Epilogue #2
“It's been wonderful,” I said, smiling. “I keep forgetting they're only here temporarily. Barbara's been helping me perfect my apple butter recipe, and Walt's been showing her all his old haunts around town.”
“Apple butter?” Abby's eyebrows shot up. “Look at you, expanding your product lines.”
“Don't start.” But I was grinning. “I made three batches yesterday. Cal took two jars home, and I caught him eating it straight out of it this morning.”
“That's love right there.”
“Or a serious sugar addiction.” I watched the team warming up on the field, spotting Evan's broad frame near the sidelines. “I still can't get over how well everything's working out. The farm, the market, figuring out all of Walt's mysterious systems.”
“You've come a long way from panicking about that Seattle job offer,” Abby said with a knowing smile. “Remember when you called me, completely torn about what to do?”
“Don't remind me.” I laughed, but warmth spread through my chest. “Best decision I ever made, staying here.”
For my first real fall in Alder Creek. The thought hit me with unexpected force.
All those childhood summers, I'd left before the leaves turned, before the air got that crisp bite that made your cheeks sting.
I'd never seen the maples along the creek burst into flame-orange, or watched the aspen groves shimmer gold against the mountains.
Yesterday, I stood in the middle of the pumpkin patch, breathing in air so clean and cold it made my lungs ache in the best way.
The goats had been frisky in the cooler weather, bouncing around like they were celebrating.
Even Buddy seemed more energetic, trotting over to the fence whenever I appeared with his hay.
First snow's coming soon. The thought made me giddy instead of terrified. I'd bought a proper winter coat, learned how to winterize the chicken coop, figured out the barn heater with Walt while he was in town. I was ready. More than ready—I was excited.
Next year, I'd know what to expect. Next year, I'd be ready for the whole cycle—spring planting, summer growth, autumn harvest, winter rest. The thought sent warmth spreading through my chest, even as the October breeze nipped at my cheeks.
I get to do it all over again. The certainty of it, the rightness of it, still caught me off guard sometimes.
This was home now. All of it—the seasons I'd never seen, the rhythms I was still learning, the community that had welcomed me back like I'd never left.
Cal appeared at the bottom of the bleachers, balancing a cardboard tray loaded with nachos, hot dogs, and drinks. He spotted us and started climbing, careful not to spill anything.
“Nacho delivery service,” Cal announced. He glanced around at our little group, then back toward the other section of bleachers where Walt and Barbara were visible under a blanket. “So, question—should we meet up with your family, or do we abandon them for better company?”
“We're much better company,” Emily said immediately, already eyeing the nachos. “Plus, you get to hear me yell at Evan when he makes stupid calls.”
I laughed, scooting closer to Cal as he squeezed onto the bench. “We can sit here for now. Walt looked pretty cozy with Barbara anyway, I don't think he'll miss us for the first quarter.”
“Perfect.” Cal handed me a container of nachos drowning in cheese and jalapenos. “Fair warning, I may have gone overboard on the peppers.”
“There's no such thing as too many jalapenos,” Emily said, already reaching across me. “Mind if I—”
“Back off, Spencer.” I pulled the nachos protectively to my chest, giving her my most serious glare. “These are mine.”
Emily's face fell dramatically. “But I—”
“Get your own junk food.” I held the container just out of her reach for another beat, then broke into a grin. “I'm kidding. Here, before Cal realizes he bought enough to feed half the team.”
“I knew you were too nice,” Emily said, grabbing a chip loaded with cheese and jalapenos. “Thanks.”
I settled back against Cal's shoulder, balancing the nachos between us. The cheese was perfectly gooey, the jalapenos had just enough bite, and the warmth from the container seeped through my jacket. Cal's arm came around me automatically, his hand finding its familiar spot on my shoulder.
“Good?” he asked, voice low near my ear.
“Perfect.” I tilted my head up to look at him. “You remembered extra cheese.”
“I remember everything you like.”
The marching band struck up the fight song, brass instruments gleaming under the stadium lights.
Around us, the crowd was settling in—families with blankets, teenagers clustering in loud groups, alumni wearing faded Falcons’ gear from decades past. The air smelled like autumn and fried food and possibility.
I let my eyes drift closed for just a moment, soaking it all in.
The solid warmth of Cal beside me, the chatter and laughter of my friends.
The knowledge that this wasn't temporary anymore—that next Friday, I'd be back here again.
That next fall, I'd know which vendor made the best hot dogs and exactly where to sit for the perfect view.
“Thank you,” I whispered, just loud enough for Cal to hear.
“For nachos?”
“For everything.”
The announcer's voice boomed across the field, introducing the starting lineups. I snuggled deeper into Cal's side, perfectly content to stay exactly where I was—surrounded by friends, holding nachos, watching my new home come alive under the Friday night lights.