Epilogue
. . .
Holly
New Year’s Eve arrives merry and bright.
My house on Pine Street glows with fairy lights. Inside, the space heater hums, and the house smells like hot cocoa and cinnamon.
I run my palm over the kitchen cabinet Cole fixed last week. He also installed hooks by the door to hold our jackets side by side. I love seeing his heavy canvas work coat next to my puffy blue one. The sink no longer drips, and the front step is solid under my feet.
Small acts. Practical.
The mailbox outside has a hand-carved sign that reads brOOKS & HART in letters he burned into the wood. He mounted it two days ago, standing back to make sure it was level.
We’re claimed. Chosen.
The front door opens, and Cole steps in, his arms full of firewood. Snow dusts his shoulders and beard. His gaze finds mine, the way it always does now.
“Cold out there,” he says.
“Then get over here and warm up.”
He stacks the wood by the fireplace, largest pieces on the bottom and kindling on top. Then he comes over and wraps his arms around me. His coat’s freezing, but when his lips press against mine, his mouth is warm.
“Missed you,” he says.
“You were gone ten minutes.”
“Still missed you.”
I laugh and burrow into him. “I missed you, too.”
The doorbell rings. I pull away reluctantly and open it.
Roz stands on the porch holding a casserole dish wrapped in a towel. “Happy almost New Year, honey!”
“You didn’t have to bring anything.”
“Of course I did. You’re hosting. That means I bring food.” She motions over her shoulder. “Also wine. Cole, be a dear and grab it from my front seat?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She sweeps inside, taking in the lights and the fire crackling in the small fireplace Cole cleaned and inspected, and the cocoa station I set up on the counter with marshmallows. “This place looks wonderful. You’ve done so much with it.”
“Cole did most of it.”
“Smart man.” As he returns with a bottle of red wine, she winks at him. “You keeping her warm, Hart?”
“Doing my best.”
“Good. Keep it up. She’s a keeper.”
“I know.”
My heart bumps.
Mrs. Porter arrives next with snowflake sugar cookies and a bottle of sparkling cider.
“Holly. Cole. Happy New Year.” She pulls me into a hug. “I’m glad you’re not alone anymore. Both of you.”
He nods. “Thank you, Mrs. Porter.”
We settle in with cocoa and easy conversation. Roz tells stories about New Year’s celebrations from decades past. Mrs. Porter shares library gossip about a budding romance in the book club.
The gathering is small. Intimate. It’s the kind of gathering I used to watch from the outside, wondering what it felt like to belong.
Now I know.
At eleven-thirty, Jesse shows up with Nora, Wells, and Paige. They stomp snow off their boots, and Jesse hands me a bottle of whiskey.
“For the countdown,” Jesse says.
“Thanks, Jesse.”
He glances around. “Place looks good.”
“Cole’s handiwork.”
“Figured.” He claps Cole on the shoulder. “You did right by her.”
“Trying to.”
Wells nods at Cole. “Cabin holding up?”
“Yeah. Generator’s solid. Checked it this morning. You?”
“Same. Solar array’s performing better than expected.”
They disappear into the kitchen to discuss generator maintenance.
Paige sits beside me on the couch. “This place looks good. Cole seems settled.” She smiles. “I’ve never seen him this… at peace. Wells says he’s different. Lighter.”
“He is,” I admit. “We both are.”
“Good. You both deserve it. And Lush Hollow’s better with you in it.”
“That means a lot.”
Paige touches my arm. “I mean it. You’re good for this town. And for him. Don’t underestimate that.”
At five minutes to midnight, Cole dims the lights. We gather by the window.
Cole wraps his arm around my waist. “Happy?”
“Very. You?”
“Yeah. Being seen isn’t so bad. Not when I’m being seen with you.”
I lean into him. “Thank you. For choosing me and proving it.”
“Every day,” he promises. “In public and in private.”
“Can you see the ridge from here?”
“Yeah. There.” Cole points to a dark mass in the distance, silhouetted against the lighter sky. “That’s home too.”
“Our home.”
“Yeah. Ours.”
The countdown starts. Everyone joins in, voices overlapping. “Ten. Nine. Eight.”
Cole pulls me close against his side.
“Seven. Six. Five.”
His other hand finds mine, fingers threading together, squeezing once.
“Four. Three. Two.”
Fireworks explode. Gold and silver and red, blooming bright against the black sky.
“One!”
He kisses me. The room erupts in cheers, noisemakers, and laughter, but I only hear my heartbeat, his breath, and the promise in the way he holds me.
When we break apart, he reaches into his pocket.
“I want to give you this.”
“Cole—”
“It’s not a ring. Not yet. But it’s—” He struggles for the words. “It’s a promise.”
He opens his hand.
A carved ornament rests in his palm: holly leaves and berries, each vein visible in the wood. Underneath is the word HART.
Tears prick hot behind my eyes. “Cole.”
“For your tree. For our trees. Wherever we are—the cabin, here, anywhere—you’re mine. And I’m yours. That’s the promise. Every year. Every Christmas. Every day between.”
“It’s perfect.”
“You’re beautiful. And you’re home. My home.”
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I take the ornament. The wood is smooth under my fingers.
I kiss him again, tasting salt from my tears and the whiskey someone pressed into his hand at midnight.
Around us, people toast, laugh, and celebrate. Roz wipes her eyes with a napkin. Mrs. Porter smiles. Jesse raises his whiskey glass in silent approval, Nora tucked against his side with a glass of sparkling cider. Wells holds Paige.
Later, after everyone leaves with hugs and promises to do this again, we clean up and bank the fire. I hang the ornament on the small tree we set up in the corner, right next to the one Cole carved with my name back at the cabin.
HOLLY and HART side by side.
“Next year…” Cole wraps his arms around me from behind, chin resting on top of my head. “We host the cookie route from here. Together. Make it official.”
“Our place.”
“Yeah. Our place. Our route. Our life.”
I lean back into him. “I like the sound of that.”
“Good. Because you’re stuck with me.”
“Promise?”
“Absolutely.”
Outside, the last fireworks fade into smoke and stars. The valley settles into the new year, quiet and peaceful. Snow falls, covering everything in a blanket of white.
I turn in his arms and look up at him. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For seeing me. For making me believe I could have this.”
His eyes shine. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”
He kisses my forehead, my nose, then my mouth.
I rest my head on his chest and look at our ornaments on the tree. “Home.”