Epilogue
ONE YEAR LATER
EBEN
My eyes flutter open to find a pair of bright hazel eyes staring back at me, her chin resting on my chest, her long lashes fluttering like she’s been waiting for me to wake up.
“Good morning, beautiful,” I say, my voice still rough with sleep. I reach up to tuck a strand of her sleep-tangled, sex-mussed hair behind her ear.
“Merry Christmas,” she says, flashing a big, dopey grin. She’s already wide awake—of course she is. It’s her favorite day of the year.
I stretch, slipping my hands under the covers. Melody is wearing my favorite thing—absolutely nothing. My fingers trace circles over her stomach, and she exhales the prettiest little sigh—still my favorite sound in the world.
I roll her gently onto her back and lean over her, pressing a kiss to her lips—careful of morning breath, but too in love to care much either way.
“Sleep okay?” I murmur, trailing one hand down the curve of her thigh.
“The best,” she whispers, her legs parting in invitation.
I give her her first Christmas present of the day—three slow, deep orgasms. She gives me mine with those sweet pink lips wrapped around my, ahem, candy cane. Honestly, her gifted mouth is the best present I’ve ever received—second only to her kind heart and big, gorgeous brain.
Afterward, we tug on the matching Santa-themed robes she surprised me with last night—a nod to our Mr. and Mrs. Claus days. We wore them for about five minutes before peeling them off in front of the fire.
I finally convinced Melody to let go of her lease on that tiny apartment, and she moved in fully with me a month ago, right around Thanksgiving. She’s spent every waking moment since turning my mom’s house—now our house—into a full-blown Christmas explosion.
One year and two months ago, a Christmas tree in every room would have given me a full-blown apoplexy. Now? It just reminds me of her. Of her warmth. Her sparkle. That laugh that sounds like an angelic choir and feels like home.
Fuck, I’m in love.
I go downstairs to feed Buster and make us special Christmas coffees with whipped cream and cinnamon, bringing them up to her in bed. We sip and cuddle, enjoying the quiet of the morning, the cozy electric fireplace we installed last week flickering for maximum winter ambiance.
She glances out the window above our bed and squeals in delight.
“Eben—it’s snowing!”
I look outside. A light dusting of snow has already covered the lawn and leaf-bare trees.
“Let’s put on White Christmas!” she says, grabbing the remote and flipping on the TV above the fireplace.
“What time is Cassie coming?” I ask, settling in beside her.
“Cassie and Rena should be here around one. We’re meeting your dad and Mary Lou at Forest Park at two.”
Turns out if we dress Dad and Mary Lou like Mr. and Mrs. Claus, Mom lights right up.
She still mutters a few profanities about Ronnie Golding under her breath, but my dad fully accepts that he deserves every last ounce of criticism.
Mary Lou secretly loves it when Mom gives him the business, too.
And the residents adore their yearly visit from the Christmas King.
Last year, we spent Christmas Day with Ronnie and Mary Lou, as well as my stepbrothers and their girlfriends. It was surprisingly pleasant. And everybody loves the hell out of Melody, which takes the pressure off me.
I’ve officially retired the Santa costume—and the Daddy Christmas gig (shudder)—for good. Well… who knows. I might pull it out one more time for a proposal.
Mel doesn’t know it yet, but I already have the ring. Mary Lou and I picked it out last month. But I’m waiting—just a little longer. Moving in was already a significant step for her, and I want to ensure she’s ready before we take the next one.
I plan to propose on her birthday in June—my new favorite holiday. Another day her family never celebrated.
Last year, Ally and I surprised her with a cake covered in twenty-nine candles. The look on her face—those wide, wonder-filled eyes, the way her cheeks turned bright pink—I’ll never forget it.
I plan to spoil her on every birthday from now on, to make up for each and every one she missed.
It turns out, I don’t hate holidays. Or Christmas.
I just needed the right person to share them with.
I watch her watching the movie, the glow from the tree in the corner of our room lighting up her eyes.
I lean in close and whisper, “I have a surprise for you.”
She turns to me, eyes wide. “What is it?”
“It’s downstairs,” I murmur, pressing a kiss to the side of her head.
She doesn’t waste a second—throws back the covers and takes off, running down the stairs like a little kid on Christmas morning. Buster stretches, yawns, and trots after her. I follow them both, coffee in hand.
I hear her reaction before I see it.
“HOLY SHIT, ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”
By the time I hit the bottom step, she’s full-on jumping up and down.
In the center of the room stands a real Christmas tree. Strung with lights. Waiting to be decorated.
I lean against the banister, sip my coffee, and smile. “You like it?”
She launches herself at me, arms around my neck, kissing me a dozen times in rapid-fire. I try to protect my coffee, but a little dribbles out. She doesn’t notice, and I don’t say anything.
“I love it,” she murmurs between kisses. “I love you.”
I kiss her back, slowly, and whisper, “I love you more.”
“Nuh-uh,” she pouts, but quickly forgets we were mid-play-fight and turns back to the tree, eyes glittering.
“When did you do this?”
“Snuck it in last night after you fell asleep,” I say. “The box next to it is from the attic. All the old ornaments from my childhood. Go to town.”
She kisses me again, softer this time. It’s meaningful and filled with promises of a future we haven’t fully articulated yet. I smile against her lips, savoring the moment. The morning is chilly, but her warmth is all I need.
As she pulls back, her gaze lingers on the tree, eyes twinkling with possibilities.
“You like your Christmas gift?” I ask.
“Are you kidding? This is the best Christmas ever.”
Tears spring to her eyes. She drops to her knees in front of the tree, digging gently through the box of ornaments like she’s unearthing buried treasure.
I stay where I am, watching her and taking a mental snapshot.
It really is the best Christmas ever. And I have a strong feeling they’re only going to get better from here on out.
“Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” I say.