11. Epilogue MINA
Epilogue
MINA
Three years later...
“Think about it. We could do a full Thanksgiving spread. Chestnut stuffing, tarragon green beans, twice baked sweet potatoes. We’d save a poor piggy from being baked.”
He straightened, wiping his large hands on a floral dish towel. “Sweetheart,” he said, slowly, as if explaining to a small child. “The point of our Thanksgiving is not sticking with cookie-cutter traditions. You don’t mess with tradition.”
I spun around, brandishing my sauce-covered spoon like a weapon. “Oh, really? Because you shifting into a turkey every Thanksgiving is such a time-honored tradition. Remind me again how that started?”
“It’s not just any turkey shift. I’m the baddest bird on the fucking block.”
I flicked a bit of cranberry at him. “Yeah, real intimidating. Especially when you’re strutting around, all puffed up like an offended peacock. Face it, you’re more ‘gobble’ than ‘ grr .”
“Does anyone else sport my battle scars?” He leaned back against the counter. “You try waddling away from TikTok-crazed hikers and raccoons with a death wish. Trust me, it’s not all gobble-gobble and strutting.”
“Oh, what a brave turkey. Saving the forest one acorn at a time.”
He growled. “Keep talking and I’ll show you just how fearless I can be.”
I knew that look in his gaze all too well. “Is that supposed to scare me off? Because it’s doing the opposite.”
Rory pushed off the counter slowly. His steps were slow, deliberate as he crossed the space between us. “You really want to test me, sunshine?”
My breath hitched when he tugged the spoon from my hand and set it on the counter behind me. His hands came down on either side of me, caging me in against the kitchen island.
“Because you’re looking an awful lot like someone who thinks she can dish it out but might not take it.”
I tilted my chin up at him, refusing to back down even if my ladybits were screaming to do the opposite. “What are you going to do? Turn into a turkey and fluff aggressively at me?”
He smirked as he leaned down. Close enough that I could see the faint etch of laugh lines at the corners of his eyes and smell the cedarwood scent clinging to his flannel shirt. Thanksgiving dinner? What about dinner? My brain short-circuited as he brushed his lips against my ear.
“If you’re looking to ruffle some feathers, I’ve got a few ideas that don’t involve shifting. But fair warning, they might make you gobble.”
A sharp knock at the front door interrupted whatever delicious threat Rory was about to act upon. We both froze, our eyes locked in a heated gaze.
“Ignore it,” Rory growled, his fingers tightening on the counter’s edge.
The knocking came again, more insistent this time. I sighed, reluctantly ducking under Rory’s arm. “It could be important.”
Rory grumbled something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like “fucking cockblocker” as I made my way to the front door. I smoothed down my hair and took a deep breath before opening it.
On our porch stood a young man in a courier’s uniform, holding a large box wrapped in brown paper. The courier smiled brightly, seemingly oblivious to Rory’s intimidating presence.
“Ms. Rossi?” he asked, looking at me.
“That’s me,” I said, stepping forward.
“Great! I have a package for you. If you could just sign here.” He held out a digital pad and stylus. I signed the digital pad quickly, eager to get back to Rory and our interrupted moment. The courier handed me the box with a cheerful, “Happy Thanksgiving!” before bouncing back down the porch steps.
I closed the door. Rory strode up behind me, his large frame filling the entryway. He eyed the package suspiciously. “What’s that?”
“I’m not sure.” I turned the box over in my hands. It was heavier than I expected, and a faint, nutty scent wafted from it. “But I think I might have an idea.”
We made our way back to the kitchen, where I set the box on the counter. With Rory peering over my shoulder, I carefully unwrapped the brown paper. Inside was an elegant note card nestled atop a circular tin.
“It’s from Gladys,” I said, recognizing the neat handwriting. I read the note aloud:
“Dearest Mina and Rory, wishing you a Thanksgiving filled with love and laughter. May this humble offering from my kitchen find a place at your table. With warmest regards, Gladys.”
I looked up at Rory. “Aw, that’s sweet of her.”
