Epilogue
Briar
two months later
Snow makes everything quieter.
Maybe that’s why I wake to the kind of hush that feels unreal, like the whole world has softened overnight.
I blink up at the ceiling, warm under layers of blankets, my body tucked against a solid furnace of heat—Saxon.
His arm is draped over my waist, heavy and warm, fingers locked loosely against my stomach as if even in sleep he refuses to let go.
Our first Christmas morning as a family.
A smile pulls at my lips before I’m even fully awake.
Saxon shifts behind me, burying his face into the curve of my neck with a low, sleepy groan. “No,” he mutters. “Too early.”
“It might be,” I whisper, “but someone’s going to be up any second now.”
Right on cue—a thump. Then another. Then—
“Mommy! Captain Saxon! It snowed!”
Saxon doesn’t even open his eyes. “Told you.”
Junie bursts into our bedroom without knocking, her hair wild, her slippers mismatched, her excitement about three sizes too big for her tiny body. “It’s Christmas! There’s snow! There are presents! Santa came! He—”
She stops dead in the doorway.
Her eyes widen. “You’re snuggling.”
Saxon’s arm tightens around me. “We are.”
She beams like it’s the greatest gift she’s ever received. “I knew it.”
Saxon finally cracks one eye open, looking at her upside down from where his face is practically buried in my shoulder. “Merry Christmas, baby girl.”
Junie runs and launches herself onto the bed, and while she aims for the spot between us, she overshoots and lands half on Saxon’s stomach, knocking the wind out of him.
“Oof—Junebug.”
She giggles and hugs him fiercely. Saxon hugs her right back, groaning dramatically while she giggles louder.
I watch them with a smile. This big, immovable mountain of a man who once swore he’d never let anyone rely on him again—cradling my daughter like she hung the moon.
My heart swells, warm and achy in the best possible way.
“Come on!” Junie squeals. “The tree! The presents! The cocoa! The cinnamon rolls!”
“Cinnamon rolls?” Saxon perks up.
“Yes!” She pats his cheeks like she’s reviving him. “Extra frosting.”
He sits up immediately. “Well, why didn’t you lead with that?”
The living room looks like a snow globe.
Outside the big picture window, Devil’s Peak is blanketed in fresh, unbroken white. The faint glow of sunrise turns everything pinkish and magical. Inside, the Christmas tree twinkles with warm lights, ornaments leaning slightly crooked because Junie “decorated” the lower half to death.
Presents spill out in colorful piles under the branches. Junie gasps when she sees them. Then she looks back at us like she needs confirmation she isn’t dreaming.
Saxon ruffles her hair. “Santa must’ve thought you were pretty damn good this year.”
She giggles. “I’m always good.”
I snort into my coffee.
She whirls. “Most of the time.”
“Better,” I say.
Saxon hands me a mug, brushing his fingers over mine. His touch lingers a second too long, warm enough to send a flush up my cheeks. He does that on purpose—little branded moments of heat that remind me that even though he’s now my husband, the man is still pure danger in slow doses.
The good kind. The forever kind.
“Okay,” Junie says, dropping dramatically to her knees. “I’m starting.”
“Go for it,” I say, curling onto the couch beside Saxon. He pulls a blanket over my legs, then slings his arm around my shoulders, tugging me into his side. I go willingly, melting against him.
Junie opens her gifts one by one, shrieking about each one as if it’s the best present she’s ever received.
A dollhouse. A firefighter Barbie (“She needs to look like a fire captain!”) A sparkly purple helmet for her bike. A stack of picture books. A stuffed moose with a crooked smile. She is pure joy wrapped in a glittery pajama set.
Midway through tearing wrapping paper, she freezes. “Isn’t there one more?”
Saxon frowns. “One more?”
She crawls under the tree like a tiny determined raccoon and emerges with a small wrapped box—red paper, white ribbon, and a tag. She squints dramatically as she reads it.
“To: Saxon From: Santa”
Her eyes go wide. “Santa brought you a present!”
Saxon shifts, confused. “I didn’t—I didn’t put anything under there for me.”
Junie thrusts the box into his lap. “You have to open it!”
I watch him. My pulse thrums steadily in my ears.
He looks at the box like it’s suspicious—like it might explode. “Why does Santa have your handwriting?”
I shrug innocently into my coffee mug. He narrows his eyes.
“Open it!” Junie begs.
