Epilogue
Claire
Three Years Later
The mashed potatoes are getting cold, but nobody cares.
Hunter’s mom, Linda, is making faces at our daughter from across the table, and Hadley’s shrieking with laughter in her high chair, smacking her chubby hands against the tray. Piper’s filming the whole thing on her phone while her mom tries to convince her to actually eat something.
“She’s going to be spoiled rotten.” I smile at my mother-in-law, lucky to have one as good as they come.
“That’s what grandmothers are for.” Linda doesn’t even look at me, too focused on making Hadley giggle. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?”
My wedding ring catches the light when I reach for my water glass.
It’s a simple gold band that matches the one on Hunter’s finger.
We got married two years ago in St. Sebastian, just family and Esme and Franklin.
It was a small ceremony on the beach at sunset, bare feet in the sand, Hadley growing in our surrogate’s belly while Hunter and I promised each other forever.
Esme and Franklin renewed their vows that day even though they were still newlyweds.
I still remember the way Hunter looked at me when I walked down the aisle, like I was everything he’d been waiting for. My gown was white, but my lingerie? That sage green that he loves so much on me.
“You okay?” Hunter’s hand finds my knee under the table, his thumb tracing circles through my comfy trousers.
“Perfect.” I lean into him, and he kisses my temple.
Hadley squeals again, and I look over to see her with mashed potatoes in her bright red hair. Linda’s laughing, and Piper’s narrating the video like a sports announcer. We’re sending it to our surrogate later, who is happily in her fourth pregnancy with her third child.
“That’s definitely going in the baby book.” Piper is the happiest aunt.
“Everything goes in the baby book with you.” Hunter steals a roll from my plate. Gotta feed his lumberjack metabolism, I suppose. “You’ve taken more pictures of Hadley than I’ve taken in my entire life.”
“Someone has to document her childhood. You’re always covered in sawdust.”
“Fair point.”
I watch Hunter reach over and wipe potatoes from Hadley’s face with his napkin. She grabs his finger and tries to put it in her mouth, and he lets her, grinning like the besotted father he is.
This man who lost his first wife while they were trying to start a family. This man who thought he’d never want kids again. This man who’s now teaching our ten-month-old daughter to clap and building her a treehouse she won’t be able to climb for years.
Hadley Jenna Ashe. We named her after the woman who came before me.
When I suggested it, Hunter pulled me close and cried into my shoulder.
He said Jenna would’ve loved her, would’ve been happy he found love again.
I never met her, but she shaped the man sitting beside me, and that makes her part of our family’s story.
My chest tightens with how much I love him.
“Claire?” Linda’s watching me with knowing eyes. “More green beans?”
“I’m good, thank you.” I glance around the table—Linda at the head, Piper and Luke on one side, Hunter and me and Hadley on the other.
My parents couldn’t make it this week, but they’ll be here next month.
Sunday dinners have become our routine, rotating between Hunter’s mom’s house and ours. “Everything’s delicious.”
“You say that every week.”
“Because it’s true every week.”
Hadley starts fussing, and I know that sound. Tired and overstimulated and ready for bed. I unbuckle her from the high chair and lift her out, settling her against my chest. She immediately burrows into my neck, her little fist grabbing my shirt.
“Someone’s ready to go home,” Hunter says.
“It’s past her bedtime.” I sway slightly, that automatic movement every parent learns. “We should probably head out.”
Piper pouts. “But I didn’t get to do tummy time with her.”
“You did tummy time with her for twenty minutes before dinner.”
“That’s not enough tummy time.”
Hunter stands, starts clearing plates. “You can come over Wednesday after work if you want more baby time.”
“Done.” Piper’s already texting herself a reminder.
We help clean up despite Linda’s protests, then bundle Hadley into her car seat. The November air is crisp and cold, stars bright overhead. Hunter loads the diaper bag while I buckle Hadley in, and by the time we’re on the road, she’s already asleep.
“Your mom’s going to turn her into a terror,” I say quietly.
“Too late. She already is.” Hunter reaches over, laces his fingers through mine on the console between us. “But she’s our terror.”
“Yeah, she is.”
We drive in comfortable silence, the kind that comes from three years of knowing each other inside out. The road winds through the hills, dark except for our headlights, and I think about the last time we drove this route together.
