Epilogue #2
Holly’s parents are, as expected, wonderful and kind.
George and Caroline seem to take instantly not only to me, but to the rest of the Ratcliffe clan, as well.
By the time we finish breakfast two hours later, I have a sneaking suspicion my siblings have two new surrogate parents they can count on for life.
And that I’m on my way to being part of a truly extraordinary family.
I’ve also learned that chipmunks have excellent taste in pancakes.
The Fall Fest short stack with pecans, raisins, slivered carrots, and enough pumpkin spice to make every bite shimmy on your tongue is by far the best I’ve ever had.
We celebrate Christmas Eve with a buffet of cold cuts, cheese, and fruit, deciding we’re all still far too full of breakfast to warm up the ham and sides Cook left for us in the fridge.
Cheeks feasts on sunflower seeds and strawberries before insisting on being tucked into his new bed in an empty guest room to recover from the excitement of the past twenty-four hours.
Once he’s settled, we crack open a few of Grandfather’s best bottles of Bordeaux and play charades by the tree.
Turns out, I’m nearly as terrible at acting as I am at singing.
My team loses—repeatedly, spectacularly—and Holly and Bran laugh so hard at my pathetic attempts to communicate, they give each other the hiccups.
The old Luke would have refused to continue engaging in such pointless tomfoolery.
The new Luke just pulls his sexy girlfriend into his lap as she wipes tears of laughter from her eyes.
Once the three of us have lost our fifth and final round to Elliot and Ashton, we bundle into coats and scarves and make our way up to the widow’s walk, just like when we were kids.
The night is clear and bitterly cold, the sky a deep, inky black scattered with stars.
Fresh snow covers the trees and every inch of the estate, wrapping the world in a peaceful hush.
Holly tucks herself against my side, and I wrap my arm around her, bending to press a grateful kiss to her cheek.
“I forget how beautiful it is up here,” Ashton breathes, tilting her head back to gaze up at the endless sky.
For a moment, as her lips part in wonder, I suddenly see her as a little girl. That toddler with pink cheeks who clung to my hand as we watched these same stars spin when we were young.
Before my father ripped me away. Before I was forced to numb the part of myself that so desperately wanted to be right here, with the people I loved, pretending to believe in magic so hard that the pretend became a magic of its own.
And just like that, I know what comes next…
“It is beautiful,” I agree. “It reminds me of a night back in business school, when I was cramming for finals with Santa.” I feel my siblings’ gazes snap my way, but I keep my focus on the stars as I add, “We had a statistics test the next day and somehow got to talking about the probability of spotting a man in a sleigh and eight tiny reindeer streaking through the sky. He told me the chances were slim, but not statistically impossible. Not even close.”
There’s a beat of warm silence, then Elliott adds, “I think he told me something similar when we were chatting about the chances of finding true love online.”
“What did he say?” Ashton asks, clearly delighted. “Do we have a shot?”
Elliot nods. “A decent shot, yeah. But only if we’re honest about what we want, who we are, and what dreams we most desperately want to come true.”
Ashton nods. “That tracks.”
“Well, Santa told me he’s thrilled that I’m adding a Vermont lodge to my portfolio,” Bran chimes in. “He’s a big fan of any excuse to spend more time in Silver Bell Falls.”
Holly’s arm tightens around my waist, her voice warm with affection as she adds, “That Santa is a smart guy.”
“Couldn’t agree more,” I murmur.
We stay up on the roof for nearly an hour, talking about Bran’s plans for the resort renovation and Elliot’s intentions to work remotely from the mansion more in the coming year, and my timeline for moving to Silver Bell Falls full-time.
And then we all make a solemn vow to be right here again next Christmas Eve.
Together. No matter what.
Grandfather would be proud, I think, as we finally head down the steps.
He would be so, so proud.
Christmas Day is spent juggling time between Willow’s cozy home—where Cheeks takes control of her tablet, insisting on choosing the music as we string popcorn to hang on her tree—and the warm, chaotic embrace of Holly’s family gathering.
Her aunts and uncles and cousins welcome me without hesitation, folding me into their traditions like I’ve always had a place at the table.
And I am grateful.
On New Year’s Eve, we disco ‘til dawn with the old folks at the senior center with Holly’s friend, Candy, and her lumberjack boyfriend.
I allow Candy to glue a giant fake moustache on my upper lip and call me “Mr. Porn Stache” for the duration of the evening, and she agrees to forgive me for being a jerk the first time we met.
And I am grateful.
By Valentine’s Day, Holly and I have closed on a charming farmhouse just down the road from her parents—close enough for easy visits, far enough that there’s no chance of them hearing the noises coming from our bedroom, come summer when we’ll need to leave the windows open.
The house is too old for air-conditioning, a thing Cheeks insists is for the best. Air conditioning gives him headaches.
He gives me a headache sometimes—once he has your ear, he’s a chatty thing—but he’s already become something more than a pet.
He’s family.
And I am grateful.
By summer, Holly and I have finally finished the kitchen renovation and celebrate with a trip to the seashore in Maine. I book a suite with a view of the ocean and hire a private chef to make us dinner on the balcony.
A chef who is also a skilled amateur photographer…
The stunning images she captures of my proposal are things I will always cherish. I frame my favorite—Holly beaming down at me with a huge smile as I kneel at her feet—and hang it on the wall leading up the stairs to our bedroom.
And I am grateful.
Summer bleeds into a glorious fall with leaves so dazzling that it breaks my heart a little to look at them. Since Holly came into my life, beauty affects me in ways it never did before. It hurts and heals and inspires me to fight to preserve it for the generations that will come after.
I take steps to reduce the carbon footprints of all my businesses and shut down two arms of the conglomerate completely.
