Extended Epilogue
Cheyenne
One Year Later
Is this real life? Am I really about to marry Dylan Williamston?
The thought sends butterflies racing through my stomach—not from fear, but from a joy so profound it almost hurts.
The small cabin at the Christmas tree farm feels like something out of a fairy tale. The rustic wooden walls are adorned with sprigs of evergreen and white ribbon. My bouquet—winter roses and evergreen sprigs wrapped in satin ribbon—waits on a weathered vanity.
It’s simple and elegant, just like the day Dylan and I are creating together.
December in Georgia is surprisingly gentle. Sunlight streams through the cabin’s windows. Outside, rows of Christmas trees create a natural aisle where I’ll soon be walking toward my future.
I stand in front of the antique mirror, barely recognizing the woman staring back at me. White lace hugs my curves, soft against my skin.
“Hold still or this veil is going to be crooked,” Genna says.
I watch in the mirror as she adjusts the delicate tulle around my face. Her eyes meet mine in the reflection, and I see the shimmer of unshed tears.
“You look so beautiful, Chey.” She smiles. “And I can’t believe that we’re about to become sisters!”
The word ‘sisters’ hits me right in the chest, making my own eyes water. “If you make me cry and ruin this makeup you spent an hour on, I’ll never forgive you.”
She laughs, squeezing my hand. “Worth it.”
I turn to face her, taking in her emerald-green bridesmaid dress that complements the Christmas setting perfectly. “I never thought I’d be here,” I admit. “Standing in a wedding dress, about to marry your brother.”
“I did,” she says with confidence. “From the moment I saw him look at you that New Year’s Eve. He never looked at anyone else that way.”
A soft knock interrupts us. The door creaks open, and my heart skips a beat as my mother steps into the room.
She looks elegant in her pale blue dress, her dark hair—the same shade as mine—swept up in a chignon.
She’s flown all the way from Europe for this day, and seeing her standing here makes everything feel even more real.
“Mom,” I breathe.
She crosses the room, arms outstretched. “My beautiful girl.” She embraces me carefully to avoid wrinkling my dress. When she pulls back, her eyes are wet. “I’m so proud of you, Cheyenne. So proud.”
Her words fill me with warmth. Since that Christmas night two years ago when she texted me that photo, something shifted between us. Weekly calls instead of monthly. Real conversations instead of surface-level small talk. She’s made an effort, and so have I.
“I’m glad you’re here.” I squeeze her hands. “It wouldn’t be the same without you.”
“I wouldn’t have missed it for the world,” she replies, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear.
Genna discreetly wipes away a tear. “I’m gonna go check on the guys and make sure my brother isn’t having a nervous breakdown.” She hugs me quickly. “Five minutes, Chey. Then it’s showtime.”
After she leaves, my mom helps me with my earrings. As she fastens them, I catch her gaze in the mirror.
“We’re better now, aren’t we?” I ask.
She nods, her hands resting on my shoulders. “We are. I wasted too much time, Cheyenne. Thinking my life in Europe was somehow separate from you. I was wrong.” She presses a kiss to my temple. “Thank you for giving me another chance to be your mother.”
I cover her hand with mine, no words needed.
Through the window, I watch guests being seated on wooden benches arranged between tall evergreens.
Familiar faces—Dylan’s teammates with their wives and girlfriends, my colleagues from work, friends we’ve made together over the past year.
Mr. and Mrs. Williamston are greeting people with warm smiles, already seated in the front row.
My fingers find my bracelet. It’s the gift that started it all.
The silver chain still holds the little dog that looks just like Jhett, but now there are a few more charms: a heart with our initials for our first anniversary, a tiny hockey stick for the game that changed everything, and a clock frozen at midnight—for the kiss that did too.
I touch it for luck, for strength, for the reminder of how far we’ve come.
Two years of loving Dylan has taught me that I never needed to make myself smaller. I just needed someone who appreciated my full size, my complete self. Someone who saw me—really saw me—and chose me anyway. Because of who I am, not in spite of it.
“It’s time!” Genna calls through the door.
Mom takes both my hands in hers. “Ready?”
I nod. “More than I’ve ever been for anything.”
The ceremony unfolds like a dream. I walk with my mom between rows of Christmas trees, my heels sinking slightly into the soft ground with each step.
The December sun acts as nature’s own cathedral lighting, casting a golden glow through the branches.
