Epilogue #2
We circled the tables, voices overlapping sometimes, the way gratitude does when everyone’s got something and they all want to make sure it gets said.
Fletcher was thankful for Gouda, even if he did steal socks.
Gunner was thankful for nobody losing a single finger to a saw this quarter.
Oakleigh was thankful for extra recess and for her dad not being embarrassing (which earned a scandalized noise from Colter and a choked giggle from half the table).
Lincoln was thankful for pie and for Ludo letting him use the dog as a pillow.
“Your turn.” Bodie’s thumb brushed the back of my hand under the table, a little anchor. His eyes softened like they did when he was looking at a sunset he didn’t want anybody to see him looking at.
I stood, heartbeat in my throat. The room took a second to tilt into focus—faces I loved and faces I was learning to love. The sounds of fork tines and chair legs settled into a hush that seemed expectant instead of heavy.
“I’m thankful for flour and yeast and butter.
” Laughter skittered off tile and wood. “They helped me stitch myself back together. I’m thankful for hands that passed me mixing bowls and found me benches when I needed to sit.
I’m thankful for people who stood next to me when I stood up to things I didn’t think I could.
” I let my gaze slide to Wesley and hold there.
“I’m thankful for second chances, too, and the fact that probate for my gran’s estate is finally done. ”
The various Maddoxes present let out a, “Hear, hear!” and the Sasspatch Society whooped like someone had announced a sale at their favorite wig shop.
I looked back at Bodie, and warmth climbed my neck. “And I’m thankful I get to build a life with somebody who shows up and keeps his word.”
He didn’t say anything, just squeezed my hand in unmistakable promise.
The rest of the group gave their thanks, then dessert plates began to circulate like tiny rafts on a sweet river.
I forked a bite of pecan into my mouth and let the sugar and butter and toasted nuts dissolve into the kind of pleasure that felt indecent in a house-full.
I was busy looking for a clean fork when Blair’s voice cut smooth and penetrating across the table.
“Hey, Emmaline—why aren’t you drinking?”
Silence fell with the kind of theatrical weight Sasspatch loved. If a spotlight had swung over from nowhere, I wouldn’t have been surprised. Every head turned like I’d choreographed it. Bodie’s hand tightened in mine, his pulse knocking where his thumb pressed my wrist.
I could’ve lied. I could’ve laughed it off. But I’d decided this morning, in the shower with the water beating my shoulders and hope beating my ribs, that I wasn’t going to let fear narrate this out from under me. I hadn’t exactly planned to tell everyone at once but…
“I… can’t,” I said, and my voice did that ridiculous floaty thing it did when I was about to cry. I swallowed, straightened, and tried again. “We can’t.”
For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Then the room went supernova.
Blair shrieked. Uncle Dee fanned himself with a napkin and proclaimed he would be the “most glamorous fairy god-uncle that child will ever have.” Grandma Elsie put both hands to her mouth and said, “Oh,” like a prayer or a curse and then immediately started listing off things we’d need as if the baby were due tomorrow—blankets, and a proper crib, and a rocking chair that didn’t squeak like the devil learning fiddle.
Bodie didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at me, eyes shining.
Then his mouth did that slow, unstoppable smile that had wrecked my composure every time I’d seen it since I was nineteen.
He kissed me like he’d forgotten every person in the house and then pulled back with his forehead pressed to mine, eyes bright in a way that made my own vision blur.
“Yeah?” he whispered, as if the room hadn’t just exploded with proof.
“Yeah,” I whispered back, and then couldn’t help it—I laughed. Because it was ridiculous that a word that small could hold a whole future.
I didn’t know I was holding some leftover sliver of breath until I glanced at Wesley. I turned, stomach swooping with that old fear I’d been making myself let go of—would he take this like a loss? Would he see this as me choosing a path that didn’t include him?