I increase my donations to local charities, fund a new wing for the hospital, and invest heavily in several area rescue farms. I will make millions less than I made last year, but I already have more than any man could spend in a lifetime.
More importantly, I have her.
And I am grateful.
December arrives again, bringing with it the day I’ve been looking forward to more than I can express.
Our wedding.
We chose a spot in the woods near the estate, a clearing surrounded by towering pines that feels more holy than any church.
The night before our vows, it snows, just enough to cover the ground in fresh flakes that sparkle like diamonds in the afternoon light.
Flaming torches line the aisle, and fire pits are placed strategically throughout the seating area to keep our guests warm.
A fifteen-foot decorative pine arch crafted by the same chainsaw artist responsible for the Silver Bell Falls manger scene stands at the front, a work of art I commissioned months ago.
Because I want us to have a permanent reminder of this day and of our love. A place we can hopefully bring our children someday and tell them this is where it happened, where their mother made their father the happiest man in the world.
My brothers stand beside me at the altar, with Cheeks in a tiny tuxedo of his very own, beaming from Elliot’s shoulder.
Then, Willow begins to play her harp, and everyone stands.
And…there she is, stepping out of the tent we set up to keep the bride warm, looking so beautiful, it’s hard to believe she’s real.
As she starts down the dark green velvet runner on her father’s arm behind Candy and Kayla, I forget how to breathe.
Her dress is ivory with faux fur trim at the cuffs and hem.
Her dark curls are swept up in a magnificent pile atop her head, dotted with tiny white flowers.
She’s absolutely stunning, but it’s the look in her eyes that overwhelms me.
She looks every bit as overjoyed to be marrying me as I am to be marrying her.
And I am so grateful that “grateful” isn’t a strong enough word to describe it.
I am…indebted.
I owe this woman my life. I was only half alive before I met her, a grumpy, Grinch of a man with a heart in desperate need of faith and hope.
I tell her as much in our vows.
I tell her that she will always be my light, that I will fight to the death to defend her good heart, and that loving her is the greatest honor any man could hope for.
Then, she spills her beautiful soul into the air in vows so honest and real that by the time she’s through, tears are streaming down my face.
Then Nancy, our officiant, declares us husband and wife, we kiss, the people who love us applaud, and we head back to the mansion to celebrate.
It’s the best night of my life.
And all the proof I need that magic is real—at Christmas and any other time you’re lucky enough to spend with the one you love.
Nancy Tucker
A wedding officiant about to
make an indecent proposal…
The only thing better than a wedding?
A December wedding in a snow-dusted pine grove—flaming torches flickering, fire pits crackling, bright red poinsettias tucked into every bough like ornaments. A chipmunk in a tux.
And me, the smug officiant who just got to declare Holly Jo Hadley and Luke Ratcliffe husband and wife.
The bride: faux-fur trim, curls pinned up with baby’s breath, grinning like she swallowed a constellation. The groom: wool tux, eyes shining, looking like a billionaire who understands that money can’t touch what he’s holding.
I’ve known the Ratcliffes my whole life—Elliot and I have been best friends since we were kids—and still, I’m stunned.
Even a year ago, the “Grouchisaurus Who Hates Christmas” (our private nickname for Luke) moving here full-time and plugging happily into the community would’ve sounded like a fever dream.
Now he’s helping Holly into the sleigh for the reception, raising their joined hands while the whole town whoops, and Cheeks does a little victory strut in his tiny tuxedo.
Miracles are real. I’ve just signed paperwork to prove it.
And that, more than just about anything else, gives me hope that what I’m about to do isn’t completely crazy…
As the other guests stream toward the line of sleighs, I hang back in the empty grove. Partly because I promised to stay until the event team finished putting out the fires.
Partly to make a wish alone in the freshly fallen snow…
I close my eyes, cross my fingers, and lift my face to the pink-and-orange-streaked sky as the winter sunset takes hold.
Let Elliot say yes. Please let him say yes.
“Hey you, that was one hell of a ceremony,” a familiar voice rumbles from behind me.
My heart surges into my throat.
Elliot.
As if summoned by a Christmas wish…
I turn to see him standing a few feet away by the last of the still-flickering torches in a dark-green suit that fits like sin, hair slicked, cheeks pink from the cold.
If he weren’t my best friend, I would have tried to climb him like a tree long ago.
But he used to be a world-class flirt with a minor in sorority studies, and I was smart enough to protect the one relationship I never wanted to lose.
I’m thirty-four now.
Older, wiser, and smart enough to know that sex doesn’t always have to mean the end of a friendship.
Right?
“You okay?” he asks, a faint frown creasing his brow. “You look a little…sad. Or something.”
I shake my head. “Not sad, just thoughtful. Weddings always make me think, you know?”
Mostly, they make me think about how I’m nowhere close to getting married or finding a man to father the baby I’m running out of time to conceive. I’m not getting any younger and fertility issues will complicate this journey more for me than the average woman in her mid-thirties.
Elliot nods. “Yeah, I get that. Time is going by so fast, isn’t it? It seems like just yesterday, we were sixteen, stealing beer from the cooler at your dad’s third wedding and getting drunk in the barn.”
I smile. “I was so sick the next day.”
“So sick,” he agrees. “Let’s keep it more respectable tonight, all right?”
“For sure,” I agree, arching a brow. “But not too respectable.”
He laughs as he wraps an arm around my shoulders. “Absolutely not.”
I’m glad he’s on board. It will be much easier to say the things I need to say if we’re both a little tipsy. Because as soon as the speeches end and the band plays a slow song?
Well, I’m going to ask Elliot Ratcliffe to be the father of my baby.
I might even ask him to start trying…tonight.
I hope you loved GRUMP HARD!