Music plays softly—the acoustic guitar version of “Can’t Help Falling in Love” that we chose together.
And then I see Dylan.
He’s standing beneath a wooden arch draped with pine boughs, fairy lights, and white roses.
His black suit is impeccable, but it’s his face that captures me completely.
The way his eyes never leave mine, the way his smile grows wider with each step I take toward him.
He looks at me like I’m the only person in the world.
And every doubt, every insecurity, every fear I’ve ever had melts away like snow under sunlight.
Our friends form the wedding party around him.
Kade stands beside Dylan as his best man, with Blaze, Cam, and Paul lined up in their groomsmen suits.
On my side, Genna waits as my maid of honor, followed by Ella with her adorable baby bump, Addy, and Nila, all in matching emerald bridesmaid dresses.
They all beam at me, these people who’ve become our family through choice rather than blood.
Mom squeezes my arm one last time before placing my hand in Dylan’s. His fingers are warm and steady around mine, anchoring me to this perfect moment.
“You’re breathtaking,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion.
I drink in the sight of him. And as the officiant begins speaking, I barely hear the words. All I can focus on is Dylan’s thumb gently stroking the back of my hand and the way he can’t seem to stop looking at me.
When it’s time for our vows, Dylan goes first. He takes a deep breath, and for a moment, I see a flash of the nervous boy who carried a silver charm in his pocket for a week, waiting for the right moment to return it.
“Cheyenne,” he begins, his voice carrying clearly through the December air.
“Before you, I thought I knew who I was. I was the hockey star who didn’t get attached.
I thought I had it all figured out.” He shakes his head slightly, a self-deprecating smile tugging at his lips.
“And then there was that New Year’s Eve, stuck in an elevator with you, finally being honest about what I really wanted.
” He squeezes my hands. “It’s you. It’s always been you.
And I promise to be your biggest fan and strongest supporter.
To cheer the loudest when you succeed and hold you tightest when you struggle.
I promise to remember that we’re a team.
” His voice cracks slightly. “And I promise to choose you—every morning, every night, every moment in between—for the rest of my life.”
Tears blur my vision as I start my own vows.
“Dylan, I spent too many years making myself smaller, hoping to be seen, chosen, told I was enough.” My voice steadies as I continue.
“With you, I never have to wonder. You see all of me. The good, the bad, the parts I try to hide … and you love me anyway. Because of those parts, not in spite of them.” I reach up to brush a tear from his cheek, amazed that this strong man is shedding a tear because of me.
“I vow to choose you every day, just as you chose me. To be your safe place and your greatest adventure. To support your dreams while we build new ones together.” I smile through my tears.
“And I promise to never let you forget that night in the elevator when you finally admitted I was more than ‘just a friend.’”
Dylan’s grip on my hands tightens.
The moment for the rings arrives, and the crowd’s attention shifts to the back of the aisle. Jhett trots down the pathway, a small pillow with our rings attached to his collar. He’s surprisingly dignified in his doggy bow tie, at least until he reaches us and decides my dress needs investigating.
“Jhett, no,” I whisper-laugh as he sniffs enthusiastically at the lace.
Dylan crouches down to detach the rings, giving Jhett’s ears a quick scratch. “Good boy,” he murmurs before rising again.
The silver band Dylan slides onto my finger feels like it belongs there, like it’s a piece of me that’s been missing. His fingers brush against my charm bracelet as he holds my hand, a silent acknowledgment of our journey. I place his ring on his finger, struck by how solid it feels.
“By the power vested in me,” the officiant says, “I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”
Dylan’s eyes lock with my own, a world of promises in their depths. Then he pulls me close, his lips finding mine in a kiss that feels like coming home. His arm wraps around my waist, and suddenly I’m being dipped backward, Hollywood-style, as he deepens the kiss.
Our friends cheer and whistle. Blaze lets out a particularly enthusiastic whoop that makes everyone laugh, flooding this moment with pure joy.
When Dylan sets me upright again, we’re both laughing. He keeps his arm around my waist as we face our loved ones. The officiant introduces us for the first time as Mr. and Mrs. Williamston.
As we walk back down the aisle together, confetti flutters around us like snow. I catch sight of my bracelet glinting in the light. Dylan and I went from “just friends” to husband and wife. Sometimes the most unexpected journeys lead you right where you’re meant to be.
And I’m exactly where I belong—with the man who taught me that I’ve always been enough, just as I am.