Epilogue Eliza
One Year Later
The scent of wood smoke and peppermint fill my farmhouse as I pad through rooms that look absolutely different from a year ago, but feel ten times more comfortable.
Where once I had mismatched everything and tools scattered haphazardly, Reed’s organizational systems now complement my chaotic energy in ways that somehow make perfect sense.
His dark jeans hang next to my overalls in the mudroom.
His polished dress shoes—though, he rarely needs them anymore—sit beside my work boots on a proper shoe rack by the door.
In the kitchen, his French press shares counter space with my ancient coffee maker, because apparently, we both need caffeine in different formats to function.
The real magic happened outside, though.
Reed converted the old shed into his hydroponic headquarters, complete with climate control that makes my animals jealous during Pittsburgh’s bitter winters.
The smaller outbuilding became his specialty operation—hydroponic mistletoe that’s already pre-sold with a wait list. Turns out, rich people will pay ridiculous money for locally grown toxic parasites with a romantic backstory.
“You’re supposed to be getting dressed,” Reed murmurs against my neck, his arms sliding around my waist as I stand daydreaming at the kitchen window in my striped pajamas, watching snow dust the goat pen.
“So are you,” I point out, leaning against his chest. He’s wearing matching pajamas—red and white candy cane stripes that Eva insisted we needed for hosting duties. “But you’re the one who started this by making those peppermint mochas that smell wintery and magical.”
A laugh rumbles through his chest. “I distinctly remember you being the one who suggested we ‘warm up’ by the fire before people arrived.” After our very acrobatic session in the living room, where we narrowly avoided burning his butt cheeks on the stove, I’m a bit sore and a lot relaxed.
I turn in his arms, studying his face in the golden light.
A year of living together has softened some of his sharper edges.
He’s more likely to laugh now, less likely to overthink every decision into paralysis.
The daily physical work of farm life has broadened his shoulders and roughened his hands in ways that make my stomach flutter.
And we help each other with paperwork, so neither of us gets as stressed about it.
Personally, I think the hottest change was when we worked together to set up boundaries with our shitty parents.
Once Emma realized nobody in our family was buying into her predatory pyramid scheme, she split town.
We have a Storm pact not to let her cross our thresholds unless she calls ahead and we all feel ready to see her.
Reed, meanwhile, has been cut off financially, and that’s seemed more like a favor than a punishment.
He sees his mom when he feels up to it, on his terms, and hasn’t pulled out his formal attire since the Yule gala last year.
“No regrets about this?” I ask, gesturing around our kitchen, where his calibrated measuring cups coexist with my “pinch of this, splash of that” cooking style.
“About living with a woman whose donkey broke my ankle and whose goats ate my life’s work?” Reed grins and pulls me closer. “Not a single one.”
“Even when therapy is kicking both our asses?”
“Especially then.” His expression grows more serious. “Marsha says the exhaustion means it’s working.”
He’s right. The joint sessions with our therapist have been brutal some weeks—pulling apart old patterns, learning to fight fair, figuring out how to be a team instead of two people trying to manage everything alone.
But Reed beside me in those uncomfortable chairs makes even the worst sessions bearable.
“Speaking of hard work paying off,” I say, tracing the edge of his pajama collar, “Harrison called yesterday. He wants to book you for three more condo complexes.”
Reed’s face lights up. “Seriously?”
“Seriously. Apparently, photos of your trees in those tech worker apartments went viral on LinkedIn, and now everyone wants Urban Forest Solutions to stage their corporate housing.” I grin at his shocked expression.
“Plus, Eva’s booked solid through spring doing the styling work.
My baby sister is making more money than any of us. ”
“Speaking of Eva,” Reed says, glancing toward the front window where headlights are starting to appear in our driveway, “she seemed weird when she stopped by yesterday. Distracted.”
“She got some official-looking mail she’s pretending doesn’t exist. Certified delivery and everything.” I shrug. “She says she doesn’t want to deal with new business until after the holidays, but you know Eva. She’s probably just nervous about meeting your engineering friends.”
Reed snorts. “Paolo, Vick, and Kash should be the ones who are nervous. Eva’s going to destroy them in the gingerbread competition.”
Car doors slam outside, followed by the unmistakable sound of my sisters arguing about something.
Through the window, I can see them all climbing out of Esther’s car, every single one of them wearing matching striped pajamas.
Even Koa has somehow been convinced to participate, his massive frame covered in candy cane stripes and topped with an elf hat that makes him look like a very large, very serious ornament.
“Man,” Reed breathes, watching the Storm parade approach our front door. “Your family is something else.”
“Our family,” I correct, because my sisters have adopted Reed completely. “And they’re about to invade our cozy morning.”
Before I can finish the thought, the front door bursts open without anyone bothering to knock—the way I prefer them to enter our home.
Ben appears first, carrying enough gingerbread supplies to construct a small village, followed by Eden and Nate hauling coolers that undoubtedly contain Eila’s latest beer experiments.
“We brought reinforcements!” Paolo’s voice carries from behind them as Reed’s friends file in, all of them also wearing matching pajamas. Vick has on red stripes, Kash chose green, and Paolo went with blue. They look like a very nerdy boy band. Or an international Where’s Waldo conference.
“Oh good,” Eva says, eyeing Reed’s friends with the calculating expression she gets when she’s planning online content. “The engineers are here. I was hoping for a real challenge this year.”
“Challenge accepted,” Vick says solemnly, which makes Eila snort with laughter.
“Should we be concerned that Eva looks terrifying?” Reed murmurs in my ear as our house fills with the familiar chaos of Storm family gatherings.
“Probably. A few years ago, she built a gingerbread replica of Three Rivers Stadium. Complete with working lights.”
“Dang.” He rubs his scruff against my cheek, reminding me how it felt against my thighs an hour earlier.
Before I lose my composure entirely, Esther appears at my elbow with a coffee mug shaped like a tiny Christmas tree—one of Reed’s prototypes that she commandeered months ago. “You two need a timeout or a cold shower,” she teases. “I can feel the burning hot Yule energy between you.”
“We’re hosting,” I protest. “We should be comfortable.”
“You’re distracting the men,” she says, nodding toward where Reed’s friends are trying very hard not to stare at Reed’s hand on my candy cane-striped ass. “Nate hasn’t blinked in five minutes.”
Before I can argue, a tremendous bray erupts from outside, followed by the distinctive sound of Chiron’s hooves against the kitchen window. Through the glass, his enormous gray head appears, ears pinned in what might be annoyance or excitement—it’s hard to tell with donkeys.
“Should we invite him in?” I ask Reed, only half-joking. “He’s clearly feeling left out.”
“Absolutely not. Your donkey has strong opinions about my friends, and I don’t need him expressing them in our living room.”
Chiron brays again, louder this time, and I watch Reed’s expression shift from amused to resigned. A year of living with my animals has taught him that resistance is usually futile.
“Oh, hush,” he says to his four-legged friend, pressing a kiss to my cheek that tastes like peppermint and promises. “I’m going outside to put him back.”
I laugh and cup his face. “I love you,” I tell him, because it still feels miraculous to say it without panic.
“I love you, too,” he says, then grins with the competitive gleam I recognize from his hydroponic research days. “I’ll be back in time to kick some Storm butt with my gingerbread igloo.”
Outside, Chiron brays his approval, and inside, our house fills with laughter and the promise of another perfectly chaotic storm.