His jaw clenched, eyes narrowing at the tin. “Yeah, sweet like arsenic. Chuck it in the bin and torch it.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I said, setting the pie down and turning back to the pot. “Maybe I’ll turn you into a tofurkey and serve you up with quinoa salad instead.”
Rory’s laughter rumbled through the kitchen. He eyed the sauce pot skeptically. “While we’re on about sketchy food, what’s the deal with that sauce you’re brewing? Should I be worried about spending Thanksgiving in the ER again?”
I smacked his arm with the spoon, splattering a few red droplets on his flannel shirt. “My sauce is perfect, thank you very much. And it was only that one time.”
He wiped at the stain half-heartedly. “Once is enough. You had me puking my guts out for two days straight. But sure, let’s roll those dice again.”
The kitchen timer dinged, and Rory moved to pull the pies from the oven. A delicious combination of cinnamon, nutmeg, and cranberries filled the room with a warm and tart fragrance. He set the pies on the windowsill to cool.
I glanced out the window. “Ever miss your flock?”
Rory arched a brow. “My what now?”
“You know, your brothers. The gobble gang.”
He snorted. “Miss those featherbrains? Not a chance. I’ve got all I need right here.”
“We could always invite them over next year.”
“Hell, no. I like our setup. Just us, no drama. Plus, more leftovers for me.”
“You mean for us, right?”
He winked an eye. “We’ll see about that, sweetheart.”
I sighed, knowing he wasn’t ready to face his family yet. Every year we made enough to feed an army, even though it had just been the two of us. I still held on to the hope that one year his brothers would come over to patch things up between them and we’d have a full table for a fresh change. But until then, it was me and Rory, and that honestly was enough.
“Let’s set the table.” I opened the antique hutch and pulled out the special occasion plates, the ones with the delicate floral patterns that had been my grandmother’s. I carried the dishes from the kitchen to the dining room while Rory balanced bowls of mashed potatoes, candy-coated yams, and green beans.
“Watch it, big guy,” I said. “Those beans seem pretty heavy.”
“These hands could bench press a tractor. A few pounds of green beans won’t break me.” He flexed his fingers, the calluses catching the light.
I laughed and headed back to grab the cranberry sauce. When I returned, Rory was fussing with the candles like they’d offended him. “You know, if you glare at those any harder, they might burst into flame on their own.”
He grunted, but I caught the hint of a smile.
I set down the sauce and reached for the brown sugar glazed ham. Rory beat me to it, lifting the platter. He set it down in the center of the table, carefully adjusting it so the light from the candles caught the glaze just right. I smiled to myself. The gruff man could pretend all he wanted, but there was a tenderness to Rory that even he couldn’t hide.
“Perfect,” I said, running my fingers along the edge of my grandmother’s tablecloth. The embroidered roses looked as vibrant as ever, despite their many years of service. “It’s like magic.”
Rory stepped back, surveying our handiwork. “You don’t think its overkill?”
“Oh, hush.” I walked over and straightened one napkin he’d placed slightly askew. He arched a brow at my fussing but didn’t protest. “Besides, it’s not overkill. It’s tradition.”
“Tradition is eating ham and pretending we’re not both avoiding talking about Gladys’ batshit pie.”
I laughed, the sound bubbling up freely now that everything was ready. “So, are we all set?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Everything looks good. Smells better.”
I stepped closer, brushing my fingers lightly over his arm. “You mean we look good?”
He bent down to kiss me. “Yeah... that too.”
Later, after dinner was long gone, the dishes washed and stacked neatly in the drying rack, our bellies full and warm. I let the warmth of the evening settle into my bones. This was home. Not just the farmhouse or the creaky old chairs or the flicker of candlelight on wine glasses. Rory, gruff edges and all, was home.
After dinner, we stepped out onto the porch. Rory’s weight tilted his head back to gaze at the starry sky.
The cold bit at my cheeks, but it was pleasant. I hugged my sweater tighter around myself and leaned against the railing, watching him. He looked... peaceful, almost. Still gruff, still holding the tension in his shoulders that never quite faded, but there was a gentler quality in the way he looked at me tonight.
