Epilogue
“Christmas in July”
Pepper
July in Evergreen Falls was nothing like December—no snow-kissed pines, no festive decorations adorning every storefront, and thankfully, no jingling bells announcing my every move.
The town square shimmered in the heat, sweat replacing snowflakes, cicadas providing summer's soundtrack instead of carols as I directed volunteers setting up for our first annual Sunset Concert.
"The sound booth needs to be three feet to the left," I called, gesturing to the tech crew. "We need to maximize the viewing angle for families on the lawn."
Six months had transformed Evergreen Falls and my life in ways I never could have imagined that blustery winter night I'd stumbled into Pax's cabin.
North Pole Village was thriving under my management, and I'd expanded my event planning business to include year-round celebrations of all kinds.
Meanwhile, Pax's security consulting had grown to include event security—like tonight's concert.
I spotted him across the plaza, his tall frame towering over his team as he gestured toward the park entrances.
Even with sweat dampening his shirt, he maintained that laser-sharp awareness that had first made me feel both seen and protected, though these days his usual stoicism occasionally cracked to reveal hints of dry humor.
"Everything secure?" I asked, sidling up beside him.
"Perimeter checked, emergency protocols in place." He slipped an arm around my waist, a casual intimacy that still sent shivers through me. "Rudy's bringing Martha. She insisted on providing cookies."
I laughed. "Some things never change."
"Unlike our former mayor," a passing town councilwoman remarked, pausing beside us. "Did you hear? Judge denied Nolan's appeal. He's serving the full ten years for embezzlement and criminal conspiracy."
"Good," Pax said simply.
The town had rallied remarkably after Nolan's arrest. Our new mayor—a no-nonsense retired school principal—had implemented transparent financial practices that had restored community trust faster than I'd expected.
Once she was out of earshot, I leaned into him. "Hard to believe it's been six months since that night."
"When you dripped melted snow all over my clean floors?" The corner of his mouth twitched upward.
"When you saved Christmas," I corrected, rising on tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "And this particular elf."
As the sky blazed with sunset colors that rivaled even my most elaborate holiday displays, the concert began. Local musicians played while families spread blankets on the lawn. Children chased fireflies at the edges of the crowd.
I rushed from one spot to another, darting between stations with my emergency kit.
When one of the food vendors' generators failed, threatening to ruin their entire stock of ice cream, I rerouted power from the string lanterns with only minimal drama.
"We'll just have to make do with Mother Nature's light show," I told the disappointed children, pointing to the sunset.
"Even better than LEDs, and powered entirely by solar! "
Near the end of the evening, as our headline act—a local folk band—finished their set, the lead singer made an unexpected announcement.
"We have a special request," she said into the microphone. "Pepper Prescott, could you join us on stage?"
Confused, I made my way up the steps. Had something gone wrong? Had I forgotten to arrange some crucial detail?
Then Pax appeared from backstage, and my stomach did that ridiculous flip that six months of seeing him daily hadn't cured me of.
In his hands was a small evergreen sprig wrapped with miniature bulbs.
My mind flashed back to that first decoration we'd hung in his cabin, when the stern mountain man had reluctantly let Christmas into his space—and his heart.
"What's this?" I whispered as he approached.
He cleared his throat, visibly uncomfortable with the public setting but determined. "You brought light when I was in darkness," he said, his words simple and direct. "Made me remember there's more to life than solitude."
My eyes filled with tears as I recognized what was happening.
"You barged in with your holiday enthusiasm," he continued, a rare genuine smile breaking through. "And somehow made everything better."
He held out the lit branch, and nestled among the miniature bulbs was a ring that caught the last rays of sunset, sending prisms of light dancing across the stage.
Pax didn't drop to one knee—that would have been too conventional for him—but the look in his eyes as he held out the ring spoke volumes more than any traditional gesture.
"Pepper," he said, his voice low but steady, "marry me?"
Those two words, so characteristically Pax in their brevity yet complete in their meaning, melted my heart faster than a snowman in a sauna.
"Yes," I managed through happy tears. "A thousand times, yes!"
Martha and Rudy appeared from the crowd, Martha already dabbing at her eyes while Rudy captured photos. They'd become our unlikely family these past months—Martha dropping by with baked goods and town gossip, Rudy joining Pax for their now-regular brothers' hiking trips.
As Pax slid the ring onto my finger and the crowd erupted in cheers, I marveled at how he'd remained entirely himself—still grumbling about excessive decorations, still preferring silence to small talk—while opening himself to love, to community, to me.
Later, as we swayed to the encore performance under a canopy of stars, I whispered, "I never expected a Christmas miracle in July. Santa really delivers year-round."
He groaned at my pun but squeezed me closer. "This was never part of my plan," he admitted quietly.
I smiled up at him, my heart full. "That's the thing about miracles," I said, taking his face between my hands. "They can happen any time of year—if you just remember to believe."
And as my former Grinch held me like I was the most precious gift he'd ever received, I knew it was true. The wonder we'd found transcended seasons and moments. It was ours, forever, no jingle bells required.
THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR reading MOUNTAIN MAN’S NAUGHTY ELF.