Epilogue
Wesley
Adrian Trevelyan arrived a little after seven a.m. on the twenty-first and slipped quietly into the back of my shop, where it seemed he was happy to hide until the signing.
Brooke was over at the town hall, working her magic, and Ru was upstairs with a notebook—his constant companion these days—trying to work out what came next in his life.
As soon as we could, we’d met with Callum, and he’d explained that with the right business plan, Ru could also access his trust. It looked as though our older brother had been bleeding his dry too, which only added another layer of anger and determination in me to do good with the money I received next Christmas Eve.
Hunter spent some time with us, but he’d headed over to man a refreshments station, and I was here, sitting across from my favorite author in the entire world.
Adrian was a quiet man, serious about his writing, but there was a nervous edge to him too—worry about the signing, about living up to expectations.
We started talking about his Shadowveil books, and I couldn’t help myself; I was full of questions, theories, and admiration.
In total, I’d ordered over two thousand copies of his latest book and sold them all. The virtual signing we’d recorded a few hours ago had been a success, and now here we were, the real thing about to begin.
“I’m not sure I’ll ever get used to this part,” Adrian admitted, voice low, glancing toward the door. “The writing is one thing. Facing people who actually read it—that’s something else.”
“They don’t just read it,” I said, leaning forward, unable to stop my enthusiasm. “They live in it. I mean, Shadowveil? You’ve built a world people disappear into, characters they carry around like friends. You gave me whole winters where I wasn’t alone.”
Color rose in his cheeks, and he ducked his head. “That’s… more than I could hope for. Most days, I’m afraid someone will stand up and say I’m a fraud. Y’know, impostor syndrome is a thing.”
“Then they’d be lying,” I said fiercely. “You’re the real deal. You’ve got people lining up outside in the cold just to spend five minutes with you. That doesn’t happen for frauds.”
His smile was small and shy, but it reached his eyes. “Thank you. That means more than I can say.”
Ru appeared, already bundled in a coat—he was our line ambassador at the town hall to ensure chaos didn’t occur, and I’d be joining him to do that.
“Hey,” he murmured to us both, shifting from one foot to the other.
Ru had been see-sawing between happy and introspective all morning.
He glanced at Adrian, fumbled for words, then, scarlet-faced, mumbled a quick, “See you there,” before escaping toward the town hall.
Adrian watched him go, a faint, curious smile tugging at his mouth before he ducked his head again as if tucking the moment away.
I didn’t know what to make of that, but then I was only just learning about the man my brother had become, and I didn’t know Adrian very well.
We headed out the back way toward Wishing Tree’s Town Hall, slipping into the crisp morning air. The path curved past the square, and Adrian slowed when he saw the great tree strung with ribbons, each one fluttering in the light breeze. He paused, curiosity written across his features.
“What’s that about?” he asked, gesturing to the tangle of bright colors.
“That’s the Wishing Tree,” I explained, following his gaze. “Everyone in town ties a ribbon for something they hope for—love, luck, healing. Some have been there for years; others are new today.”
Adrian reached out, not touching but close, as if the ribbons might burn if he did. “It’s beautiful,” he murmured, and for a long moment we both stood there, letting the wishes whisper in the cold air before moving on toward the hall. “Did you tie one?”
“I did.”
“What did you wish for?”
I could have evaded the question, but my wish had come true the moment Hunter said he was staying in Wishing Tree. “Love,” I said.
Adrian sighed. “If only it were that easy,” he murmured, and then pulled his shoulders back. “Let’s do this book thing.”
We headed around the back, where the energy of the day hit us all at once.
The hall doors were propped open, music spilling out, and even from outside we could hear the low thrum of voices.
Inside, Brooke was everywhere at once, clipboard in hand, directing volunteers as if she were orchestrating an army of people towards this event’s success.
Tables of books were stacked and waiting, bright banners fluttered above them, and strings of fairy lights twined around the beams.
Hunter caught my eye from across the room, stationed behind the refreshments table with a grin that said he’d already been sweet-talked out of half the cookies. He lifted a hand in greeting, and I felt that familiar tug in my chest.
And Ru—true to his word—was near the doors, shepherding people into neat lines with a combination of polite smiles and firm gestures.
For someone who claimed he had no idea what he was doing, he looked natural there, guiding readers, keeping order, and glancing back every so often to make sure we were okay.
The sight of all of it—the crowd, my brother, my best friend, my favorite author—made something swell inside me. This was Wishing Tree at its brightest, and for once, I was right in the middle of it.
Adrian gave a speech, answered some questions, and then the signing began slowly, and I was standing right behind Adrian, passing Post-it notes with names for him to sign.
The first few readers stepped up to Adrian’s table with hesitant smiles and armfuls of books.
His hands shook at first as he uncapped his pen, but then a young woman leaned in and whispered how Shadowveil had carried her through time in the hospital, and I watched something in him ease.
His smile grew steadier, his voice warmer.
Brooke ushered families through with grace, Ru kept the line moving with a mix of humor and calm, and Hunter passed out steaming cups of cocoa that filled the hall with the scent of cinnamon and chocolate.
Every so often, Adrian glanced my way, as if to make sure he wasn’t drowning, and each time I gave him an encouraging nod.
