Epilogue | Tabitha | One Year Later
Rory’s nestled in the reading chair, rocking a new fitted red-velvet suit, white beard in place, holding up The Polar Express, so both the kids squished on the reading rug and the folks at home can see the illustrations.
His deep voice carries through the children’s section, warm and engaging, and I lean against a bookshelf with my arms crossed, watching him work his magic.
I’m so glad I kept the chair. That morning he left, I’d been ready to erase the memories of what happened in it, but now, every time I look at it, I think about how close I came to a different future. One without Rory.
“You’re staring,” Leah murmurs beside me, one hand resting on her very pregnant belly. She’s due in February and glowing, despite claiming she feels like a whale.
“I’m appreciating.”
“That’s one word for it.” She grins. “The way you look at him, it’s almost like you’re honeymooners.”
Heat creeps up my neck. “We’re not even married yet.”
“Close enough.” She shifts, trying to get comfortable. “How does it feel? Being engaged?”
I glance down at my left hand, at the diamond solitaire Rory proposed with on a hiking trail in Scottsdale just last month.
It feels like yesterday and forever ago at the same time.
Rory, hands shaking slightly, as he told me home isn’t a place; it’s me.
The way the ring caught the brilliant desert sun as he slid it onto my finger.
“It feels perfect,” I say simply.
On screen, the virtual attendees—ninety-three families this year from across the region—blow up the chat. Santa’s amazing! and Love this tradition! and Already donated!
Sophie sits in the front row on the rainbow rug, gap-toothed grin on full display while my future sister-in-law watches from the back. Both of them helped set up the tech this morning with the same focused intensity as Rory. It’s been a joy to get to know all of Rory’s family this past year.
“Sophie’s eating this up,” Leah comments, noticing me watching my soon-to-be-niece.
And Leah’s right. Sophie hangs on Rory’s every word as he does different voices for the characters. But I give my best friend a sidelong glance. “Sophie cornered me this morning.”
Leah perks up. “Oh?”
“After she saw you. She asked when Rory and I are going to have a baby.” I keep my voice low, but I’m smiling. “Well, technically, she asked if we’re going to have babies—plural. Said she wants lots of cousins to play with when she visits.”
Leah laughs, the sound warm and delighted. “What did you tell her?”
“That we haven’t talked about it yet.” I watch Rory turn the page, his eyes crinkling at the corners as a little boy in the front row gasps.
Leah’s watching me carefully now. “What will you say when you do?”
“That…” I start, finding the words come easier than expected. “That I want to have at least a couple of kids. And maybe, sooner rather than later.” I nudge her shoulder. “So our little ones can grow up together.”
Leah’s hand finds mine and squeezes tight. “Look at you. Letting people in. Planning a future. Being vulnerable.”
“Don’t make it weird.”
“Too late. I’m crying.” She swipes at her eyes, laughing. “Damn hormones. But really,” she adds, her voice going soft. “I’m so glad it worked out between the two of you. That you let him in.”
I scoff but with a smile. “It’s not like I had a choice. That storm had us trapped together for days.”
She arches her brow. “Before that, you were convinced you were fine alone.”
“I was fine alone,” I correct. “But this is better.”
Now, watching Rory turn the page and do different voices for the conductor and the boy, I picture it. Him reading bedtime stories upstairs. Teaching a little girl or boy to play golf. Making coffee while a toddler sits in a highchair.
“You’re doing it again,” Leah says.
“Doing what?”
“That thing where you look at him like you still can’t believe he’s real.” She shifts, trying to get comfortable. “It’s disgustingly cute.”
“Says the woman who stares at Hays like he hung the moon.”
“He did.” She grins, shameless. “And I was right, by the way.”
“About?”
“Everything. You and Rory. That dinner last year where I obviously set you up.” She counts on her fingers. “The fact you’d be perfect together. That he’d stay. That you’d let him in. Should I keep going?”
I roll my eyes, but I’m smiling. “You’re insufferable when you’re right.”
“So the majors,” Leah says, shifting topics as Rory starts a new book. “After their planning meeting the other day, Hays said Rory’s committed to caddying all four tournaments again next year.”
“He is.” I nod. “We’ve got the schedule mapped out. Masters in April, PGA in May, US Open in June, British Open in July.”
“That’s a lot of time apart.”
“Four weeks, maybe five total when you factor in travel.” I shrug. “It works for us.”
