Epilogue
MAISEY
Christmas Eve
“So we have to be where? And when?”
The tired in Ewan’s voice is so deep that a part of me thinks it might never leave, despite the fact that he hasn’t moved from that couch since he flopped down on it immediately after emerging from the bedroom this morning.
His plan to spend the day “couch rotting”—as he put it—isn’t a bad one.
Necessary even. The hours he’s been putting in these last few months have been crazy.
But this last week before Christmas? Forget crazy.
It’s been unreal. At one point this week, I actually thought he might just use the camping display and spend the night.
Retail during the holiday season is no joke—especially when your own family’s rifle division comes out with a new product right in time for the gift-giving season.
He peers over the back of the couch at me like I’m a walking, talking calendar, ready to spout off the answer. Which, of course, I am.
“We have to be over at my parents’ house at six for dinner and gifts with them and Grandma tonight. But then tomorrow we don’t have to be over at Magnolia Manor until noon.”
“So we have the morning to celebrate, just us?”
I round the couch and park myself next to him, lifting his legs and slipping under them so I can scoot in closer.
He’s not the only one who has been working long hours, making our downtime limited.
Although as much as I want to couch rot with him, these gifts aren’t going to finish wrapping themselves.
“We do. Although my shift starts at four tomorrow, so I do have to duck out of the Hayes family celebration early.”
Ewan shifts, pushing himself up. His muscles flex under his old T-shirt, stealing my attention as he moves, pushing the priority of wrapping those presents even further down the list. That’s what gift bags are for, after all, right?
Cupping my face, he runs a thumb over my cheek, the callous on the side of his knuckle rough against my skin, sending a shiver through me. One that is dirty, delicious, and comforting all at the same time. Because in the hands of this man, I know I am loved and safe.
“Then maybe we need to start our celebration now.”
A shiver zings down my spine, anticipation starting to fill my veins. Yeah, gift bags it is.
“Just what did you have in mind?” I say, running my hand up and down his thigh.
Ewan’s eyes light up like the tree in the town square, his smile following just as quickly. Which means he’s got a plan.
Swinging his legs off the couch, Ewan pushes up and walks over to the fireplace, grabbing my stocking and slipping it off the hook. Silently, he walks back to the couch, just the one stocking in hand, still beaming like he sunk the winning putt at the Masters.
“Here.”
He holds out the cross-stitched Christmas decoration with my name proudly displayed over a teddy bear wearing a Santa hat. I take it from him, confusion taking over. What is he doing?
“Santa isn’t filling these until tonight,” I say, trying to keep my voice playful.
Peering around him, I look at his stocking, a semi-matching design, his with a snowman complete with corncob pipe and top hat, still limply hanging from the mantel.
I have a bunch of goodies to secretly slip in there later tonight—or first thing in the morning—when he’s not looking.
Including the chocolate orange I know he’s looking forward to.
“He dropped something off early.”
He remains standing in front of me, watching me intently. My pulse kicks up a notch, the anticipation from earlier morphing into a weird set of nerves to match my confusion.
“This isn’t a trick, Maisey. Promise.” Ewan laughs, kneeling down. Placing a hand on either side of me, he looks me squarely in the eye, leveling me with that Hayes smirk. “Open your stocking, baby.”
I slip my hand inside and pull out an envelope. An envelope? Really?
Then it hits me.
Ewan is kneeling in front of me. It’s Christmas.
OMFG…
Internally I squeal, trying to keep as much outward composure as I can. I don’t want to give away that I’ve figured this out. That inside this envelope is the biggest question I’ve ever been asked. The one I’ve been waiting for. Whose answer is already on the tip of my tongue.
Slowly, I flip the envelope over, running my finger under the flap and opening it. I want to take my time. Want to remember this. Commit it all to memory—every single second of it—so that when I get to tell the story over and over again, I get it all right.
Inside is a piece of paper. A regular, eight by eleven piece of printer paper. Okay—that’s fine. Doesn’t have to be fancy. In fact, I don’t want it to be. Ewan isn’t fancy. Nothing about our life together is. This part shouldn’t be either.
I unfold the paper, holding my breath, ready to read the words. The four big words. Even more ready to shout my answer. My even bigger answer.
Only—those four words aren’t what is staring back at me.
It’s a reservation. For the Aurora Igloos in Hella, Iceland.
Ohhh…
My adrenaline rush comes to a crashing halt, my excitement instantly deflating.
I feel numb for a split second, torn inside on how to react.
On one hand, this is a place that I’ve talked about visiting for years.
An experience that I’ve dreamed about. That Ewan paid attention to—listened to—and then acted on.
He’s literally gifting me the bucket-list item I walked away from earlier this year when I chose him.
A choice I haven’t regretted for a single second.
Which is why I’m left feeling like this. Because it’s not what I thought was coming. And I know I should be excited. I am excited. We’re going to Iceland and we’re going to sleep under the northern lights.
“I did a bunch of research,” Ewan says, filling the silence.
“Turns out Iceland doesn’t have the glass igloos quite like Finland and Norway, but they do have transparent domes, and then what one place called glass tiny lodges.
