Epilogue
Noah
The holidays at my father’s house always smelled like cinnamon.
Even now—the weekend before Christmas—the scent hits me the second we step through the door. It’s in the wood, the walls, the memory of every pie my mother ever baked in this kitchen. It’s familiar in a way that squeezes something deep inside my chest.
But this year, when the warmth rises and the scent wraps around me, something else threads through it.
Alicia.
She’s standing beside me, unwinding her scarf, cheeks pink from the cold. Stella’s already darted past us toward the living room, chattering excitedly at Linda about auditions for the next play, about school, about everything twelve-year-olds love to report in breathless detail.
My father sits in his recliner, recovering but strong, the color back in his face.
He watches Alicia like he’s memorizing something important.
And I understand the impulse.
She glances over her shoulder at me—soft smile, blue eyes bright—and I feel it hit again, the same quiet certainty I felt the night she nearly slipped through my fingers.
I want to hold this exact moment still. The pink in her cheeks. Stella’s voice carrying from the living room. My father’s eyes tracking Alicia like she’s something worth memorizing.
This is the one I’ll come back to. Ten years from now. Twenty. Fifty.
We shed our coats, hang them on the hooks by the entry, and step into the kitchen where Linda has already placed mugs on the counter.
The congressional hearing came and went. No one threatened Alicia for her silence, but in the closed-door hearing she was asked questions that will undoubtedly lead investigations to open many doors. Still, the hearing is over. Whatever threats Elena Vasquez predicted never materialized.
The detectives investigating Danny and Jessica haven’t identified any additional credible threats.
They confirmed that Danny paid the witness who claimed she’d seen Alicia drinking coffee with Matthew and saw her follow him.
Jessica’s computer told the rest of the story—notes on USB drives, plans to plant searches and evidence, a blueprint for framing Alicia that grew sloppier the closer the investigation got.
Based on what the police gathered, she didn’t know Alicia would find the body.
She’d only wanted her present and wanted her to be seen near the business center—close enough a witness statement would warrant a closer look.
Jessica got lucky when Alicia found the body, but her luck didn’t hold.
The fortune cookie was her attempt to redirect toward the senator’s scandal.
She’d pulled enough from the press to make it plausible, but certain details were never made public—which is why it didn’t land the way she intended.
She used Alicia’s numerology because she’d been researching long enough to know it.
Danny refused to go back to Alicia’s house after nearly getting caught breaking into her car—too many cameras, too much risk, he insisted. On that fateful night, she went herself with a desperate, half-baked plan. That decision ended everything.
Richard wasn’t involved. He’s figured out, in hindsight, that she repeatedly brought up Alicia’s security.
Goaded him into texting Alicia the morning Matthew died—stood there watching him do it.
He remembered it once the detectives walked him back through the timeline.
I don’t envy him that realization. He thought she admired Alicia.
Wanted what Alicia had built. He never recognized it as something darker—not even when he bought her the same car Alicia drove.
The KOAN team will continue watching for threats, but we’re all home for the holiday—except for Gabriel.
He took the DC posting without much explanation.
He did the work. But there was something else running underneath it.
I’ll call him after the holidays. He hasn’t asked for anything. That’s usually when it matters most.
Alicia is on holiday. Her office will close from Christmas Eve through New Year’s, as will much of DC.
Maya and Phoenix arrive tomorrow. We’ll stay here through the day before Christmas Eve, then we’ll return, and Stella will go to Richard’s on Christmas Eve, as it’s his turn to have her on Christmas morning.
“Tea?” Linda asks Alicia.
“Please,” Alicia says, smiling warmly. And Linda beams, as if gratitude itself has taken human form in her daughter-in-law-to-be.
Not yet, I remind myself.
But maybe not far.
I straighten a dish towel on the counter—an excuse to be near Alicia as she moves around the room. When she reaches for the mug, I slide it closer to her before she can stretch.
Her fingertips brush mine.
It’s nothing.
It’s also everything.
She looks up, wonder in her eyes, like she’s still adjusting to being wanted without conditions.
“You good?” I murmur.
“Better than good,” she says quietly. “You?”
“Never been better.”
And it’s true.
I didn’t know I needed this—the house humming with life, family gathered around the table, the sleepy rhythm of a holiday. I didn’t know I missed it until she stepped into the space beside me and made it feel like home again.
Linda dusts flour from her hands. “Stella is such a sweetheart,” she says. “And so respectful. You’re doing a wonderful job, Alicia.”
Alicia’s lashes flutter, embarrassment softening her features. “Thank you. She’s…she’s my whole world.”