“I think I overdid it on those yams,” he said finally, breaking the quiet. His voice rumbled low in his chest, carrying that delicious, gravelly edge that always did things to me.
“You had three servings.”
“Yeah, well...” He scrubbed a hand down his beard before gesturing vaguely toward the horizon. “I blame you and your mysterious kitchen witchery.”
“Mysterious? It’s literally butter and brown sugar.”
He gave me a sideways look and moved into my space. “You sure about that?”
My pulse quickened beneath his gaze. This man could undress me with so much as a look if he wanted to, and often, he did. “You’re ridiculous,” I said softly and tried to sound like I meant it.
“Maybe.” His broad hand found its way to my waist, tugging me closer. “But you love me anyway.”
“Unfortunately.” My voice faltered as I spoke. A poor attempt at sass ruined by how breathy it came out.
His thumb brushed over my hip through the fabric. Casual, but suddenly I couldn’t feel the cold anymore at all.
“Lucky me,” he muttered, his mouth finding mine in a slow, tender kiss.
For a moment, we stayed like that. His warmth wrapping around mine as our breaths mingled visibly in little clouds against winter’s sharp bite. It was a kind of closeness I’d never known before Rory came into my life. A bond so strong, words were unnecessary.
“Do you ever think about... how this all happened?” I said.
“This?”
“ This ,” I said again, gesturing to everything around us. The farmhouse bathed in warm light from within, the snowy fields stretching out beyond us like a dreamscape. “How everything turned out for us. Was it really luck?”
“Luck? Nah, that’s giving the universe too much credit.”
“Oh?”
“It was also stubbornness and kindness.” He reached out, fingers brushing a wayward strand of hair from my face. The touch sent a shiver through me that had nothing to do with the chill. “And you refusing to give up on me. The luck came in when I finally realized how lucky I am.”
My heart did a little flip. It was still getting used to this new Rory—the Rory who could speak his feelings aloud. Without another word, he took my hand and placed it on his shoulder, then slid his arm around my waist. We swayed slowly, as if an invisible orchestra played a waltz just for us. The wooden planks of the porch creaked softly beneath our feet, and the cool air tingled on my cheeks.
His body was warm against mine, and I rested my head on his chest, closing my eyes. “I thought you hated dancing?”
“I still do, but I’m willing to make exceptions.”
Suddenly, Rory twirled me outward. I spun, expecting to be pulled back into his arms, but when I turned—he’d vanished.
A loud gobble pierced the night. I glanced down to find a turkey preening at my feet, tail feathers fanned out in full display. I burst out laughing, my sides hurting from the sudden joy of it. He flapped his wings and bobbed his head, doing a little turkey dance, and I thought I might die from the cuteness. “You absolute lunatic! Shifting in the middle of a dance? Really?”
The turkey cocked its head, fixing me with a beady stare that was pure Rory. He strutted a circle around me, chest puffed out proudly.
“Okay, okay, very impressive,” I said, wiping tears from my eyes. “But if you think this gets you out of finishing that dance, you’ve got another thing coming, mister.”
He gobbled and nuzzled against me. Still laughing, I stroked his feathers and thought back to the day I’d spoken to him as if he were just another rescue pet, only to cry when I realized he’d shielded me from Gladys’ insults. Even as a turkey, Rory had an unmistakable presence—a soul that shone through.
“I give up, you win. You’re the most badass, majestic turkey I’ve ever seen. Happy?”
Rory shifted back, stark naked and not at all timid about it. “Badass and majestic is fair enough. I’ll take it.”
I rolled my eyes, tossing him his discarded flannel and jeans. “Put some clothes on before you freeze those giblets off.”
He caught them one-handed. “What, you’re not enjoying the view?”
“I’d enjoy it more if you weren’t turning blue.”
“Admit it, sweetheart.” He pulled on his clothes. “You loved my dramatic entrance.”
“Right, because nothing says romance like your boyfriend turning into poultry mid-waltz.”
He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, tugging me closer. “Tough shit. You knew the deal when you found out I’m a shifter, not cursed.”
I snuggled into his side. “Oh, I knew what I was signing up for, but at least I wasn’t fooled by a B-list actress in a pointy hat.”
