Epilogue
Savannah
"These aren't going to pass inspection," I mutter, eyeing the lopsided dog treats cooling on the kitchen counter. What had started as bone shapes now resemble abstract art more than anything Bear would recognize.
From his spot by the lodge kitchen door, Bear woofs softly, as if to say he doesn't mind their appearance.
"Easy for you to say. You'll eat anything that remotely smells like peanut butter." I scratch behind his ears, earning the familiar thump of his tail against the hardwood floor.
Six months ago, I wouldn't have been caught dead baking homemade treats for a dog I insisted wasn't my responsibility. Now here I am, consulting recipe blogs and worrying about whether Bear will appreciate the shape of his peanut butter biscuits. The irony isn't lost on me as I transfer the treats to a storage container. They might look questionable, but the lodge's canine residents won't care.
My phone pings with a calendar notification: Corporate Retreat Proposal - Ridgeline Tech - 2 PM . Just looking at the reminder makes me smile. My new consulting business—Mountain Vista Events—is thriving beyond my most optimistic projections. Turns out there's a significant market for boutique corporate retreats that offer personalized experiences rather than generic team-building exercises.
I limit myself to three clients a month, a deliberate choice that would have horrified my former corporate self. The rest of my time belongs to me—to hike with Jameson, to teach Mia origami techniques I'm learning from YouTube tutorials, to sit with Evie while she shares stories of the lodge's early days.
To breathe.
Bear's head suddenly perks up, his attention drawn to the open kitchen window that overlooks the front porch. I hear it too, the rhythmic sound of painting, punctuated by occasional sighs.
Curious, I peek outside. A woman I don't recognize is carefully painting the porch railing, her movements precise despite her obvious unfamiliarity with the task. She's dressed in work clothes that are clearly borrowed. The jeans are cuffed several times, the flannel shirt is knotted at her waist to keep it from swallowing her petite frame.
"The heat's brutal today," I say, leaning out the window slightly. "Would you like some water?"
She startles, a droplet of white paint splattering across her cheek as she turns. "Oh! I didn't realize anyone was there."
"Lodge rule number seven. There's always someone within earshot," I reply, the joke coming easily. Months spent among the Callahans has softened my edges in ways I never expected. "I'm Savannah."
"Sabrina," she offers with a hesitant smile, carefully setting down her brush. "And water would be amazing, thank you."
I fill a glass from the pitcher in the refrigerator and head outside, Bear trailing at my heels. Up close, I notice the careful way she holds herself—straight-backed despite the casual clothes, her movements deliberate. There's something vaguely familiar about her, though I can't place it.
"You're new," I say, offering the glass. "Just passing through?"
"Something like that." She accepts the water gratefully, though she eyes Bear with uncertainty. "I'm taking a break. From life, I guess you could say."
"The lodge is good for that," I say, understanding completely. "How'd you end up painting the porch?"
"I asked if there were any rooms available," she explains, absently wiping her paint-speckled hand on the borrowed jeans. "They're booked solid, but Mrs. Callahan said I could stay in the staff cabin if I didn't mind helping out for a few days."
Bear edges closer, his nose twitching with interest. Sabrina tenses slightly.
"He's friendly," I assure her. "Just curious about new people."
"I'm not really a dog person," she says, the phrase striking a chord of recognition in me.
"That's what I used to say," I admit with a laugh. "Now I bake him treats."
She eyes the golden retriever skeptically. "I'll take your word for it."
As she hands back the empty glass, I notice the remnants of a manicure—expensive, carefully maintained until recently. Her fingers are slender, with a pale line on her left ring finger where a ring has been recently removed.
"The east cabin has a temperamental shower," I say, deciding not to comment on what is clearly a personal matter. "You have to jiggle the handle twice to get hot water."
Surprise flickers across her face. "How did you know I'm in the east cabin?"
"Process of elimination. The west one is being renovated, and the north belongs to Max."
"Max?"
"The lodge's carpenter." I gather up Bear's treats, preparing to head back inside. "Fair warning. He's particular about his tools, so maybe avoid the workshop behind the cabin."
Something that might be amusement crosses her face. "Noted."
As I turn to leave, Bear suddenly sits directly in front of Sabrina, his most polite begging posture. She blinks at him, clearly unsure how to respond.
"He's angling for a treat," I explain, pulling one from the container. "Here, you can give it to him."
She hesitates, then gingerly accepts the misshapen treat. "Just hold it out?"
"Palm flat," I demonstrate.
With remarkable composure for someone so clearly out of her element, Sabrina offers the treat to Bear, who takes it delicately from her hand. A small smile tugs at her lips when he gives her fingers a gentle lick of gratitude.
"See? Not so scary."
"I suppose not," she admits, cautiously patting his head.
The porch door swings open, and Max Callahan steps out, toolbox in hand.
"Evie said someone was working on the—" He stops mid-sentence, eyes landing on Sabrina. For a moment, he just stares, an unreadable expression crossing his face.
Sabrina straightens immediately.
"I should get back to work," she says quickly, turning back to her painting with sudden intensity.
Max continues to watch her, his usual easygoing demeanor notably absent. "Right," he says finally, before nodding to me and heading toward the workshop.
I glance between them, sensing a current I don't understand. But before I can say anything, my phone buzzes with a text from Jameson.
Found the perfect spot for dinner tonight. Sunset view. Special occasion. Don't dress up too much. There might be climbing involved.
My heart does a little flip, the way it still does whenever he surprises me. I slip my phone back into my pocket, trying not to read too much into "special occasion," though a flutter of anticipation settles in my stomach anyway.
"I should head in," I tell Sabrina. "If you need anything, most of us are around. The Callahans are good people."
"Thanks," she says, looking briefly toward the workshop where Max disappeared. "I'm beginning to see that."
