Epilogue
KENT
One Year Later
It was the day we had all been working toward for nearly a year. I couldn’t believe it was finally happening. We were about to see if our hard work was going to pay off. Nah, fuck that. I knew it was going to pay off. There was no way we could fail. I refused to fail.
I looked around and found myself smiling. I could barely recognize the place that had captured my heart almost a year ago.
The lodge wasn’t what it had been last Christmas. The building itself remained the same charming structure that had welcomed me during the worst and best period of my life, but the improvements we’d made were nothing short of transformative.
The pool and hot tub were back up and running, their surfaces steaming invitingly in the crisp November air. The old winter maze had been completely restored and expanded, now illuminated by thousands of Christmas lights woven through evergreen hedges.
Visitors could wander the winding paths and discover hidden treasures at certain locations.
It was Sylvie’s idea. She had collaborated with local businesses to get gift cards donated.
We also had vouchers for lodge activities, and small handcrafted ornaments made by artisans in town stashed throughout the maze.
Santa’s cabin had been demolished and rebuilt three times larger, now serving as the centerpiece of what we’d dubbed “Christmas Village.”
That was another one of Sylvie’s ideas. She had woken me up in the middle of the night, dancing around and holding up a notebook that she had sketched her vision on.
And then I got the pleasure of helping her make it happen. I loved watching her create. I loved helping make her dreams come true.
Santa’s workshop stood nearby, where children could build simple wooden toys under the guidance of local craftspeople.
The gingerbread house attracted steady streams of families eager to decorate cookies and learn basic baking techniques.
And the gift-wrapping hut had become surprisingly popular, staffed by professional wrappers who taught courses on everything from basic box wrapping to elaborate bow-making.
When Sylvie first proposed the gift-wrapping booth, everyone had poo-pooed the idea.
But then we did a little research and figured it was a cheap way to make money.
With the crafts being sold at the market, which was still in the process of becoming a thing, people would be inclined to have those gifts wrapped.
We were projecting the market would be a bigger deal in the years to come.
But the real transformation had been in our programming.
We now hosted events year-round. We had everything from quilting retreats, writing workshops, wellness weekends, to photography tours.
The natural beauty of the mountain location had attracted guests seeking everything from creative inspiration to spiritual renewal.
We’d maintained seventy percent occupancy since March.
Summer had been absolutely insane, and this winter we were completely booked through New Year’s.
It was everything we had hoped to accomplish and then some. We had tried to temper our expectations, but it was hard not to dream big.
I was heading down to help Ozzo open the tree farm gates. I spotted him struggling with the heavy metal barrier. There was a line of eager customers already forming in their cars behind him.
“Need a hand with that?” I called out, jogging over to grab the other side of the gate.
“About time you showed up,” Ozzo grumbled, but he was grinning. “These people have been waiting for an hour. You’d think we were giving away free money instead of selling trees.”
We swung the gates wide and waved the first cars through, directing them toward the parking area near the payment booth. As we walked back up the hill, Ozzo promptly face-planted in a patch of snow, windmilling his arms dramatically as he went down.
I couldn’t help but laugh as I helped him up, brushing snow off his coat. “Grace and dignity, my friend. Grace and dignity.”
“Bite me, city boy,” he replied cheerfully.
We waved at Wesley as we passed the main lodge.
He was already in full Santa regalia, preparing for another day of delighting children and adults alike.
Emmy was halfway around the world in Australia, living her best life and sending us pictures of beaches that made our snow-covered landscape look like an alien planet.
But Wesley had stepped back into his Santa role with the enthusiasm of someone who’d truly missed it.
I had gotten to know him a lot better the last few months. He was a good guy. I loved getting to know all the different characters that called Northwood home.
We walked toward the new and improved payment booth. It was better insulated and heated this year for the comfort of whoever was manning the register. And that just happened to be Scrooge.
Phineas looked up from his crossword puzzle and pointed an arthritic finger in our direction.
“Stay out of trouble, you two!” he called out with mock severity.
“When have we ever caused trouble?” I asked innocently.
He guffawed and rolled his eyes.
The old man had become a part of Northwood Lodge. It was like the Northwood family adopted him like they brought me in. Since he had basically become an honorary member of the family, he’d been a lot happier. Yes, he could still be a grump, but not nearly as bad as he used to be.
“Kent!” Sylvie’s voice carried across the snow.
I turned to see her hurrying toward us, though “hurrying” was relative when you were six months pregnant.
My heart swelled with joy when I saw her. She was bundled up in a winter coat that barely closed over her growing belly. Her cheeks were pink from the cold, and she was absolutely radiant. Beautiful.
Mine.
“You’d better be taking it easy,” I said as she reached us, automatically putting my arm around her waist to steady her on the uneven ground.
“Never,” she replied with that stubborn grin I’d fallen in love with. “We’re supposed to be going over blueprints with Dad up at the new plot. Hurry, before we’re late!”
I winked at Ozzo, who rolled his eyes and shooed us away with exaggerated impatience. “Go build your love nest. Some of us have actual work to do.”