Wesley was already standing, napkin strangled in his big hand. His eyes shone damp in a way I hadn’t seen since we were kids and he’d fallen off the rope swing into cold spring water in March. “I’m gonna be an uncle?” he asked, voice breaking like a cheap guitar string.
I nodded. Couldn’t speak past the rush in my throat.
He rounded the end of the table, ignoring the tangle of chairs and dogs, and hugged me like he could press congratulations into my bones.
When he let me go, he thumped Bodie’s shoulder with a careful sort of force that said both I see you and, thank you and, don’t you dare screw this up.
“That’s good news,” he said, and his voice steadied itself on the words. “Damned good news.”
It loosened something in me I hadn’t realized was still cinched down.
Roxie tucked herself under Wesley’s arm like she’d done it a thousand times, and Aunt Viv dabbed at her eyes and told anyone within earshot she wasn’t crying, her allergies were just acting up from the rosemary in the centerpieces, never mind that she didn’t have rosemary allergies.
The room un-froze and tilted back into motion—pie plates scraped clean, coffee topped off, Biscuit made a bold grab for an abandoned crust and got caught and kissed on the head instead.
Hutton wedged herself between me and Bodie and demanded to know if she could teach the baby to play guitar and if we could promise not to let Dean name it after a professional wrestler.
Dean, scandalized, declared he would be an excellent namesmith if given the chance.
“Like Rowdy Roddy, but make it classy,” he said, ducking the spoon Grandma threw at him.
On my other side, Everly leaned in, voice pitched low just for me. “For what it’s worth, we already blocked out two shoot weeks in the spring if you and Bodie want a nursery redo on the show.”
I choked. “No.”
She laughed. “You say that now.”
“Hard no.”
“We’ll circle back,” she said, nosy and unbothered, and disappeared to keep Biscuit from convincing a cousin to share whipped cream.
Across the room, Hutton and Wesley were locked in a quiet conversation about calluses.
She held out her palm, proud, while he showed her the thickened pads at the base of his fingers from hours with rebar and a welder.
She nodded like she respected that and then wiggled her fingertips in a silly little move that made him huff a laugh.
I filed the image away. Not a spark so much as an ease, a place for something to rest later if it wanted.
“Em,” Bodie murmured near my ear, his palm warm against my nape, thumb rubbing small circles that were probably meant to be soothing and were also quietly devastating. “You okay?”
I took a breath and scanned the room, taking in this mix of feuding families who were on their way to finally burying the animosities of a century and a half. Who would have imagined this was possible six months ago?
I tipped my head to Bodie’s and smiled. “Yeah, I really am.”
“Good.” He kissed the spot under my ear that made my knees a suggestion. “Tell me when you want out of here. I’ll make up an excuse involving Rubble’s delicate digestion.”
“Rude,” I whispered, even as Rubble let out a snore that sounded like a small boat dragging anchor under the table.
From the other side of the table, Colter’s phone began to ring. “Sorry, y’all. On call.” He shoved up, striding toward the kitchen. “Gibson.”
Less than a minute later, he strode back in, all traces of amusement gone. “Got a call. The McCready place is on fire.”
“Oh, my God.” Blair covered her mouth. “I saw a car there when we drove by this afternoon.”
For half a second, Colter closed his eyes. “Damn it. I was hoping the new tenant hadn’t showed up yet.” He began moving toward his truck. “The rigs are en route. I’m meeting them there—I’m closest. Oak, you’re staying here.”
“We’ve got her,” Alia assured him.
“Stay safe, son,” Emmett insisted.
With a nod, he was gone.
For a moment, we all sat in silence. Then Emmett blew out a breath. “Dee, you wanna start the phone tree for donations? That place is a freaking tinderbox. Probably whoever moved is gonna lose everything.”
Uncle Dee whipped out his phone. “On it.”
I leaned into the curve of my husband’s arm and sighed. “Terrible luck for whoever it is, but at least they chose to move to a town that looks out for its own.”
“Damned straight,” Bodie confirmed. “Hell of a welcome to Gibson Hollow.”