Epilogue
By six-thirty on New Year’s Eve, snow had covered the path outside our kitchen windows and softened the dark pines beyond it into white-edged shadows.
Inside, the woodstove warmed the pine floors beneath my socked feet, and the house smelled faintly of rosemary from the potatoes I’d prepped for dinner.
My cream sweater was pushed to my elbows, my gold hoops were still in from a video call that had ended an hour ago, and my laptop sat open at the kitchen table beside a glass of water and the production schedule I’d promised myself I would look at exactly once more.
The revised January location plan was good. More importantly, the problem I’d been about to fix had already been handled by the producer responsible for it.
I read the update, added my approval, and closed the file.
A new message appeared before I could shut the laptop. I read it twice out of habit. Nothing in it needed me tonight.
So I shut the laptop anyway.
The quiet afterward wasn’t really quiet.
The stove gave a soft pop behind me. Wind brushed snow against the windows.
On the couch, the cream-and-charcoal pillows Lucky and I had picked out in Hope Peak were slightly crooked, and one of my books had disappeared beneath the wool throw again.
My camel coat hung in the mudroom beside his spare work jacket, with my snow boots tucked beneath them instead of packed into the back of my Audi.
The mudroom door opened.
Cold air swept through the kitchen before Lucky stepped inside, broad shoulders dusted with snow, knit cap pulled low over his brown hair and his cheeks reddened from the mountain air.
Bear padded in behind him and headed for the rug.
Lucky looked across the room at me.
That was all it took.
I was already smiling when I went to meet him.
“You’re cold,” I said, sliding my arms around his waist.
“Occupational hazard.”
His jacket was chilled beneath my hands, but when he bent to kiss me, the cold stopped mattering. His beard brushed my cheek, his lips were warm, and he smelled like pine, clean winter air, and the faint woodsmoke that seemed to settle into every coat on Fire Mountain by December.
I kissed him again before he could straighten.
Lucky smiled against my mouth. “That kind of welcome could make a man drag out his rounds.”
“Don’t you dare. I’ve been home waiting for you.”
Lucky’s arms tightened around me for another second before he looked past my shoulder toward the kitchen. “Something smells good.”
“I did the potatoes,” I said. “They’ve been in the oven for twenty minutes, and so far they look exactly like potatoes are supposed to look.”
His mouth twitched. “I’m impressed. You’ve come a long way since you called to ask whether a simmer was supposed to look nervous.”
“It did look nervous, and the soup recovered.”
Lucky laughed, low and warm, then kissed my forehead before finally stepping away to strip off his jacket and cap. He hung both in the mudroom, kicked the snow from his boots onto the mat, and rubbed Bear’s head as the dog passed him on his way to collapse near the woodstove.
“How were the upper rentals?” I asked.
“Full and quiet. One guest needed help with a frozen lock on a storage box. Somebody else put a cardboard pizza box too close to a fireplace, so I moved it before it became a problem.”
I winced. “At least nobody lost their pizza.”
“No. Dinner survived.”
He crossed back to me with that patient smile I’d fallen in love with long before I had any idea what I was going to do about it.
“What about you?” he asked. “How’d the call go?”
“Good. We moved one location day, cut a setup that wasn’t earning its cost, and solved a timing problem that would’ve wrecked Thursday.”
Lucky nodded once and reached for my waist, drawing me close enough that my sweater brushed the front of his thermal shirt.
“Then I got home at the right time.”
“You did.”
His fingers settled against my back. “You hungry?”
“Yes. The potatoes are almost done, the green beans are washed, and I left the rest to you.”
“That works for me.”
Lucky smiled and kissed me once, slow enough that I forgot the potatoes for several dangerous seconds.
Then the oven timer sounded.
I pulled back laughing. “Perfect timing.”
He laughed as I slipped away.
While Lucky showered and changed out of his work clothes, I pulled the potatoes from the oven and set them on the stove.
I knew which cabinet held the serving dishes without opening three wrong doors first. My charger was plugged into the outlet beside the bookshelf.
Two production notebooks shared a lower shelf with Lucky’s repair manuals and cookbooks.
On the wall above the small console table, a framed photograph of the two of us sat among the Ramsey family pictures that had been there long before I arrived.
The heavy beams, solid furniture, and big old table with marks that no amount of polish would erase were unchanged.
A soft lamp glowed beside the couch where there hadn’t been one before.
The windows held simple winter greenery and tiny white lights.
My favorite throw was folded over one arm of Lucky’s chair, and a shallow ceramic bowl we’d chosen together sat in the middle of the table holding pinecones and evergreen clipped from outside.
Lucky came back in a dark T-shirt and gray sweats, his hair still damp from the shower. He crossed straight to the stove, lifted the lid from the pan he’d prepared earlier, checked the chicken, and leaned down to smell the herbs and garlic.
“Five more minutes,” he said.
“I was close.” I carried the green beans to the counter beside him. “Tell me when you need something.”