I went with the transparent dome over the tiny lodge because it’s a little more remote for viewing the lights, but also there is a day tour of caves that I figured would be fun. ”
I smile, tears filling my eyes as I scan over the printed confirmation in my hand. Of course Ewan did a bunch of research on the best option before booking. He’s an outdoor guide himself, so he wouldn’t settle for anything but the best experience for us.
“There’s just one problem.”
What?!
I whip my head up, the tears in my eyes wobbling slightly but staying put. Problem? How could there possibly be a problem? Unless he thinks that I’m unhappy. Oh, shit. No. I can’t have him thinking that.
Because this gift is perfect.
“What problem?” I ask, choking back my emotion. “Ewan, this is amazing. There are zero problems here.”
“Well, you see, the timing is just a little off.”
What is he talking about?
I look back down at the paper, scanning to find the dates.
March. He booked the trip for mid-March.
Okay, so what? Gives me enough time to request PTO at the hospital, so that’s not an issue.
And spring hunting season usually doesn’t start until late March, I think. Unless it starts earlier next year…
“Well, all the research says that the best time to see the lights is around the equinoxes. Some argue January/February because the nights are longer, but there is more geomagnetic activity around the equinox, making them more active and vibrant.”
I nod along, trying to follow where he’s going with all this environmental science speak. There is a point, surely.
“But, March is only three months away, which I have learned, thanks to all these new women in my family, is not enough time to plan a wedding, upending my thought process of spending our honeymoon visiting your dream country. So, I guess I have to settle for taking my fiancée to Iceland, instead of my wife.”
Fiancée…? Did he just say fiancée?
“Meaning I’m going to have to find some brand-new dream location to sweep you off your feet with when we’re husband and wife.”
Husband and wife…
I can’t breathe. My lungs constrict, tears returning with a vengeance as Ewan leans forward, digging in between the couch cushions and pulling out a little velvet box.
He wobbles a bit as he straightens out and I grab ahold of him, ready to throw my arms around him and kiss the fuck out of him. And then fuck him.
But that would be getting ahead of myself.
“Maisey, there is a part of me that feels like this bit is just a technicality. Because I’ve been calling you my wife in my head for longer than you know. That’s how sure I am that you are my everything, baby. My life, my future. All of it. But I do know that I have to actually ask the question.”
Ewan takes my hands, interlacing our fingers and pressing a kiss to them. A soft sob tumbles over my lips, happiness overtaking me.
“I can’t wait to build our life together. Whether it ends up looking exactly like your plan with our matching pair, or something else entirely, as long as we’re together, I know it’s going to be perfect. All that said, Maisey Phillips, will you marry me?”
YES!
I shout my answer—or at least I intend to—nothing but a squeak coming out. The tears running down my cheeks make it hard to concentrate, so I swipe at them, swallowing hard, trying to regain my composure. But it’s no use. I’m a mess.
A great big, happy mess.
So I nod. Furiously. Not wanting to waste a single second, or leave Ewan thinking that this is anything but an overjoyed reaction.
Popping the box open, Ewan holds it up, showing off the contents. And the waterworks start all over again.
Inside, staring back at me, is a little white ketchup packet, except instead of the normal label, this one has been custom printed. Still in the traditional red and black—because of course—but in place of nutritional information or even a company are two words that steal my heart completely.
SAY YES
“Of course…” I choke out. “Fuck, yes. Whatever you need to hear. Ewan Hayes, I will marry the fuck out of you.”
“Glad to hear it.”
Reaching into his pocket, Ewan pulls out the simple platinum band embedded with peridots and rubies—our birthstones—slipping it on my finger.
“I know it’s not the traditional solitaire, but I also remember you saying that you were worried about such a thing snagging gloves and getting caught on things while working, so I went with this.
We’ll have to pick out something to go with it for the wedding band, but I figured we could do that together. ”
I launch myself at him, throwing my arms around Ewan’s neck and burying my face against him. He chuckles as he catches me, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I don’t bother to hide my tears, letting them flow out of me right along with all of the joy that I can’t contain.
“I need you to stop being so perfect, please,” I mutter into his chest.
“Only when you do.”
Tightening his embrace, Ewan sighs and I melt into him even more. My fiancé. My future.
I lift my head, just enough to look at him, the love in his eyes shining back at me.
“What if we did get married in March?”
“Excuse you?”
“Or sooner.” I shrug. “You, me, Judge Robinson. That’s all that’s really required. Then we can have a wedding later. But we could technically elope, get married, and then go on a honeymoon to Iceland. Maybe even a secret one that no one knows about.”
“Our mamas would lose their minds,” Ewan says. But I can see the wheels turning in his head.
“They expect this kind of thing from me at this point. So, whaddya say?”
Ewan pushes to his feet, taking me with him, and kisses me hard. I whimper, giving in to him, his taste and power moving through me like a drug in my veins, making me want more. Good thing I get to keep him for forever.
“I think that a phone call to Judge Robinson is in order the day after Christmas.”
Fuck, yes…
“But first,”—he thrusts up into me, his groin making contact with my core, sending me reeling—“I’ve got other ideas for you.”
“Let’s get forever started now then.”
Maisey reveals on their camping trip that she hopes for a “matching pair”. But, does she get her wish? Download the bonus scene and find out!
Presley Callahan turned Jace’s world upside down once. It’s been seventeen years since high school, but she’s about to do it all over again. This time, she’s not alone. Grab Already Callin’ You Mine now!