It was after our wedding in St. Sebastian.
Hunter drove us home from the airport, both of us exhausted and happy, talking about the nursery we’d paint when our surrogate hit her third trimester.
I’d been terrified the surrogacy wouldn’t work, terrified I’d be a terrible mother, terrified of all the ways I could fail.
But Hunter held my hand just like he’s holding it now and said, “We’ll figure it out together.”
And we did.
The pregnancy was smooth. The birth was amazing. And when they placed Hadley in my arms for the first time, every fear I’d ever had just dissolved.
She’s ours. This tiny perfect human with Hunter’s hazel eyes and my red hair and a personality that’s already bigger than both of us combined.
“What are you thinking about?” Hunter asks.
“St. Sebastian. The wedding.”
“Best decision I ever made.”
“Marrying me?”
“Convincing you to give me three dates before letting you see this amazing body.” He grins in the darkness, motioning from his head to his toes. “Everything else was just inevitable after that.”
“Cocky.”
“Confident.” He squeezes my hand. “There’s a difference.”
We pull into our driveway. It’s not his stone home or my apartment, but the house we bought together a year ago closer to town. It has a yard for Hadley and a workshop for Hunter and an office for me to review surgical notes when I’m on call.
It’s home.
Hunter carries Hadley inside while I grab the diaper bag. She barely stirs when he lays her in her crib, and I stand in the doorway watching my husband tuck the blanket around our daughter, watching him press a kiss to her forehead.
“I love you,” I whisper when he joins me in the hallway.
“I know.” He pulls me close, his arms wrapping around me. “I love you too.”
We stand there for a moment, just holding each other outside our daughter’s room, and I think about how far we’ve come.
From Bay Seven to St. Sebastian to Sunday dinners to this.
To home.
To family.
To forever.
“Come on, Doc.” Hunter takes my hand, leads me toward our bedroom. “Let’s go to bed before she wakes up, and we lose our chance.”
I follow him, smiling, my wedding ring catching the hallway light.
And I’m not afraid anymore.
Not of failing, not of losing control, not of any of it.
Because Hunter was right. This was always inevitable. I was always going to choose him.
And he was always going to choose me back.
***
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xoxo,
Aubrey
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Want to read more books in the Wedding Season series? Check them out here!
Interested in more lumberjacks? Start with Luke's nephew, Declan, and how he falls for the amazing Bree in Wild Hearted Lumberjack, or keep reading for a quick Chapter 1 sneak peak!
Chapter 1
Bree
Music pumps through the club’s speakers, the beat pulsing through me as I dance with my girls. We’re two shots in, the energy around us electric. Somewhere behind the music, the city hums, alive and buzzing beneath us.
In Austin for my annual girls’ trip, I’m so grateful for the break. There’s eight of us sharing a house on Lake Travis for the long weekend, with this night being our only one out.
The club is all exposed brick and dim Edison bulbs, the kind of trendy spot where craft cocktails cost twenty dollars and the DJs actually know what they’re doing. Bodies pack the rooftop dance floor so tightly I can feel the heat radiating off the crowd.
This year, I invited my Texas bestie, Hannah, to join us, and she fit right in with my Nashville friends.
I grew up there, attending Vanderbilt with Serena and Natalie, our other friends joining in over the last couple of years.
Tonight is Serena’s dirty thirty celebration.
Her husband and two kids are back in Tennessee, having celebrated her birthday last weekend.
Hannah grabs my hand, twirling me around. “Want some water?”
“Yes!”
She leads me through the packed crowd toward the bar on the left. Someone’s elbow digs into my ribs as we squeeze through, the music louder here, almost deafening.
Rule of thumb on girls’ night out is stay in sight of your dance partner at all times.
Hannah’s single like me and looks hot. She’s in a fitted off-white mini with a drop-waist and a bubble hem skirt.
It really sets off her tan skin, drawing looks from everyone we pass.
Mine is a sleeveless slate-gray mini with simple lines and a two-inch side cutout that lands just above my waist. Metal rings hold the pieces together.
Although I’m curvy, my breasts are smaller than Hannah’s, so the cutout is subtle unless I move my arms.
“Check out the hottie at nine o’clock.” Hannah leans over as the bartender pours our waters.