My father clears his throat from the doorway. “She’s a great kid,” he says. “And she’s lucky to have you both.”
Alicia looks at me. I look at her.
We both feel it—the shift.
My father doesn’t say things lightly.
He doesn’t accept—or approve—easily either.
I clear my throat, unexpectedly moved. “Thanks, Dad.”
He nods once, then turns back to his cider. But I catch the slight smile before he hides it. Good enough. Better than good enough.
Dinner smells begin to bloom—rosemary, thyme, roasted vegetables. Stella laughs in the living room, and Linda returns to her pie, humming one of those wordless melodies she’s always carried.
And somewhere in all that noise and warmth, I feel Alicia’s fingers thread through mine.
She initiates it. She holds on.
Just that simple gesture—the quiet claim of it—lands somewhere deep.
But I know.
And she knows.
Her body leans slightly into mine. She lowers her voice so only I can hear. “This feels…natural.”
I press a kiss to her temple, brief and certain. “Because it is.”
She breathes in, shaky and soft.
There’s a beat of silence—just us, just this—and then my dad calls us to help set the table.
Alicia squeezes my hand once before letting go.
Later, after dinner, after Stella curls up on the couch between Linda and my father, after the dishes are done and the house settles into its nighttime hum, Alicia and I step outside into the cold. Our breath clouds the air between us.
“Walk with me?” she asks.
I lace my fingers through hers and lead her down the driveway. The trees overhead are bare silhouettes against a silver sky. The world is quiet—just the crunch of leaves beneath our boots and the soft rhythm of our matching steps.
Halfway down the block, she stops.
Turns.
Looks up at me with that expression that still knocks the breath out of my lungs—like she’s letting herself hope.
“I didn’t expect any of this,” she admits. “Not you. Not your family. Not…falling in love again.”
I cup her cheek, brushing my thumb over the curve of her jaw. “I didn’t expect you. But I’m damn glad I found you.”
She leans into my touch. And I know what’s coming before she says it.
“Noah?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m really glad you walked into my life.”
I smile, but it feels like something breaking open. “I’m not walking out.”
A breath catches in her throat—small, undone, beautiful.
I lower my forehead to hers.
She exhales, soft and warm, and her hand curls at the back of my neck, tugging me the last inch closer.
The kiss is slow.
Deep.
Certain.
The kind of kiss a man gives a woman he sees a future with.
“You know, we talk about everything.”
“Yeah.” I keep my voice neutral, waiting.
“We haven’t talked about kids.”
My hand stills on her back. “Okay.”
She pulls back slightly, needing to see my face. “Being here over the holidays…seeing the Christmas tree, the stockings, your family…you want all that, right?”
“I’ve got all that. We’ve got stockings at your place. Stella—”
“A child of your own,” she interrupts quietly. “You’d be a good father, Noah. And I can’t…” Her voice catches. “I’m in my forties. The chances are—”
“Alicia.” I cup her face, make her look at me. “If I have to choose between you and some hypothetical kid, I choose you. Every time.”
“But you shouldn’t have to choose—”
“I’m not choosing. I’m telling you what I want.
” I brush my thumb across her cheekbone.
“Would I love to have a baby with you? Yeah. Absolutely. Am I okay with you, me, and Stella being our family? Absolutely.” Her eyes search mine, looking for doubt that isn’t there.
“If you want to try,” I continue, “we’ll try.
You don’t want to, we won’t. But either way, I’m here. This is what I want.”
“It’s really that simple for you?”
“It’s really that simple. You think I’d risk losing you over something that might not even happen?” I shake my head. “I’m not that stupid, Alicia.”
“You’re unreal, you know that?”
“No. I’m in love. And I know what matters.”
She kisses me again—and the warmth of it feels like a promise wrapped inside a beginning.
When we return to the house, Stella’s asleep, curled against my father’s side. Linda’s reading beside them, and my dad’s hand rests protectively on Stella’s shoulder.
My family. Alicia’s family. Our family.
Alicia’s fingers thread through mine, and I let them settle there without thinking. Her hand fits. Like it belongs.
Six months ago, I was good at my job. Competent. Driven. Building toward something I hadn’t yet named.
Now I know what I was building toward.
Not the picture-perfect family I thought I was supposed to want. Not the traditional timeline everyone expects. Just this—Alicia beside me, Stella’s laughter, family and friends, a home that feels right instead of on schedule.
Jessica Vale compared herself to Alicia until the comparison destroyed her. I spent years measuring myself against a timeline that was never mine.
The thing about comparing yourself constantly to others is it makes you chase what other people have instead of recognizing what you need.
I don’t need picture-perfect.
I just need this.