Epilogue
NOEL
Hope’s original rose gold pine cones still hung on our tree—not the scraggly little tabletop tree from that first Christmas, but a towering nine-footer that practically swallowed half the penthouse living room.
Over the past four years, we’d filled its branches with memories—hand-painted baubles from Prague, fragile glass icicles from Stockholm, wooden angels we’d haggled for in a snow-covered Swiss village.
The penthouse—our penthouse now—looked like Christmas had staged a full-scale takeover.
Garland draped every surface, lights glittered against the glass, and a ridiculous singing Santa still sat grinning on the mantle.
I’d threatened to “accidentally” drop him more times than I could count, but somehow, every year, he found his way back up there—loud, tacky, and impossible not to love.
Because Hope loved him. And somewhere along the way, I’d learned to love him too.
“You’re staring again,” she said from the kitchen doorway, one hand resting on the generous bump beneath her holiday sweater—this one featuring a gingerbread house with actual bells sewn on.
Eight months pregnant. Our first child. A girl, according to the ultrasound we’d gotten last week. I was terrified. And more excited than I’d ever been about anything in my life.
“I’m admiring,” I corrected, setting down my phone.
December was always chaos at Frost & Co. Digital—our busiest season, our most critical quarter. But I’d learned to carve out time. To be present. To remember that profit margins meant nothing if I had no one to share them with. My wife had taught me that.
She brought over two mugs of hot chocolate—made the “right way” with real milk, cinnamon, and tiny marshmallows—and settled carefully beside me on the couch, tucking her feet under her legs.
“How’s your back?” I asked, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
“Better today. I actually got some stuff done.” She sipped her cocoa and smiled. “Your daughter is finally letting me sleep.”
My daughter. The words still felt surreal.
“She’s going to be spoiled,” I warned. “Between you, your friends, and my entire executive team, she won’t stand a chance.”
“Good. She deserves to be spoiled.” Hope leaned her head against my shoulder. “Can you believe it’s been four years?”
“Since the Christmas market?”
“Since you showed up looking for me, holding overpriced hot chocolate and apologizing for being an asshole.”
I laughed. “I was an asshole.”
“You were. But you got better.”
Better was an understatement. In four years, everything had changed.
We’d gotten married the following summer—a small ceremony in the greenhouse where we’d first made love, with only our closest friends and family.
We’d spent our honeymoon in Vienna, then kept traveling.
Paris, Tokyo, Santorini, Barcelona, and Buenos Aires.
Hope wanted to see the world, and I wanted to show it to her.
Frost & Co. Digital had thrived, expanding into international markets, just like Grady predicted that night at the cookie exchange. Last year, we’d been named one of the top logistics companies in North America.
But the real win had been two years ago, when I’d convinced Hope to leave Festive Media Studios and come work for me—heading up our marketing and social media division. She’d transformed our brand. Made it warmer. More human. Less about transactions and more about the people behind them.
“Remember when you thought you couldn’t work for me because of conflict of interest?” I asked, pressing a kiss to her temple.
“And you convinced me that being married to the CEO was the ultimate conflict of interest, so I might as well get paid for it?”
“Sound logic.”
She laughed. “I’m glad I listened. Even if I’m working from home more now.” She rubbed her belly absently. “This little one doesn’t appreciate early morning conference calls.”
“Take all the time you need. The team can handle it.”
“I know. But I miss being in the office. Miss the energy.” She looked up at me. “Do you ever regret it? Mixing business and personal?”
“Never.” I meant it. “You made my company better. You made me better.”
“You made yourself better. I just gave you permission to try.”
The city sparkled below us through the floor-to-ceiling windows, Seattle’s lights competing with the Christmas decorations in every building. Snow was falling—rare for this time of year—dusting the streets in white.
“Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” played softly from the speakers, and I didn’t flinch. Didn’t make a sarcastic comment about hearing it ten thousand times a season.
Because now when I heard it, I thought of Hope humming it that first night on the terrace. I thought of our wedding, where it had been our first dance. I thought of every Christmas morning since, wrapped up together in this exact spot.
“Do you remember Interlaken?” Hope asked suddenly, a mischievous smile playing on her lips.
I groaned. “How could I forget?”
Last spring, we’d gone to Switzerland for a logistics conference—and ended up conceiving our daughter on the balcony of our hotel room, sixteen stories up, overlooking the Alps and the entire town below.
“We probably scandalized the entire village,” I said.
“Probably.” She didn’t sound remotely sorry. “But you have to admit, the view was incredible.”
“The view wasn’t what I was focused on.”
She blushed, even after four years of marriage. “Well, I’m glad we did. Because now we have her.” She pressed both hands to her belly. “Our little Swiss souvenir.”
“Our little everything,” I corrected.
Hope shifted to look at me fully, her eyes soft. “You know what I love most about you now?”
“My devastating good looks? My charming personality? My exceptional—”
“Your joy.” She touched my face. “When I met you, you didn’t let yourself feel anything.
And now you feel everything. You embrace Christmas—really embrace it, not just tolerate it for me.
You volunteer at the toy drive every year.
You let Mollie talk you into being Santa at the building party. You cry at cheesy holiday movies.”
“I do not cry—”
“You absolutely cried during It’s a Wonderful Life last week.”
“That was allergies.”
“In December?”
I pulled her closer. “Fine. I cried. George Bailey deserved his happy ending.”
“So do you.” She kissed me softly. “So do we.”
I thought about my mother then—something I did often during the holidays now, but without the sharp edge of pain.
I started a foundation in her name three years ago, providing Christmas gifts and support to families dealing with cancer.
Hope ran it, naturally, turning it into something my mom would have loved.
I like to think Mom was watching. That she saw how her Christmas-loving son had finally found his way back to the magic.
“What are you thinking about?” Hope asked.
“My mom. How she would have loved you. Loved this.” I gestured at the tree, the decorations, the life we’d built. “Loved knowing she was going to be a grandmother.”
Hope’s eyes filled with tears—pregnancy hormones made her cry at everything now. “I wish I could have met her.”
“Me too. But I think she knows. Somehow.”
We sat there in comfortable silence, sipping our cocoa, watching the snow fall.
In a few hours, our friends would arrive for our annual Christmas brunch.
Then my father would come by—he’d started celebrating the holidays again after meeting Hope, said she reminded him of my mother in all the best ways.
But for now, it was just us. Just this moment. Just the beginning of the family we were building together.
“Merry Christmas, Noel,” Hope whispered, her hand finding mine and placing it on her belly.
I felt a flutter—tiny, barely there, but unmistakable. Our daughter, saying hello.
“Merry Christmas, Hope,” I said, my voice thick. “Merry Christmas to both of you.”
For the first time in twenty-seven years, Christmas felt exactly the way it was supposed to. Full of light, full of love, full of hope.
And I meant every word.