He spun me around, a playful growl rumbling in his chest. “Hell, how was I supposed to know I was a late shifter, and she was just rehearsing for the local theater? She had a goddamn glowing wand. And you’re really testing me tonight, aren’t you?”
I couldn’t help but smile at him. “What can I say? I enjoy living dangerously.”
“Dangerous, huh? I’ll show you dangerous.” He dipped me suddenly, making me yelp in surprise. “How’s that for a B-list performance?”
“Not too shabby, big guy. Got any other tricks up your sleeve?”
He took my hand as he led me down the steps of the porch. “I’ve got an entire repertoire. Care for a private showing?”
Twilight had settled over the farm, casting a serene, blue-tinted hue on the fields. The horizon was a watercolor smear of orange and pink, the last traces of the sun giving way to the night.
Rory guided me along a path that wound through the garden. At the end of the path stood the gazebo, its wooden latticework encrusted with ice crystals that glittered in the moonlight. Rory had strung white lights and red roses through the lattice, their red petals a burst of color against the winter backdrop.
My breath caught in my throat. The gazebo had been my grandmother’s favorite spot, and seeing it dressed up like this brought a rush of cherished memories. “It’s beautiful,” I said, squeezing his hand.
“Not as beautiful as you.”
“Charmer.”
He didn’t respond, but I could see a softness in his eyes, an anticipation that made my heart quicken. We stepped into the gazebo, and I turned to him, about to ask why he’d gone to such trouble, when he took both my hands in his.
“Mina,” he said, and there was a gravity in his voice that made me stand up straighter. “You mean so much to me. More than I can ever express.”
A lump formed in my throat. I tried to speak, but he continued before I could find the words.
“Every joy, every sorrow, I want to share them by your side. Sweetheart, you are my world. I want to share every sunrise, every twilight, every breath with you. And I want to give you something in return. Something that shows how much you mean to me.”
He let go of my hands and reached into his pocket. Time seemed to slow as he pulled out a small blue velvet box and sank to one knee. My hands flew to my mouth, and I felt a rush of warmth and disbelief wash over me.
“Will you marry me?” he said, opening the box to reveal a diamond ring that sparkled like the newly arrived stars.
My heart felt like it might burst from sheer joy. I stared at the ring, then at Rory, as a flood of memories swept through me—the first time I saw him shift, the nights we spent talking in each other’s arms, the unforgettable Thanksgivings just like this one. Every moment had led to this: him asking me to be his forever.
Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes. “Yes,” I said, my voice breaking with emotion. “Oh, yes.”
He slid the ring onto my finger, and it fit perfectly, as if it had been waiting for me all along. Rory stood up, pulling me up into his arms. Our lips met in a kiss. The world melted away, leaving the two of us in our little bubble of happiness. I closed my eyes, letting the sensation wash over me.
A soft white flake floated down from the sky, the first of many. More followed, swirling gently like confetti in a quiet celebration. We pulled apart to watch, and Rory slipped his arms around my waist from behind. I leaned back into his chest, letting the moment surround us.
“This is only the beginning,” Rory murmured, his breath warm against my ear. “We’re just getting started.”
“I know, and I can’t wait to experience every moment by your side.”
The snow fell faster, blanketing the ground in a sparkling layer of white. I turned in his arms, looking up into eyes that had once seemed distant and guarded but now held nothing but love. We kissed again—slow and deep—a kiss that sealed every promise and dream we shared.
“Let’s go back inside,” he said.
Hand in hand, we walked back to the farmhouse. The cold nipped at my nose and fingertips, but I was too wrapped up in the moment to care. When we reached the porch, I paused, glancing back at the gazebo. The snow and ice had transformed it into a crystalline palace, shimmering under the moonlight like something out of a fairy tale.
“You’re stuck with me, sweetheart,” Rory said, pulling me closer. “For as long as you’ll have me.”
Every twist and turn of our story played out in my mind like an old film reel, flickering with memories. And ahead, our future stretched out—a path winding through seasons and years, filled with moments like this.
Simple. Beautiful. True.
“Forever,” I said, my hand warm in his. “Always forever.”