This was his moment, and it was beautiful witnessing how many people loved the books as much as I did.
The stack of extra books dwindled fast, signatures filling pages, and with each reader, Adrian seemed to shed a little more of his nerves. By the time a child in a Santa hat asked him who his favorite character was, he was laughing, leaning into the conversation, exactly where he belonged.
When the last book was signed and the line thinned, the hall grew quieter.
Volunteers began packing away banners, Brooke closed her clipboard with a satisfied snap, and Hunter was left with only crumbs and empty cups at his station.
Ru slipped out with a wave, leaving Adrian and me at the signing table.
“You survived,” I said, my cheeks still ached from smiling.
“Barely,” Adrian said, laughing under his breath. “They were lovely. Terrifying, but lovely.” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “Thank you for doing all this. I’m not sure I deserved it.”
“You did,” I said.
He flexed his hand, wincing with a rueful smile. “I think I signed my name more times today than in the last six months combined.”
“Worth it,” I said, still buzzing with pride. “You saw their faces. They love your stories, Adrian.”
He looked down, cheeks coloring again. “I don’t know about love. But maybe… maybe I can start to believe in myself, even if it’s just for today.”
I reached out, resting my hand on the table between us. “Not just today. You’ll see.”
“Thank you for doing this, Wes. When my publisher said I had to do a tour, she was throwing big book stores in New York at me, a couple in Toronto, and four weeks of traveling I didn’t want.
This, though…” he waved at me and the hall.
“Being here in a town that believes in wishes…This was perfect.” He cleared his throat, glanced at his bag.
“I’ve been working on the new book again.
The one we talked about. I was wondering if…
maybe… I could send you a draft sometime.
Not for notes or anything formal. Just someone who reads the way you do. ”
I swallowed, heat climbing my neck. “I’d like that.”
“Good,” he said softly, shoulders easing. He smiled—a small, shy thing that made him look younger. “I’ll email you when I’m brave enough.”
I walked him to the door. Snow was falling again, settling on his coat, and he hugged me for a moment.
“Get home safe,” I said.
“Thank you, Wes,” he murmured, then hesitated, hand on the door. “Can I call you sometime? About books?” He glanced over my shoulder as Hunter hugged me from behind. “As a friend, I mean.”
I beamed at him. “Always.”
When he stepped out into the snow, I stood there for a moment in Hunter’s arms, watching until he turned the corner, then closed the door, and Hunter didn’t let go of me for a single moment.
“That was great—you were great,” Hunter murmured against my ear. The hall was back to normal, and Ru and Brooke had disappeared, chatting about her family, his future, and the signing. Everything was perfect.
My throat tightened. “Love you,” I whispered, turning in his arms. He kissed me, slow and certain, the kind of kiss that anchored me to this place, to him.
We finally pulled apart. “Can I ask you a really important question?”
He smiled. “Only if you let me ask one as well.”
“Can I go first?”
He pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Go for it.”
“What did you write on the label for the Wishing Tree?”
He smiled, secretive, brushing his thumb across my cheek. “I can’t tell you that.”
“You can’t?”
His grin widened just a little. “Although… it came true.”
My heart thudded. “It did?”
“Yeah,” he said, voice low and steady. “I have you.”
We kissed again, and when I caught my breath, I asked, “And what were you going to ask me?”
Hunter only smiled, took my hand, bundled me into my coat, and steered me out of the door, locking up behind us.
We crossed the square to BB’s, where Molly was waiting with a bakery box.
He thanked her warmly, took the box, and tugged me toward the Wishing Tree.
We sat together on the bench beneath its ribbons, the cold air full of the rustling of wishes.
Inside the box was one big slice of Kai Pie, and we shared it, one fork between us this time, laughing at the mess we made of it as we fed each other.
Hunter set the empty box aside, turned to me with sudden gravity, and said, “So, this is my question.” I shifted to face him, my heart hammering, and before I could ask what he meant, he slipped off the bench and onto one knee.
“Wesley Darkwood,” he said, voice steady despite the snow swirling around us, “will you marry me?” His eyes shone in the glow of the lamplights, snow catching in his lashes, and his hand trembled enough to tell me how much this meant.
It wasn’t only a question—it was a promise, an offering of forever, wrapped in the magic of Wishing Tree.
For a heartbeat, I couldn’t breathe. My thoughts scattered—Hunter, here, down on one knee, asking me the one thing I’d secretly wanted but never dared to hope for.
I thought about every moment we’d had, from lopsided cookies to shared cocoa to late-night laughter, and realized I didn’t just want him in my life. I wanted forever.
“Yes,” I whispered, the word catching, then louder, steadier, as I reached for him. “Yes.”
“Yes?”
“Yes! Of course I’ll marry you.”
He opened his palm to reveal two rings—one a simple band of silver, the other an intricate Celtic knot.
With hands still trembling, he chose the knotted ring and slid it onto my finger.
I pulled him up, and when our lips met, the snow was cold on our cheeks, but our faces burned warmer than any fire.
As he held me close, one last thought anchored itself in my chest: this was a better happily ever after than any storybook I’d ever read.
THE END