Epilogue
GINA
The smell of melting butter with a hint of syrup tickles my nose.
Yawning, I blink several times, trying to push away the last vestiges of sleep.
It’s increasing difficult to drag myself out of bed every morning. Especially with the nights being so long during deep winter. That’s to say nothing about the bun, currently baking in my oven.
But the smell of butter and syrup cooking in another oven—or maybe on a griddle—is enough to inspire my legs to swing off the bed.
With another yawn, I slide slippers onto my feet and wrap a thick bathrobe around my body. I don’t remember being this tired during my last pregnancy.
Then again, I had been in my twenties. Being pregnant in your thirties… is not for the faint of heart.
And to think, I’d nearly slugged my doctor for referring to it as a geriatric pregnancy. There may be something to it after all.
As I pad my way down the hall, the faint sound of voices grows stronger. So does the smell of something delicious cooking in the kitchen.
When I appear at the threshold, I’m given pause by the site of Scottie seated on a stool in front of the kitchen counter, chatting away. On the other side of the island, Dane is wearing a apron that says “KISS THE CHEF“ and a silly chef‘s hat.
On the counter in front of him are three plates, each with a stack of unmistakably heart-shaped pancakes.
Scottie sits at the table in her hockey team hoodie, ponytail half-done, grinning at him like this is the best day of her life.
And next to her plate is a small bouquet of flowers. Bright, cheerful daisies.
There’s another bouquet of pink roses—my favorite—beside the third plate.
All at once, and with more than a little guilt, I remember what today is.
Valentine’s Day.
“Oh,” I say softly.
Dane turns, his face lighting up instantly. “Hey. You’re up.”
“I am.” I blink at him, still fighting the last dregs of sleep. “Why didn’t you wake me?”
He crosses the room in two strides and presses a kiss to my temple. “Because you were sleeping. And because you’re growing a human. And because I like being alive.”
Scottie snorts. “He said you and the baby needed extra rest.”
My throat tightens.
“You made breakfast,” I say, stating the obvious.
“Valentine’s breakfast,” Dane corrects. “Important distinction.”
He guides me to the table and pulls out my chair. “Sit.”
I do, still a little stunned and fighting the near-constant urge to burst into tears.
“There are flowers for both of my girls,” he says, nodding at the bouquets. “And a small gift for each of you.”
He encourages Scottie to open hers first.
She gasps dramatically and tears into the envelope by her plate. “New skate laces!”
“Pink ones,” Dane adds. “For speed. And style.”
She beams. “Obviously.”
He slides my envelope across the table next. “This is just the first part.”
I open it to find a simple card. Inside, in his unmistakable handwriting:
Thank you for trusting me with your heart. Thank you for building this life with me. Thank you for sharing your daughter with me daughter. Thank you for carrying our child.
Thank you for loving me wherever I am, whoever I am.
Stay tuned for the rest of your gift.
My eyes sting.
I look up at him. “There’s more?”
He leans down and murmurs in my ear, “Later.”
Heat blooms low in my belly, and I give him a look that makes Scottie groan.
“Gross,” Scottie pretends to gag.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” he says, trying to look serious.
She rolls her eyes. “Can you at least wait until I leave?”
Dane laughs. “Fair enough.”
Right on cue, a knock sounds at the door.
“That’ll be my sister,” he says. “Timing like a pro.”
A minute later, the house fills with familiar voices. His sister breezes in first, coffee in hand, followed by his nephew—somehow taller than I expect every time I see him.
“Morning,” she says brightly. “We’re here to steal Scottie for school.”
Danny sniffs his nose. “What’s that?”
Scottie grabs her backpack. “Dane made heart pancakes.”
Danny’s eyes widen. “He did?”
“Don’t worry. He packed some for you to have on the road.”
Watching from the doorway, his sister raises an eyebrow. “I see winning a trophy and retiring from coaching has changed you.”
Dane scoffs. “All for the better of course.”
She hugs us both, and after promises of dinner this weekend and a reminder about the kids’ clinic schedule this weekend, the house empties out again.
In the nearly two years since he walked—or rather, skated—back into my life, life has changed a lot.
Dane finished his last season and took his team all the way. Scottie and I were there to cheer for him as he held that coveted cup up in the air.
Though the owners were surprised when he announced his retirement the next week, they were eager to sign on for his services in offering out-of-season training and camps.
He even got them to underwrite funding for youth programs and secured a donor to amp up the skating facility to make it worthy of professional athletes.
The kids within a hundred miles of here are beyond grateful.
We got married last summer and set to work building the life we’d been planning—together. Quiet moments like this one are rare. But I cherish them all the more.
I sip my coffee and take it all in. The kitchen. The light. The man across from me, leaning back in his chair, watching me like this is exactly where he wants to be.
“This feels… really good,” I say.
He reaches across the table and takes my hand. “That’s because it is.”
The day moves quickly after that.
There are emails to answer. Bookings to confirm. A dozen small, ordinary things that somehow feel extraordinary because we’re doing them together.
I still can’t believe that, come the summer, this place will be crawling with professional hockey players looking to spend some time off the grid.
Well, off the grid as far as city boys wanting to masquerade as mountain men can be.
By late afternoon, I’m tired again.
Dane notices immediately.
“Go lie down,” he says.
“I can still help.”
“I know. But I don’t need you to.”
I smile. “You’ve gotten very good at that.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead. “Practice.”
That evening, after the house is quiet again and I’m dressed in something that makes me feel more like me and less like an incubator, he takes my hand and leads me outside.
The air is crisp. Winter has settled in fully now, snow piled neatly along the edges of the porch.
There are lanterns glowing along the path to the rink.
My heart stutters. “You didn’t.”
“I did.”
The rink is empty, lights low, the ice smooth and gleaming. A small table waits at center ice, candles flickering safely inside glass holders.
“This,” I say softly, “is ridiculous.”
“You married me,” he reminds me. “This is the life you chose.”
We skate slowly, carefully, laughing when I wobble more than usual. When we finally stop, he pulls me close, one hand resting over my belly.
“I love you,” he says. “Both of you.”
I rest my head against his chest. “I love this life.”
He kisses me, slow and certain. The future is no longer something I worry about or fear.
It’s something I’m already living. And it’s better than I could have ever imagined.
Thanks for reading Pucked Promise.