Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
Cade
It’s Josie’s last day working at the school before the semester break. I've been at the cabin for three hours now. My hands are covered in red and white frosting. Who knew gingerbread construction required engineering skills?
The slightly crooked house sits on the table. The roof sags a little on one side, and I ate the licorice I was planning to use for the door. It may not be symmetrical, but it’s holding together.
The sugar cookies cooling on the counter aren't much better. Some burned around the edges. Others look more like a puddle of melted snow than a full-fledged snowman. But together they make the cabin smell like a holiday. The baking might be a miss, but I’ve built up one hell of a fire.
It’s crackling, and the cabin glows like something out of a fairy tale.
Josie and I have spent a year piecing two lives into one. She’s traveled to South Carolina on every school holiday. I’ve been back in Deadwood for my entire off-season. It’s been beautiful, but I’m done missing her. I’m done aching over goodbyes and airport drop-offs.
I've been pacing and alternating between the kitchen and the living room. I’ve been checking my handiwork, adjusting the lights, and second-guessing every choice. Everything needs to be perfect because today I’m making it official. Today, I’m asking my favorite person to marry me.
The sound of tires on gravel makes my heart slam against my ribs.
I freeze by the Christmas tree. Through the window, I watch Josie's truck pull into the driveway.
She sits for a long moment, checking her phone, and I hold my breath.
Then she's climbing out, and her cheeks are pink from the cold. I meet her at the door.
“Hi,” I say, my voice rougher than I intended, like I’ve been holding the word in my chest all day.
“Hi.”
She’s in my arms before I can think, laughing softly as I lift her clean off the ground in a bear hug. Snowflakes cling to her hair, cold against my cheek, and the faint scent of cinnamon and winter air fills my lungs. For a second, I don’t want to let her go.
“I’m so ready to make this place…” She stops mid-sentence, her gaze swinging past me. Her lips part, eyes going wide. “Cade.” The way she says my name is pure wonder, barely more than a whisper. “You made a gingerbread house.”
“I tried to make a gingerbread house,” I admit, rubbing the back of my neck. “Turns out it’s a lot harder than it looks. And the cookies are, well, let’s just say they won’t win any blue ribbons, but they’re edible. Mostly.”
She steps toward the table, her expression soft.
The gingerbread house is lopsided, its candy cane chimney leaning like it’s bracing for a storm.
Gumdrops line the roof in slightly crooked rows.
The glow from the fireplace flickers across the sugar-dusted scene, making it look a little like it belongs in a snow globe.
“It’s perfect,” she gasps and I swear she means it.
And just like that, she’s moving back toward me, closing the space like she’s got a mission.
Her hands clutch my shirt, warm fingers curling into the flannel.
She pulls me down into a kiss that steals every coherent thought I’ve got.
She tastes like peppermint and the kind of sweetness that makes you want another bite.
The kiss is soft and deep and full of everything we haven’t said.
When we part, our foreheads rest together, breaths mingling in the cool cabin air.
My heart hammers, wild and insistent. The words I’ve been carrying all season push at my ribs like they’re desperate to get out.
She tilts her head, searching my face. “Cade, what’s wrong?”
“I got you a present.” My voice cracks on the word, and before I know it, hot tears slide down my cheeks. The Christmas lights blur in my vision, and for once, I don’t care if she sees.
Her brows knit together. “That’s a good thing, right?”
“Yeah.” I let out a choked laugh, shaking my head. “I was gonna go big, grand gestures. Lights, music, the whole thing. Then I thought maybe small would mean more. But then I went and wrecked the gingerbread house.”
I slip a hand into my pocket, the velvet box warm from my palm. When I flip it open, the diamond inside catches every flicker of firelight, scattering it like tiny stars across her face.
“Josie,” I say, my voice steady now, “I choose you. This Christmas, next Christmas, every year after. Always. Forever. Will you marry me?”
For a heartbeat, the world stands still. The fire crackles. Snow drifts lazily past the frosted windows. My breath catches as her eyes fill, shimmering like the diamond between us.
Her hands fly to her mouth, but the exclamation that escapes is pure, unfiltered joy. “Cade!” My name breaks through her lips, like it’s too full of love to hold. She laughs, a wet, breathless sound, even as tears spill down her cheeks.
I can’t move, can’t breathe, I take in every flicker of emotion on her face, every ounce of magic in this moment.
“Yes.” She nods hard, like she can’t get the word out fast enough. “Yes, I’ll marry you.”
Relief and exhilaration hit me in the same rush, and I’m on my feet, pulling her into my arms before the box even makes it back into my pocket.
She’s laughing and crying all at once, and I’m kissing her everywhere I can reach her cheeks, her temple, her mouth.
All the while, the ring burns in my palm, impatient to find its place.
I slip it onto her finger, my thumb brushing over her knuckles, and it’s like the whole room exhales. The fire seems warmer, the lights brighter, the air sweeter.
“I love you, Josie Maddox,” I whisper against her hair. “From the first second to the last.”
She tilts her head back, smiling through her tears, the glow of the Christmas lights turning her into something holy. “And I love you, Cade McAllister. Forever.”
Outside, the wind howls, rattling the cabin’s eaves, but in here, we’re wrapped in a world of gingerbread and garland and the kind of promise you only make once.
And when our lips meet again, it tastes like every Christmas treat I’ve ever wanted and every one still to come.