Lucky looked over his shoulder, smiling. “I will.”
For a while, dinner happened around us without needing much conversation.
I handed him what he asked for. He finished the chicken and sauce.
I set the table and poured water. Outside, the snow thickened over the dark yard, catching the small lights along the porch rail.
A few flakes struck the glass and melted almost immediately.
Lucky reached past me for a serving spoon and brushed a kiss against my temple on the way.
“You’re in my path,” he murmured.
“You have an entire kitchen.”
“I like this part of it.”
I turned in his arms. “That sounds suspiciously like an excuse.”
“It is.”
His kiss started gentle and changed when I slid my palms under the hem of his shirt. Lucky made a quiet sound against my mouth and pulled me closer, his body warm and solid against mine.
The sauce began to bubble behind him.
I laughed and pressed my forehead to his chest. “Your dinner is trying to save itself.”
“It has good instincts.”
He turned the burner down without letting go of me.
We ate at the table instead of the counter. Lucky poured us each a glass of wine, and I took seconds on the potatoes without waiting for him to offer.
By the time we finished, the windows had gone completely black except for the reflections of the room behind us. Snow gathered along the lower panes. Bear slept near the stove, one enormous paw stretched across the edge of the rug.
Lucky cleared the plates while I carried the glasses to the sink.
“You’re leaving Wednesday morning?” he asked.
“For the location shoot. I should be back Friday afternoon unless the weather changes.” I leaned against the counter. “I protected Saturday, too. I didn’t schedule anything that requires me to be somewhere else.”
Lucky glanced at me while he rinsed a plate. “Good. I’m off.”
“I know. We have two days together before I leave, three nights after I come back, and I’m working remotely Monday.”
His shoulder bumped mine as he handed me a plate. “Sounds good to me.”
I dried the plate and set it in the cabinet.
Later, we moved to the couch with the rest of the wine.
Lucky stretched out beside me, one arm along the back cushion while I tucked my feet beneath his thigh.
Music played softly from the speaker near the bookshelf.
The white lights reflected in the windows, doubling themselves against the snow outside.
I rested my head against his shoulder.
Lucky rubbed his thumb slowly along my arm. “You tired?”
“No. Comfortable.”
“I’ll take comfortable.”
I tipped my face toward him. “You should. I’m very selective.”
His smile came before the kiss.
This one took its time.
I slid closer until half my body was across his, my fingers moving into his damp hair while his palm settled low at my back. His mouth moved over mine with easy familiarity, no hesitation between wanting and touching anymore.
When I shifted against him, Lucky’s breath changed.
His lips moved to the corner of my jaw.
“We have hours until midnight,” he said.
“I’m aware.”
“You said you wanted to make it to the countdown.”
“I also said I was comfortable. Circumstances evolve.”
Lucky laughed against my skin.
I kissed him until the wine glasses sat forgotten on the table and the music moved through three songs without either of us noticing.
We eventually made it upstairs.
We eventually came back down.
My hair was no longer as neat as it had been for the video call, Lucky’s T-shirt had disappeared somewhere along the way, and I’d traded my jeans for soft charcoal pants and one of his old shirts.
By then it was after eleven, the woodstove had burned lower, and the house had settled into the deep quiet of a winter night.
Lucky added one log to the stove while I brought out the bottle we’d saved for midnight.
He took it from me before I could start working on the wire cage.
“I know how to open it,” I said.
“I know.”
“Then why are you taking it?”
“Because you don’t like things under pressure that might fly into your face.”
I considered the bottle.
“Fair.”
He grinned and opened it away from both of us with a soft pop.
At eleven-fifty, we carried our glasses to the couch. Lucky sat close enough that our legs touched from hip to knee. I tucked the wool throw across both of us, and he pulled me against his side while the low New Year’s broadcast played on the television.
The final minutes slipped by with snow falling outside and Lucky’s fingers moving slowly over my shoulder.
At eleven fifty-nine, he set his glass on the table and turned toward me.
“You know,” I said, “we’re supposed to have champagne ready before the countdown starts.”
“We have time.”
“You’re very confident for a man who’s ignoring a televised clock.”
“I’m looking at something better.”
I smiled. “That was smooth.”
“It was true.”
He kissed me once, soft and lingering, then reached for both glasses as the countdown began.
Ten.
Outside, fresh snow covered the porch steps and every track that had crossed the yard earlier.
Nine.
Lucky handed me my glass.
Eight.
I moved closer until my knee pressed between his.
Seven.
His green eyes held mine.
Six.
I could feel his warmth through the thin cotton of the shirt I’d stolen from him.
Five.
Lucky lifted his glass.
Four.
“To the New Year,” he said.
Three.
His glass touched mine.
“And to our future.”
Two.
“I love you, Lucky.”
His smile was warm and immediate. “I love you too, Caprice.”
One.
The clock struck midnight, and I kissed him back, not needing to know exactly what came next—only that I wanted all of it with him.
***