As I head inside with Bear, I can't help but glance back at the woman carefully painting the porch railing, her posture still rigid despite the casual clothes. Whoever she is, whatever brought her to Mountain Laurel Lodge, I recognize the look of someone searching for a new direction.
After all, it wasn't so long ago that I stood in borrowed territory myself, trying to find where I truly belonged.
* * *
"Just a little farther," Jameson calls over his shoulder, reaching back to offer his hand.
I take it gratefully, letting him pull me up the last few feet of the hiking trail. The path is steep but well-maintained. I recognize the careful stonework as Rowan's handiwork. When we crest the ridge, the vista that unfolds before us steals my breath.
The sun hangs low on the horizon, painting the mountains in shades of gold and amber. Elk Ridge sprawls below us, a charming collection of twinkling lights just beginning to come alive as dusk settles. And there, nestled among the pines, Mountain Laurel Lodge gleams like a beacon.
"Worth the climb?" Jameson asks, his eyes on my face rather than the view.
"Absolutely." I squeeze his hand, still amazed at how natural it feels to be here with him, on a mountain at sunset, without a spreadsheet or schedule in sight.
He leads me to a flat outcropping where he's already set up a simple picnic. A checkered blanket is weighted down with stones, and there’s a small basket and a bottle of wine nestled in a makeshift cooler. Bear circles the area, sniffing excitedly before flopping down at the edge of the blanket, his role as chaperone apparently complete.
"This is beautiful," I say, taking in the thoughtful arrangement. "What's the occasion?"
"Do I need an occasion to impress my girlfriend?" Jameson asks with that grin that still makes my heart skip.
"Girlfriend," I echo, settling onto the blanket. "Is that what I am?"
"Well, we never did quite figure out the labels, did we?" He sits beside me, his shoulder brushing mine. "We went from business arrangement to fake fiancés to... whatever this is."
"Whatever this is," I repeat softly. "I like it."
"Me too." He opens the wine, pouring two glasses before handing me one. "To unexpected arrangements."
"And real relationships," I add, clinking my glass against his.
As we eat, sharing a simple meal of cheese, bread, and fruit, I find myself thinking about the first time I saw this view. On the lodge's website, planning a corporate retreat that I'd hoped would advance my career. I had no idea it would change my entire life.
"Penny for your thoughts?" Jameson asks, noticing my momentary distraction.
"I was just thinking about plans," I admit. "How mine didn't turn out at all the way I expected."
"Disappointed?" There's a hint of vulnerability in his question that makes me reach for his hand.
"The opposite," I assure him. "For the first time in my life, I'm exactly where I want to be, without a five-year plan to get somewhere else."
The setting sun casts his face in a warm glow as he smiles, relief evident in his eyes. "About that..." He takes a deep breath. "I've been thinking about plans too."
Something in his voice makes me pause, a flutter of anticipation stirring in my chest.
"This spot," he says, gesturing to the outcropping where we sit, "is special to me. It's the first place my dad brought me hiking when I was old enough to make the climb. It's where I come when I need to think, when I need perspective."
Bear lifts his head suddenly, looking expectantly at Jameson as if on cue.
"When you left for Denver," he continues, "I hiked up here every day, wondering if I'd lost my chance at something real. I kept thinking about what you said. That we were just pretending. That none of it was real."
"Jameson—"
"But the thing is," he interrupts gently, "I was never pretending. Not really. From that first day when you stormed into my life needing a fake fiancé, something about you fit. Like finding a piece of yourself you didn't know was missing."
My throat tightens with emotion as he reaches into his pocket.
"I've been trying to find the perfect moment, the perfect words," he says, pulling out a small wooden box that I immediately recognize as his handiwork. "But I realized there's no perfect plan for this. Just the right person and the right feeling."
He opens the box, revealing a ring nestled inside. It’s a simple, elegant band with a small stone that catches the last rays of sunlight.
"The stone is mountain laurel jasper," he explains, voice slightly rough with emotion. "Found it on the east trail, where I first realized I was falling for you. Had it set in a ring my grandfather made for my grandmother."
"Jameson," I whisper, my heart racing.
"I'm not great with plans like you are," he says, taking the ring from its box. "But I know with absolute certainty that I want to build a life with you, Savannah. A real one. No pretending, no arrangements. Just us."
Bear whines softly, his tail thumping against the blanket.
"So," Jameson continues, his smile widening, "Savannah Carter, will you forget about business arrangements and fake engagements and marry me for real this time?"
Tears blur my vision as I throw my arms around his neck, nearly toppling us both off the blanket. "Yes," I manage through the tightness in my throat. "Absolutely yes."
His kiss is sweet and familiar and new all at once, a promise of everything to come. When we finally break apart, he slips the ring onto my finger with hands that tremble slightly.
"Perfect fit," I say, echoing his words from months ago.
"I was hoping you'd say that," he murmurs against my hair.
As darkness settles over the mountains, we remain on our outcropping, wrapped in each other's arms, Bear nestled against our feet. Below us, the lights of Elk Ridge twinkle like earthbound stars, and Mountain Laurel Lodge glows warmly in the distance.
I've spent my entire life making careful plans, arranging every detail for maximum efficiency. But the best things—the most perfect things—turned out to be the ones I never planned for at all.
A business arrangement that became love. A mountain town that became home. A man who showed me that sometimes, the best plan is having no plan at all.
And as Jameson pulls me closer under the canopy of stars, his heartbeat steady against mine, I know with absolute certainty that this—this moment, this man, this life we're building—is perfectly, wonderfully, completely real.
* * *
Thank You for Reading Practically Perfect Together.
I hope you loved Savannah and Jameson’s story as much as I loved writing it! Are you getting as invested as I am in the Callahan family? Good. There are more books to come, including Liam’s story of course.