“How’s our girl?” I asked, taking her hand in mine.
“She’s getting in her aerobics today,” she said.
“Remind me to add a fence to our blueprints. I have a feeling this one is going to be a runner.”
Sylvie and I made our way toward the cleared area of land on a previously untouched acre where we were building our family home. She moved with the careful gait of someone carrying precious cargo, one hand resting protectively on her belly where our daughter was growing stronger every day.
The house was coming along beautifully. The frame was complete, and most of the exterior walls had been raised.
We had designed it to complement the lodge’s rustic charm while incorporating modern conveniences that would make family life easier.
Large windows faced the mountains and there was a wraparound porch perfect for morning coffee.
Every room had been planned with an eye toward the kind of life we wanted to build together.
“Dad should be here any minute,” Sylvie said as we approached the construction site. “He wants to go over the kitchen layout one more time before the contractors start on the—”
She stopped mid-sentence as we stepped through what would eventually be our front door.
The entire house frame was lit up with Christmas lights.
Every beam, every support post, every window opening glowed with warm, multicolored illumination.
The subfloor had been covered with beautiful rugs that defined each room’s purpose, and someone had arranged furniture throughout the space to show what it might look like when we moved in.
“Kent,” Sylvie whispered. “What is this?”
Instead of answering, I led her through our future home, past the living room with its carefully staged furniture, through the kitchen where bar stools sat at what would be our island, and down the hall toward the back of the house.
“This is our home,” I said. “Our future.”
“When did you do all this?” she asked.
“Trust me, it wasn’t easy with you following up on the contractors all the time.”
She laughed softly. “I’m anxious to move in. But now look at this. I want to wave a magic wand and have it done. I want to live in our house.”
“Soon,” I told her. “Come with me.”
I led her down the hallway, my heart pounding with anticipation. I’d been planning this moment for weeks, working with her family to get everything just right while keeping it all a secret from Sylvie. That had been no easy feat, given how involved she was with every aspect of the construction.
When we reached the doorway to what would be our daughter’s nursery, I paused, my hand on Sylvie’s back.
“Close your eyes,” I said softly.
She looked at me with suspicion but complied, her hands instinctively moving to cradle her belly. I guided her carefully through the doorway, positioning her in the center of the room.
“Okay,” I said. “Open them.”
The nursery was bathed in soft white light.
I’d strung more lights around every surface, the window frames, the ceiling beams, outlining where the walls would eventually be.
In the center of the room sat a beautiful white crib, already assembled, with delicate lights woven through the slats.
Beside it was a rocking chair positioned perfectly to catch the mountain view through the window opening.
Sylvie’s hands flew to her mouth, her eyes immediately filling with tears. “Kent, this is wild,” she whispered.
I moved behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and resting my hands over hers on her belly.
“I wanted you to be able to see it,” I said quietly.
“To really picture what our life is going to look like here. Our daughter sleeping in that crib while we rock her to sleep in that chair. Early morning feedings while watching the sun rise over the mountains. All of it.”
She turned in my arms, and I could see tears streaming down her cheeks. “This is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever done for me.”
I wiped at her tears with my thumbs, cradling her face in my hands. “You gave me everything, Sylvie. A home, a family, a purpose. This is just the beginning of me spending the rest of my life trying to show you how grateful I am.”
She kissed me. When she pulled back, she was smiling through her tears.
“I love you so much,” she said. “I can’t believe this is our life. That in a few months, we’re going to have a baby sleeping in that crib.”
“I can’t wait,” I said honestly. “I can’t wait to meet her, to watch you be an amazing mother, to figure out this whole parenting thing together.”
Sylvie laughed and rested her head against my chest. “We’re going to be terrible at it at first.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “But we’ll figure it out. That’s what we do. We figure things out together.”
I stepped back and dropped to one knee. Her eyes widened. Practically bulging. Her hands went to her mouth as she stared down at me.
“Sylvie Northwood,” I said, pulling the ring box from my pocket. “A year ago, I came to Northwood thinking I knew exactly what I wanted from life. I was wrong about everything except one thing—you.”
Tears streamed down her cheeks as I opened the box to reveal the ring I’d chosen. It was vintage, like the Christmas lights that had brought us together, with a center diamond surrounded by smaller stones that caught the light from every angle.
“You’ve given me a home, a family, a purpose I never knew I was looking for.
You’ve made me believe in Christmas magic and second chances and the kind of love that changes everything.
” My voice was getting rougher with emotion, but I pushed through.
“I want to spend the rest of my life building this dream with you. I want to grow old in this house, raise our daughter and maybe a few more kids. I want to create the kind of family that welcomes everyone with open arms.”
I paused, looking into her eyes and seeing my entire future reflected there.
“Will you marry me?”
“Yes,” she said immediately. “Yes, of course, yes!”
I slipped the ring onto her finger with hands that were shaking now, and then she was in my arms, kissing me with the kind of joy that made everything else fade away.
When we finally broke apart, both laughing and crying at the same time, I rested my forehead against hers and marveled at how different my life had become.