Epilogue
COOPER
It was cold. Really cold. The dry cold that made your eyes burn. I loaded the last of the discarded Christmas trees into my truck bed. It was the last haul. We had spent the last couple of days collecting all the trees from around town.
Every year after the holidays, the fire department gathered up all the old trees that families had put out for disposal and hauled them to a clearing about five miles outside of town for our annual bonfire.
It was part environmental responsibility—keeping the dried trees from becoming fire hazards in people’s homes—and part tradition.
The guys looked forward to it all year. It was a chance to watch something massive burn in a controlled, safe environment while sharing beer and stories about the year that had passed.
After the typical fires that were started by fireworks on New Year’s and the Thanksgiving turkey fires and the general chaos of the season, it was a good way to unwind.
This year felt different, though. This year I was bringing Joy. Last year I was in the throes of being freshly dumped. The year before I had brought Lynn.
She had been a total bitch. We only stayed an hour before she complained enough to make me leave early. And the year before that, we didn’t go because she said she was sick.
She wasn’t. She just didn’t want to go. Lynn hated the “basic” celebrations.
She had some grand plans for her life. She wanted to schmooze with rich people.
She wanted to climb the social ladder and hang out with public officials and people that were going somewhere.
She always assumed I would go into politics, which was the only reason she accepted my job as a firefighter.
She always said it was great for my background. A real hero and all that.
I couldn’t believe I allowed myself to be controlled by her for so long. People tried to tell me, and I was so brainwashed I couldn’t see it. I’m glad my friends took pity on me and didn’t hold it against me.
I pulled to a stop in front of Victoria’s house. Before I could get out of the truck, Joy was coming out the door. There was a pep in her step. She was wearing her snow boots, a long black coat, and the scarf and matching hat I bought her for Christmas.
I hopped out and ran around to open the passenger door. “What do you have there?”
“Hot chocolate,” she replied. And then shook the bag. “And cookies. Aunt Victoria insisted on sending me with a couple dozen chocolate chip cookies for the party.”
I grinned. “Sounds good.”
I kissed her. “Ready to watch some pyrotechnics?” I asked, opening the passenger door for her.
“I can’t believe you guys do this every year,” she said, settling into the seat and buckling her seatbelt. “It seems very… male.”
“Says the woman who organized a festival involving live animals and a dozen potential electrical hazards,” I replied with a grin. “Besides, fire is one of humanity’s oldest forms of entertainment. We’re just carrying on tradition. We’re firefighters. It’s kind of our thing.”
She laughed. “I don’t think I’ve been to a bonfire since the one senior year, remember?”
I groaned and shook my head. “Don’t remind me. I can’t believe we were so reckless. We could have burned down the forest. Houses. Ourselves.”
She rolled her eyes. “Teenagers have been having bonfires since forever. It’s a rite of passage.”
The drive to the clearing took us through some of Utah’s most beautiful winter landscape—rolling hills covered in pristine snow, bare trees, and the orange rocks in the distance. It was the kind of scenery that reminded you why people chose to live in places where winter could be really harsh.
We’d fallen into an easy rhythm over the last couple of weeks, learning how to be together without the crisis and drama that had marked the early stages of our relationship.
She’d been staying at my place most nights.
I had started keeping coffee she actually liked in my kitchen.
Small adjustments that felt like the foundation of something lasting.
And that drawer had been put to good use. Actually, two drawers and a portion of my closet.
I didn’t mind. I loved it. I loved that she was becoming my other half.
“There,” I said, pointing ahead to the clearing. “Looks like Matt is getting things started.”
The bonfire site was a large open area that the fire department had used for training exercises and controlled burns for years. Far enough from any structures to be safe, but close enough to town that we could get there easily with our loads of dried Christmas trees.
Matt waved as we pulled up, gesturing toward a growing pile of trees that were piled high and ready to be added to the blaze.
“Cooper! Joy!” he called as we climbed out of my truck. “Perfect timing. We’re ready to get this thing burning hot.”
I started unloading trees while Joy made her way over to where Katrina and Sarah were setting up folding chairs in a safe perimeter around the planned fire zone.
There were maybe twenty people total. Firefighters and their partners along with a few friends who had become part of the tradition over the years.
“How big is this thing going to be?” Joy asked, eyeing the pile of trees.
“Big enough to be impressive, not so big that we lose control of it,” I replied, adding my trees to the collection. “We’re firefighters. We know what we’re doing.”
