Epilogue
Two Years Later
Tess
“I really like this one,” I say, trudging further into the woods behind the house.
The last two years we’ve been cutting down a tree from our own personal spruce lot.
Well, it’s not technically a spruce lot.
It’s more like a forest that just happens to be peppered with perfect Christmas trees right in our backyard.
“He’s a bit deformed, don’t you think?” Cole rests his hand on my back as we stare at the sparse little tree in the center of the woods.
“Yeah, but that’s kind of its charm, right?
A few missing branches, a little on the dead side, but it’s got a story to tell.
” I rub my hand over my stomach and stare up at the man I’ve fallen in love with.
“Plus, it comes with a side of your wife’s happiness.
I think that more than makes up for it.”
“Well,” he tilts his head to the side and nods playfully, “if that’s the case, why are we still debating it?”
“My thoughts exactly.” I grin and watch as my flannel clad husband steps forward and swings his axe into the little tree by the river.
It’s a simple task, but it does something to me.
Sure, I always fantasized about this moment.
Cutting down a tree with the man of my dreams, a baby in my belly, a little cabin by the woods.
It’s all picture-perfect, but I never really imagined how even the unexpected moments would make me feel.
There was our wedding day out by the river last year when we prayed for sun for weeks, but rain came anyway.
There was the year we tried to get pregnant, but the tests kept coming back negative.
There was my birthday last year when the pipes burst and we spent the night wading through ankle deep water.
The threads aren’t perfect, but they’re ours, and somehow, they’ve built the warmest, softest sweater I’ve ever known.
Cole hauls the tree up onto his shoulder and takes my hand in his as we walk out of the woods and back up toward the cabin he built years ago. “I’m thinking we should name the baby Christa. It’s fitting for a Christmas birthday, right?”
“No,” I shake my head and narrow my gaze toward him, “I’m not naming our daughter Christa because of the holiday. If she were born on Halloween, would her name be Hailey or Weenie?”
He laughs and shakes his head slowly. “Okay then, your majesty. What would you like to name our daughter?”
I grin wide and stop in my tracks, staring up at my husband. “I’d like to name her Winter in honor of the snowstorm that brought us together.”
“And how is that different than Christa?”
I roll my eyes playfully. “Umm… one is for a holiday, and one’s an homage about a cute, little story about how we fell in love. Those are two completely different things.”
“Well then, maybe we should name her after the judge who dismissed my case. If it weren’t for him, I might still be in jail right now.”
I roll my eyes and tip up onto my toes, kissing my flannel clad lumberjack. “The judge knew you’d saved way more lives than you’d harmed. You had the entire firehouse there to back you. You’re a good guy, and everyone knows that. I think that’s the cool part about small towns.”
Cole laughs and adjusts the tree on his shoulder, needles spilling off onto the new fallen snow as we talk. “Does that mean you don’t miss New York anymore? We can always go back for a visit.”
“Not at all. In fact, I kind of love this little mountain. I mean, I’ve got my marketing business going strong, and when baby girl is born, we’ll be down at the library doing all kinds of things.
” Snow falls gently as we step out into the wide open.
“You know, we could just name her Blizzard instead. That’s way more on the nose, if that’s your thing. ”
“Blizzard?” Cole tugs me in closer against his chest. “Nah, I like Winter. Our little baby girl, Winter Maxwell.”
I laugh and shove him playfully as we make our way back up to the house. “Ya know, she’s going to hate us, but Winter kind of works.”
“It does, right?”
“Absolutely.” I grin as he pushes open the cabin door, the scent of gingerbread pancakes still in the air from our homemade lumberjack breakfast. The diner serves theirs with maple syrup, but I drizzle ours with a little orange sauce and some powdered sugar, before calling it a family recipe.
It’s the first one I’ve ever had and I’m obsessed. I’ve even made a little book that I’ll give to our daughter someday with all the recipes I’ll be collecting over the years.
I used to think love was a fairytale. Something unattainable to people like me. Luckily, love’s all around us, waiting for an opportunity to be let in.
It’s the quiet mornings when the coffee tastes better with someone who cares for you by your side.
It’s the arguments that end in laughter.
It’s the way two people can heal each other from a life that’s left them raw.
It’s about being vulnerable, even when it’s hard.
It’s about rain-soaked weddings, disappointments, busted pipes, and late nights on the front porch with a bottle of whiskey.
It’s about snow piling up outside while you’re decorating a fresh cut tree.
Cole sets the spruce in its stand and takes off his shirt. “Damn. The sap from this thing got all over me.”
My eyes widen the same as they did two years ago when he walked into the little bookstore on Chestnut Lane. My big, inked, too hot for his own good, firefighter. The man who’s healed me with his steady heart and magic abs.
THANK YOU FOR READING.