“You could come along on one of the trips. Keep me company.”
I’ve thought about it. “He loves being out there with Hays, and I love what I do here.” I smile and drop my voice. “Plus, when we have time apart, it makes the reunions even better.”
Leah grins. “I bet it does.”
“Not just like that—” But I’m laughing. “I mean, we appreciate the quiet moments more. The boring Tuesday nights. The normal routine.”
“Nothing about you two is normal,” Leah observes. “In the best way.”
I dip my chin toward Hays, sitting next to Aunt Mae on a bench in the back row, her walker at her side. “I learned from the best.”
Leah glances up at my fiancé, who’s finishing up the last book. “He’s really good at this.”
“He is.” Pride swells in my chest. “And the country club members love him. There’s a waiting list for private lessons now.”
“Hays mentioned Rory’s starting a junior program in the spring?”
“Teaching kids fundamentals.” I hear the excitement in my voice. “He’s been planning the curriculum for weeks. Says it’s different from caddying but good different.”
“And he doesn’t miss it? The tour life?”
I think about this, about the conversations we’ve had late at night. “He misses parts of it. The competition, the pressure, being right there when Hays wins. But he doesn’t miss the grind. The endless hotels, the lack of routine, the feeling like he was always passing through.”
“Because now he has roots.”
“Now, he has roots,” I echo.
“Because he’s not just supporting someone else’s dream anymore.” Leah watches Rory with knowing eyes. “He’s building his own.”
The observation hits perfectly. “Yeah. He is.”
With me. In Starlight Bay. In this life we’re building, one day at a time.
Rory finishes the story and sets down the book. “Alright, who wants to take a photo with Santa?”
The response is immediate—kids surging forward, parents pulling out phones. Sophie’s first in line, naturally, climbing into his lap with the easy affection of someone who’s known him her whole life.
I check the laptop screen. The donation counter has hit $4,293. Higher than last year. Higher than I ever dreamed.
“Congrats,” Leah says quietly.
“I couldn’t have done it without you.”
“Pish,” she says, waving a hand. “I only helped with the decorations. Rory’s the one with the vision.”
It’s true. Rory didn’t just help last year; he became part of the tradition, the community, and the magic. And this year, he’s taken the logistics and promotion seriously. “I couldn’t have grown it like this without him.”
“Maybe not.” Leah’s watching the families waiting patiently, the virtual attendees still sending donations in. “But he didn’t stay for this. He stayed for you.”
The words settle in my chest. A year ago, I might have deflected, insisting I was nothing special. But Rory, who wasn’t even thinking about settling down, chose me. Chose this life.
Not because I needed him. But because he wanted to.
“Next up!” Rory calls, waving forward a little girl in a red velvet dress. But his eyes find mine across the room, and he winks.
Then his hand drops to the armrest. His fingers tap once. Twice. Three times.
A promise. A reminder. A preview of later, when the store is closed and locked and it’s just us and this chair and everything we’ve built together. Heat floods through me.
“You’re blushing,” Leah observes, far too smug.
“Mind your business.”
“I’m just saying, the two of you have been engaged for a month, and you still look at each other like—”
“Leah.”
But she’s laughing, and I’m laughing, and across the room Rory’s still watching me with the look that says he knows exactly what I’m thinking. That he’s thinking it, too.
That later, when everyone’s gone, he’s going to make very good on that promise.
Aunt Mae catches my eye and gives me a thumbs up. Behind her, through the window, snow is falling again. Gentle flakes drifting down onto Main Street, coating everything in white magic.
Just like last year. Just like the beginning.
But this time, I’m not standing here alone wondering what comes next. This time, I know exactly where I belong and who I belong with.
“Come on,” I tell Leah, pushing off the bookshelf. “Let’s go help manage the photo line before Sophie asks Rory about the baby thing in front of everyone.”
“Smart thinking.” Leah follows me into the controlled chaos. “Though honestly? From what Hays tells me, I don’t think he’d mind.”
I stop short and spin around. “What did Hays tell you?”
“Only that Rory was asking what it’s like now that I’m pregnant. If Hays feels ready to be a dad.”
“Oh.”
“Neither of them does anything halfway. That’s why we love ’em, right?”
It’s true. That’s the thing about Rory—he’s all in. On this life, this town, this future we’re building together. But so am I.