10. Epilogue
COLTON
One Year Later…
“ H ey, stranger,” Hope said, wrapping her arms around me in a warm hug.
“Miss me already?” I teased, pulling back enough to see her face. “It’s been, what? A whole three hours since breakfast?”
“Three hours too long,” she quipped, rolling her eyes. “What’s goin’ on, Colton? You’ve been actin’ weird all day. It’s Christmas. Isn’t this your favorite day of the year?”
“Funny, I thought it was yours.” I grinned, taking her hand and leading her toward the gazebo in the center of the town square. “Anyway, I’m not being weird. I think you’re imagining things.”
She shook her head as we reached the gazebo. Beneath its arching beams, a small table waited, topped with a beautifully wrapped box tied with a red velvet ribbon .
Hope raised an eyebrow. “What’s this?”
“Only one way to find out.” I gestured toward the table, my palms sweating despite the cold. I watched as she stepped forward, her fingers brushing over the ribbon before carefully untying it. My heart pounded harder with every second.
When she opened the box, her breath hitched. Inside was a shiny new cookie tin.
“Is this more vegan, gluten-free cookies or a time capsule?” she asked softly, her fingers tracing its edge with reverence—as if she already knew the answer.
“Open it and find out,” I said, stepping closer.
She opened the lid, her smile widening as she lifted the stack of photos from last Christmas as well as the season we were currently enjoying. “Aw, I love these. You’ve even got Gertie in here.”
“She may be a menace, but she’s our menace. And by that, I mean all of Charlotte Oaks, of course.”
Her laughter filled the gazebo, bright and full of love. She pulled out the next item: a candy cane to represent the night we’d filled the mailboxes with them. Then came the recipe for the cookies she loved so much, followed by a tiny, dried-up branch from that first tree lot trip. There were other little things, too, and every item was a memory, a piece of the journey that had brought us here.
But as Hope reached the bottom of the tin, she stilled. Nestled among the keepsakes was a small velvet box.
Her eyes met mine. “Colton?”
Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and took her hands in mine. The rest of the world seemed to fall away, leaving only the two of us.
“Hope,” I began, my voice steady despite the wild thumping of my heart. “I know letting people in hasn’t always been easy for you. But you let me in, and it’s been the greatest gift of my life. I want to be the person who’s always here for you, no matter what.”
She visibly shuddered, and my heart swelled.
“I want to be the man who makes all your wishes come true. Not just at Christmas but all year long. Every year, for as long as we live.” Slowly, I lowered myself to one knee, the velvet box in hand.
Hope gasped, her free hand covering her mouth as tears spilled down her cheeks.
“Hope Calhoun,” I said, opening the box to reveal the ring. “Will you marry me?”
For one heart-stopping moment, the world stood still. Then, a radiant smile broke across her face, and she nodded, her voice thick with emotion. “Yes!”
Relief and joy surged through me as I slid the ring onto her finger. I barely had time to stand before she threw her arms around my neck, her laughter bubbling against my ear as I held her close.
“I love you so much,” I whispered.
“I love you too,” she said, pulling back just enough to look at me.
We stayed like that for a moment, wrapped in each other, until an idea struck me. “You know,” I said, my tone light, “this time capsule? It’s just the beginning. ”
Hope tilted her head, curiosity lighting her eyes. “What do you mean?”
I grinned. “We should make a new one every Christmas. For our kids someday. For our grandkids, even.”
Her face softened, a mixture of joy and excitement. “I love that idea. But I’m not sure if it’s a time capsule if we’re messin’ with it every year like that.”
“Fine, then it’s not a time capsule. It’s a memory box. And I wanna keep adding to it. We don’t have to follow every tradition to the T. Remember the holly?”
She laughed and nodded. “Memory box, it is. But does that mean you’re opposed to kissin’ me under actual mistletoe should we come across some?”
“Uh, never. Why?”
Hope pointed up, and I followed her gaze, already guessing what I’d find. Then, I leaned down, brushing my lips against hers. The kiss was soft, sweet, and felt even more like coming home than our first one had.
Our story had begun with a dusty tin and a forgotten list, but it was far from over. This was just the start of something even more beautiful—a lifetime of love, laughter, and plenty of wishes that I couldn’t wait to make come true.