Epilogue
Marc
Three months later
The first real snow of winter falls. It covers the roofs of Eight Pines, softens the branches, and turns the mountains beyond the frozen lake into shades of white and blue.
Five cabins are occupied for the weekend.
Two hold couples who arrived with enough wine to survive until spring, and one belongs to a family whose children have asked Kelsey if she has a sleigh with horses. I sort of wish she did.
My first months in the regional position have taken me to Grand Junction, Durango, and a mountain lodge outside Telluride where someone installed heated bathroom floors without consulting an electrician.
I am away for two or three nights at a time.
Then I return to Cady Springs, where my mail goes to Cabin Seven and almost everything else I own has migrated into Cabin Eight.
Kelsey continues charging me full rent even though I sleep in Cabin Eight more often than Seven.
Cabin Seven serves as my office, mailing address, and occasional refuge when early calls would wake her.
She calls it sound business. I call it evidence that falling in love with a woman does not improve my negotiating position.
The shower in Cabin Eight is still too small for me.
Plans for the new one are spread across Kelsey’s kitchen table.
She approved the wider footprint, rejected my first tile choice, and made me obtain a second estimate even though I will do most of the electrical work myself.
The renovation begins after the holiday rush.
I have never looked forward to tearing out a bathroom more.
Kelsey comes out of Cabin Four carrying a basket of towels, her red coat bright against the snow. I meet her on the path and take the basket.
“I can carry that,” she says.
“I know, Little Red Riding Hood.”
“You have been home for three hours and are already interfering with management.”
“Would the owner like her employee to return the towels?”
“You are not an employee.”
“Unpaid consultant?”
“Occasional volunteer with boundary issues.”
I kiss the end of her cold nose. “May the occasional volunteer borrow you for ten minutes?”
“I have guests arriving at four.”
“It is three ten.”
“You timed this?”
“I am an excellent project manager.”
Kelsey studies me, but she allows me to set the basket inside the laundry room and lead her toward the lake.
Snow squeaks beneath our boots. The pines hold the kind of silence I had never found in an empty apartment or hotel room.
This silence is alive with water beneath ice, smoke rising from cabin chimneys, and Kelsey’s hand warm inside mine.
The maintenance dock is closed for winter, but the section where we fell into the lake remains visible beneath a thin layer of snow. I stop beside the cedar screen.
“If this is an inspection, I should warn you that no one has been foolish enough to walk onto the dock,” Kelsey says.
“Not an inspection.”
“Then why are we standing where you tried to drown me?”
“I saved you.”
“You knocked me in first.”
“Details.”
Her laugh moves across the frozen shoreline. I have heard it hundreds of times now, but it still affects me in the best way. I reach inside my coat.
Kelsey’s smile disappears when she sees the small box in my hand. “Marc.”
“Before you remind me that three months is too soon, I know exactly how long it has been.”
“Three months and six days.”
“Kelsey, you are always on top of it.”
“I manage reservations. Dates matter.”
“Then remember this one.”
I lower myself onto one knee in the snow. Kelsey’s gloved hand flies to her mouth, and her eyes fill before I open the box.
“I came here expecting to finish a project and leave,” I tell her.
“Instead, I fell off your dock, into your lake, and completely in love with you. You gave me a place to return to, but more than that, you gave me a life I want to keep choosing. I will never ask you to give up Eight Pines. I only want to stand beside you through every season it brings.”
I open the box. The ring is simple, set with a diamond that catches the winter light.
“Kelsey Matlock, will you marry me?”
For one terrible second, she only stares. Then she drops to her knees in the snow with me.
“Yes.”
The word breaks into a laugh. She pulls off one glove, and I slide the ring onto her finger before she throws both arms around my neck.
“You were supposed to let me stand up,” I say into her hair.
“I didn’t want you waiting down here. The snow is cold.”
The words take me back to her porch and the first kiss we almost shared while the lights flickered inside her cabin. I hold her face and kiss her now with snow landing in her hair and a ring on her hand.
Behind us, the porch lights at Eight Pines begin glowing against the early winter dusk. Every cabin is safe, warm, and filled with people who came to the lake looking for somewhere that feels like home. I found mine right next door.
Thank you for reading Oops I Fell For The Electrician Next Door.
I hope you enjoyed it!