Tony appeared with a drip torch, the standard equipment for controlled burns. “Everyone ready? Cooper, you want to do the honors since you brought fresh blood to the party?”
I looked at Joy, who was watching the proceedings with obvious fascination. “Want to help light our first bonfire together?”
“Is that safe?” she asked, which made me love her even more.
“Come on. It’s tradition.”
She joined me at the edge of the pile. I showed her how to use the drip torch to create a line of ignition along the base of the trees. The dried needles caught immediately, flames racing upward with a satisfying whoosh that sent sparks dancing into the darkening sky.
Within minutes, we had a bonfire that any Viking would be proud of, twenty feet tall and throwing enough heat that we had to back our chairs up twice.
The flames painted everyone’s faces in warm orange light.
The crackling and popping of burning pine filled the air.
It was such a primal satisfaction, watching the flames.
There was just something about a bonfire that reached deep in your bones.
“Now this is what I call a proper fire,” Matt said.
We arranged ourselves in a loose circle around the blaze, passing around drinks and sharing the kind of easy conversation that came with watching something spectacular burn safely.
“So, Joy, what’s the verdict?” Tony asked. “Think you can handle dating a firefighter long term?”
Joy looked at me with a smile that made my chest warm despite the January cold. “I think I can manage. He comes with some useful skills.”
“Like what?” Elijah asked.
“Well, he can create ice sculptures out of thin air, he looks surprisingly good in a Santa suit, and he’s excellent at preventing people from getting trampled by goats.”
The group laughed. I felt that familiar surge of pride at how easily Joy had fit into my community. Her community once again. She belonged here with these people. Always had. I was so glad she was back.
“I want to make a toast,” I said suddenly, standing up and raising my thermos of coffee. “To second chances.”
The group raised their various beverages in response.
“To finding joy when you least expect it,” I continued, catching Joy’s eye and seeing her smile at my deliberate play on words. “To communities that take care of their own, and to the people brave enough to start over when life doesn’t go according to plan.”
“Hear, hear,” Matt said and raised his cup. Everyone drank to the toast.
As I settled back into my chair beside Joy, she leaned close to my ear.
“Speaking of second chances,” she said quietly, “I have some news.”
I turned to look at her. “Yeah?”
“The mayor offered me the job,” she said. “Tourism coordinator for the city. Full time, benefits, the works.”
My heart did something acrobatic in my chest. “And?”
“And I accepted.” Her smile was radiant in the firelight. “I’m officially sticking around. Hope you’re ready for that.”
I pulled her close, kissing her thoroughly despite the audience of firefighters around us.
We tested the strength of the camping chair.
It held. Someone whistled appreciatively, but I didn’t care.
Joy was staying. She was building a life here, with me, in the place that had become home for both of us.
“I love you,” I said against her lips.
“I love you too,” she replied. “Even if you do insist on setting things on fire for entertainment.”
We settled back in our chairs, Joy tucking herself against my side while the bonfire continued to rage in front of us. The flames had died down slightly from their initial intensity, but the heat was still strong enough to keep us warm in the chilly evening air.
“You know, there’s something poetic about this,” Joy said. “Burning up the old year to make space for the new one.”
“Very philosophical,” I agreed. “Though mostly we just like big fires.”
“That too. But I’m thinking we could create this as part of a New Year’s celebration for next year.”
I groaned. “You’re killing me. Do you know how risky that would be?”
“Yes, but I know you’ll make it safe.”
I sighed. “For you, yes.”
She was quiet for a moment. “Cooper?”
“Yeah?”
“Thank you. For the second chance, for believing in us when I was too scared to believe in it myself. For showing me that home isn’t a place you settle for—it’s a place you choose.”
I tightened my arms around her, watching the sparks rise into the star-filled sky. I thought about all the ways my life had changed since Joy had come back to town.
“Thank you for coming back,” I said. “For giving us another chance to get it right.”
The fire crackled and popped, sending up showers of sparks that disappeared into the darkness above us. Around our circle, conversations continued in the easy rhythm of people who’d known each other for years.
Joy belonged. I couldn’t believe I ever thought Lynn was the woman I would spend the rest of my life with. She was so wrong for me. Joy was always who I was supposed to be with.
This was what happiness looked like, I realized. Not the dramatic highs and lows I had with Lynn. The quiet contentment of being exactly where you belonged with exactly the right person.
I held Joy close and let myself believe in the future we were going to build together. It was going to be a very good year.