, windows lighting up, the distant laughter from The Copper Kettle carrying on the night air.
This town that once felt like a temporary refuge has become the setting for the most important chapters of my life.
"I love you," I whisper against Scott's chest. "You and our little acorn."
His arms tighten around me, protective and tender all at once. "And we love you. More than you'll ever know."
As we sway beneath the golden light, autumn leaves drifting around us like nature's confetti, I close my eyes and breathe in the perfect contentment of this moment.
In Scott's embrace, with our child growing between us and Whitetail Falls cradling us all in its small-town magic, I've found what I searched for all my life without knowing:
I've found where I truly, completely belong.
Thank you for reading!