Epilogue
FRANK
Frank stood in the doorway between the kitchen and sitting room, mobbed on either side by hordes of people. And not just people . People clad in the ugliest sweaters he’d ever seen. Bevy had made him wear one, too. Itchy wool appliquéd with a snowman drinking hot chocolate. Wouldn’t hot chocolate melt a snowman? Essentially, she’d made him wear a macabre murder scene. Death by hot chocolate. Not that she’d listened when he pointed out that factoid. It’s all part of the fun, she’d said, while explaining the peculiar concept of an Ugly Christmas Sweater party.
She used the expression a lot, he’d come to realize. It’s all part of the fun. The other part of the equation usually involved some sort of personal sacrifice, like stuffing his house shoulder to shoulder with houseguests. But he shouldn’t complain. At least he liked most of them.
He glanced back into the kitchen. Bevy loaded a serving dish with the tiniest sandwiches known to man, and Eliza slid another tray of fragrant gingersnap cookies from the oven. Nate and Juliet sat at the small dining table, wishing her parents a merry Christmas through her laptop screen. FaceTime, they called it. Which he supposed made sense, since that’s about all you saw of the person on the flat screen.
This is the second time Juliet had made one of these video calls to her parents during the last few weeks. The previous time, she’d announced her revised book deal. Her current editor hadn’t wanted to take on the romance novel herself, but she’d passed it off to a colleague at the same publishing house, who’d loved it. Now Juliet had a two-book contract for A Soldier’s Christmas Promise and an unnamed sequel. Juliet’s father—who struck Frank as an oddly emotional fellow—had been thrilled by the news, claiming his daughter “spoke the language of romance in her soul,” whatever that mumbo jumbo meant. Juliet’s mother, however, was still warming up to the change in direction. Although, she did seem to like Nate, so Juliet said she’d take the win.
Frank knew these things because Juliet had plenty of time to fill him in over their morning coffee now that she’d moved in with them. Yep. That’s right. He lived with two chatty females. At least most of the time they talked to each other. Or Nate. He’d moved into a studio apartment above the antiques shop on Main Street, and ate most of his meals with them, which Bevy loved. She’d always wanted kids of her own, and now that she’d gotten her wish, they had two extra mouths to feed. He pretended to complain, but he couldn’t fool a smart cookie like his Bevy. She knew he secretly liked having them around.
He’d become the silent benefactor of Nate and Vick’s SP Project, grateful to put more of his bank account to good use. Or more importantly, to finally answer the quiet yearning in his heart to do more for service members in need. Service members like Dozer.
Nate’s friend had made a turn for the better, and although he’d need more time in recovery, he seemed eager to roast under Vick’s tutelage, once the doctors gave him the green light.
Frank couldn’t be more proud of Vick. Or Nate. Odd how he’d welcomed the boy into his home as a gift to Bevy, but in the end, Frank may have benefitted even more than his wife. Not that he’d admit that tidbit to anyone but himself. If he did, Bevy might invite the entire shelter into their home. And they didn’t have enough cots for that.
Glancing back into the sitting room, Frank glimpsed Bevy’s hospitable spirit firsthand. Based on the festive throng, she’d invited everyone in town, including one or two guests of the nonhuman variety. Most notably, Bill Tucker’s pet pig, Peggy Sue, who appeared to be enjoying her own plate of hors d’oeuvres.
“You don’t have to stand there all day. If you want a kiss, all you have to do is ask.” Bevy sidled up beside him, her teasing smile brightening her blue eyes.
Frank glanced overhead. A sprig of mistletoe hung from the doorjamb above them. Another holiday custom he didn’t understand. Why not tack poison ivy around the house, too? Well, at least he got a kiss out of the hairbrained tradition. Much more pleasant than an itchy sweater.
Careful not to spill her tray of tiny sandwiches, he bent and kissed his wife. In that brief moment, all the noise and chaos melted away.
When the kiss ended, she didn’t go back to the party like he’d expected. She set the tray on the credenza, just outside the doorway, then wrapped both arms around his waist. Bing Crosby’s classic “Jingle Bells” emanated from the record player.
Frank waited for his muscles to tense at the all-too-familiar tune, but they didn’t. Instead, he relaxed as Bevy snuggled in closer.
Cassie, who cradled her daughter, Edie, on the couch, started singing along to the song, then Luke joined her. Before long, the entire sitting room reverberated with the joyful sound of harmonized voices.
Bevy leaned her head against his shoulder. “This has been the best Christmas ever,” she whispered. “Thank you, darling.”
Too overcome with emotion to speak, he planted a kiss on his wife’s head, savoring the single most perfect moment in his life.
Maybe “Jingle Bells” wasn’t so bad after all.
If you enjoyed A Very Barrie Christmas, you’ll also enjoy Blessings on State Street.
Grieving widow Abigail Preston wants nothing to do with Christmas this year. When she discovers her late husband owned a waterfront home in the quaint, cozy community of Blessings Bay, she figures it’s the perfect holiday hideout. Except, there’s one problem: An unexpected—and distractingly handsome—houseguest.