He sighs, undoing the bow with the same careful precision he uses on hoses and rescue lines. He peels back the wrapping paper, opens the small box—and freezes exactly the way he did when Junie asked if he would be her dad.
Inside is a tiny fireman’s onesie. Black fabric. Silver reflective stripes. A little patch that says “Firefighter in Training.”
He stares at it like his brain can’t compute what his eyes are seeing. Then he lifts the sleeve. And beneath it—the pregnancy test. Positive. Bright. Unmistakable. Life-changing.
Time stops.
Saxon doesn’t speak.
Doesn’t breathe.
Doesn’t even blink.
“Is that a baby shirt?” Junie asks, leaning dangerously close to the test.
Saxon’s throat works once. “Briar…”
I set my coffee down carefully—my hands shaking too much to trust my grip—and slide closer, touching his knee. “Yeah.”
He lifts the onesie again, staring at it, then at the test, then at me.
“You’re—” His voice breaks.
“I am.”
He swallows hard, jaw trembling once before he clamps it down so tight I can feel the strain of it.
For a full ten seconds, he’s silent. Then he drops the onesie and pulls me straight into his arms. He holds me like he’s been drowning for years and only just found air.
His face presses to my neck. His breath shakes against my skin.
His hands grip my back, palms spreading wide like he’s trying to feel all of me at once.
“You’re pregnant?” he croaks.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “About six weeks.”
Another breath punches out of him.
“When did you—?”
“Found out yesterday morning. I wanted to tell you after the fundraiser but then…” I glance at Junie. “Everything happened.”
He leans back, eyes burning, hands cupping my face. “You—you gave me a baby for Christmas?”
I laugh through tears. “Santa did.”
He kisses me.
A trembling, breathless, reverent kiss that makes my chest ache.
Junie plops into his lap, not entirely understanding but sensing something monumental is happening. She wraps her arms around both of us.
“Captain Saxon?” she whispers.
He pulls her into the hug too, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Yeah, baby girl?”
Her voice trembles. “Are we gonna have a baby?”
He laughs—a broken, overwhelmed sound. “Yeah, Junebug. We are.”
She squeals and starts bouncing in his lap. “A baby! A baby! Can I name it? Can I help? Can I—”
Saxon hugs her tighter, burying his face in her hair.
I see it. His joy. His awe. His fear and hope tangled together.
And that emotion from the firehouse—when he told her he’d be honored to be her dad—wells up again, fuller, deeper, uncontainable. He turns to me, eyes shining.
“You’re… you’re giving me a family.”
“You already have one,” I whisper. “This just makes it bigger.”
He cups my cheek, brushing away my tears with his thumb.
“I love you, Briar,” he says, voice low and certain and rough. “I love both of you. All three of you.”
I break.
Completely.
I lean into him, kissing him softly, my forehead against his, breathing him in—smoke, pine, coffee, and Saxon.
Always Saxon.
He pulls back slightly, eyes flickering to my stomach. His hand slides slowly down, warm and reverent, stopping over my lower abdomen. He spreads his palm there. Protective. Awed. Home.
“There’s a baby in there,” he whispers, like he’s afraid to say it too loud.
“There is.”
His eyes shine. “Our baby.”
I nod.
He lets out a shaky laugh—deep, disbelieving, joyful. “I don’t deserve this.”
“You do,” I say, cupping his face. “You deserve everything.”
Junie squeezes us before leaping off the couch. “Can we have cinnamon rolls now?”
Saxon barks a laugh, rubbing his face. “Yes, Junebug. Cinnamon rolls for my girls.”
“And the baby!” she adds.
He grins. “And the baby.”
She darts to the kitchen like a tiny tornado.
Saxon watches her go, then looks back at me.
“You sure you’re real?” he murmurs, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear.
I smile. “Real as it gets.”
He leans his forehead to mine.
“I’m going to take care of you,” he says. “All of you. Every day. Every breath. I swear it.”
I close my eyes, soaking in his warmth. “I know.”
He kisses me again—soft, sweet, still stunned. And for a long moment, the world is nothing but snow falling outside our window, the glow of Christmas lights reflecting off the glass, and our little family wrapped in warmth on the couch.
A new chapter.
A new beginning.
A new life growing beneath my heart.
“Merry Christmas,” he whispers.
“Merry Christmas, Saxon.”
Our first Christmas morning as a family of four.
And the best one I’ve had yet.